![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
ifylla.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
sga_flashficTitle:We Are Our Own Worst Enemies
Wordcount: 1160, longer than i usually write, surprisingly.
Rating: R.
Pairing: McShep
Summary: An Ancient device made them do it! John finds an Ancient device and activates it, and suddenly there is one John too many and Rodney forgets.
******************
It was a complete surprise, though it shouldn't have been, when John picked up the Ancient Device and Something Bad Happened.
Rodney had found it in an abandoned part of the city, on what seemed to be a bookshelf, the Ancient writing on it a spiderweb, as dusty as things got in Atlantis. It was black, a pure black, light-absorbing. John said it looked like the spaceship in Hitchhikers' Guide to the Galaxy, the one that was so sleek and black, it didn't exist. Rodney dismissed that idea with a wave of his hand.
So John had picked it up to run his hand over it, and, surprise, it glowed pure white.
And suddenly there were two Johns.
John The Original (at least Rodney thought he was) was silent for a couple seconds, staring at his clone (Twin?), while John the Fake grinned rakishly and took off.
“Crap. I can barely handle one of you, you know,” Rodney slumped in his desk chair.
So of course Rodney should realize what is happening when John corners him in a transporter late that night on his way back from the lab.
“God, Rodney, handle me,” and suddenly the transporter is too small, too cramped, and Rodney is between John and the wall and getting Claustrophobic. He panicks for a few seconds before John's mouth is on his, and then his brain melts out of his ears.
It takes Rodney all of five seconds before the shock wears off and he gets with the program. Groping, fingers against flesh. Tongues slide against lips and teeth and cheeks, leave trails like snails across collarbones, and all the while there is nothing but wet silence and rustling.
“John...?” It is more of a sigh of relief than a question, but John answers it anyway in the pressing of his body, the jerking of his hips. This is animal desire that rockets through them both, basic, instinctual. So Rodney, by instinct, pushes John's pants down to his thighs and arches his back.
John makes a kinky noise, keening as he grinds his hips and does the same to Rodney's pants, and then it is just them, exposed, intimate. John grabs Rodney's wrists and pins them with one hand above his head to the wall of the transporter, keeps Rodney from completely letting go, so they slide skin against skin in random thrusts, building momentum as John's free hand explores hair and chest and backside. Rodney squeezes his eyes tight shut and bites hard on John's lip and the world explodes behind his eyelids like an Atom bomb, and he feels John, hot and sweaty and solid before him shudder and rumble like a volcano .
A minute passes and Rodney realizes they are on the floor of the transporter, entwined like vines and cramped, and Rodney has a Helena moment, a second when all the pieces fit together (Demetrius has not come to his senses, it is all a malicious trick, right?).
"Stupid, stupid, stupid,” he chants to himself, suddenly and irrevocably angry at John for picking up that device. Meanwhile, Other!John (he has recognized this familiar stranger now), is cleaning up Rodney's stomach with a warm mouth, pink as grapefruit and just as forbidden, and he shoves him away.
"Rodney?” John's voice is hesitant, so him that Rodney almost falters, but he knows better.
"Just go,” he moans miserably, and without looking up, knows John is gathering his uniform and punching a button on the console. He hears the doors open and waits to hear John's footsteps. Instead he feels a ghost of fingertips tracing the edge of his lips, and then John is gone and Rodney is alone with his misery and self-hatred.
Rodney knows he will sort the whole thing out later, figure out at the eleventh hour how to reunite the two halves of John (of his best friend, of his best male, strictly platonic friend), and John will have no memory of his other half's activities. No memory of his best friend's teeth on his lip or his fingertips bruising hipbones. It is worse than a half-remembered drunken night because to John, it never happened at all.
But Rodney will be forced to live with it, to struggle with the fervent wish that the stranger in the transporter was exactly who he wanted it to be, and not a copy or a clone, least of all a mistake.
And then they fix the problem and John is whole again, Rodney is congratulated, and things go back to normal for a few days.
Until John comes to Rodney's room late one night, forces himself in and shoves Rodney against the wall with one hand, angry.
"Hey! Watch it!” Rodney rubs his back tenderly and then John is in his face, almost too close, robbing Rodney's breath.
Did you think I wouldn't remember? Huh? You think it'd just go away like all your little problems?” Rodney freezes, flashes back to skin and stubble and friction, and he shrinks back into the wall.
“I didn't think you would!” He looks away, but John is everywhere, his presence so angry it diffuses throughout the entire room and Rodney can't escape it, can't escape him. John slams his hand on the wall next to Rodney's head.
So you thought you'd take advantage of me when I was literally not myself? You thought you'd work out some of your little tensions while it was convenient for you?”
“What?! No, John, I-”
“Save the speech, Rodney. We're through.” John walks out. Rodney is a little limp against the wall before he runs out after him. John is just getting in a transporter, the doors are sliding shut, but Rodney squeezes in and then there he is, inches from a steaming John Sheppard.
“What. Do. You. Want?” John's entire posture is guarded, defensive yet aggressive, threatening.
“I-” John glares at him and Rodney sees that he can't do it. He can't lose John over something so petty. So he gives in to instinct again and seizes John's vest, pushes him against the wall, and slams his mouth onto his.
John is like steel before he melts, pulling McKay to him, opening his legs, and then Rodney is amazed at his own genius, again, because this is the best idea he's ever had, and John's hands are suddenly everywhere, demanding explanations that Rodney greedily supplies. They pull apart for air at last, and Rodney manages to explain.
“I thought it was you, you, not other you. I didn't realize till after, I'm sorry-” And John kisses him sweetly, gently. There is promise and forgiveness in that kiss. And now it is all okay.
“You should know,” John breathes into Rodney's hair, “That you did handle me very well.”
And despite the cramped spaces they keep finding themselves in, there is enough room for laughter.
~~~~~
Author's Notes: I'm a sucker for wall sex, angry sex, and poetry. i apologize. this is also incidentally my first post at this community, as well as the most direct sex scene i have ever written...normally, i just allude to the fact that they've had sex, and lots of it, but I've never actually *written* a sex scene. If this even qualifies as one...it's still pretty much abstract.
ETA: I fixed the paragraph thingy. turns out ljcut destroys all structuring i originally had. i'm just as much a grammarnazi as all of you, i swear. and the past/present tense thing, which i swear i didn't even realize i did.
Wordcount: 1160, longer than i usually write, surprisingly.
Rating: R.
Pairing: McShep
Summary: An Ancient device made them do it! John finds an Ancient device and activates it, and suddenly there is one John too many and Rodney forgets.
******************
It was a complete surprise, though it shouldn't have been, when John picked up the Ancient Device and Something Bad Happened.
Rodney had found it in an abandoned part of the city, on what seemed to be a bookshelf, the Ancient writing on it a spiderweb, as dusty as things got in Atlantis. It was black, a pure black, light-absorbing. John said it looked like the spaceship in Hitchhikers' Guide to the Galaxy, the one that was so sleek and black, it didn't exist. Rodney dismissed that idea with a wave of his hand.
So John had picked it up to run his hand over it, and, surprise, it glowed pure white.
And suddenly there were two Johns.
John The Original (at least Rodney thought he was) was silent for a couple seconds, staring at his clone (Twin?), while John the Fake grinned rakishly and took off.
“Crap. I can barely handle one of you, you know,” Rodney slumped in his desk chair.
So of course Rodney should realize what is happening when John corners him in a transporter late that night on his way back from the lab.
“God, Rodney, handle me,” and suddenly the transporter is too small, too cramped, and Rodney is between John and the wall and getting Claustrophobic. He panicks for a few seconds before John's mouth is on his, and then his brain melts out of his ears.
It takes Rodney all of five seconds before the shock wears off and he gets with the program. Groping, fingers against flesh. Tongues slide against lips and teeth and cheeks, leave trails like snails across collarbones, and all the while there is nothing but wet silence and rustling.
“John...?” It is more of a sigh of relief than a question, but John answers it anyway in the pressing of his body, the jerking of his hips. This is animal desire that rockets through them both, basic, instinctual. So Rodney, by instinct, pushes John's pants down to his thighs and arches his back.
John makes a kinky noise, keening as he grinds his hips and does the same to Rodney's pants, and then it is just them, exposed, intimate. John grabs Rodney's wrists and pins them with one hand above his head to the wall of the transporter, keeps Rodney from completely letting go, so they slide skin against skin in random thrusts, building momentum as John's free hand explores hair and chest and backside. Rodney squeezes his eyes tight shut and bites hard on John's lip and the world explodes behind his eyelids like an Atom bomb, and he feels John, hot and sweaty and solid before him shudder and rumble like a volcano .
A minute passes and Rodney realizes they are on the floor of the transporter, entwined like vines and cramped, and Rodney has a Helena moment, a second when all the pieces fit together (Demetrius has not come to his senses, it is all a malicious trick, right?).
"Stupid, stupid, stupid,” he chants to himself, suddenly and irrevocably angry at John for picking up that device. Meanwhile, Other!John (he has recognized this familiar stranger now), is cleaning up Rodney's stomach with a warm mouth, pink as grapefruit and just as forbidden, and he shoves him away.
"Rodney?” John's voice is hesitant, so him that Rodney almost falters, but he knows better.
"Just go,” he moans miserably, and without looking up, knows John is gathering his uniform and punching a button on the console. He hears the doors open and waits to hear John's footsteps. Instead he feels a ghost of fingertips tracing the edge of his lips, and then John is gone and Rodney is alone with his misery and self-hatred.
Rodney knows he will sort the whole thing out later, figure out at the eleventh hour how to reunite the two halves of John (of his best friend, of his best male, strictly platonic friend), and John will have no memory of his other half's activities. No memory of his best friend's teeth on his lip or his fingertips bruising hipbones. It is worse than a half-remembered drunken night because to John, it never happened at all.
But Rodney will be forced to live with it, to struggle with the fervent wish that the stranger in the transporter was exactly who he wanted it to be, and not a copy or a clone, least of all a mistake.
And then they fix the problem and John is whole again, Rodney is congratulated, and things go back to normal for a few days.
Until John comes to Rodney's room late one night, forces himself in and shoves Rodney against the wall with one hand, angry.
"Hey! Watch it!” Rodney rubs his back tenderly and then John is in his face, almost too close, robbing Rodney's breath.
Did you think I wouldn't remember? Huh? You think it'd just go away like all your little problems?” Rodney freezes, flashes back to skin and stubble and friction, and he shrinks back into the wall.
“I didn't think you would!” He looks away, but John is everywhere, his presence so angry it diffuses throughout the entire room and Rodney can't escape it, can't escape him. John slams his hand on the wall next to Rodney's head.
So you thought you'd take advantage of me when I was literally not myself? You thought you'd work out some of your little tensions while it was convenient for you?”
“What?! No, John, I-”
“Save the speech, Rodney. We're through.” John walks out. Rodney is a little limp against the wall before he runs out after him. John is just getting in a transporter, the doors are sliding shut, but Rodney squeezes in and then there he is, inches from a steaming John Sheppard.
“What. Do. You. Want?” John's entire posture is guarded, defensive yet aggressive, threatening.
“I-” John glares at him and Rodney sees that he can't do it. He can't lose John over something so petty. So he gives in to instinct again and seizes John's vest, pushes him against the wall, and slams his mouth onto his.
John is like steel before he melts, pulling McKay to him, opening his legs, and then Rodney is amazed at his own genius, again, because this is the best idea he's ever had, and John's hands are suddenly everywhere, demanding explanations that Rodney greedily supplies. They pull apart for air at last, and Rodney manages to explain.
“I thought it was you, you, not other you. I didn't realize till after, I'm sorry-” And John kisses him sweetly, gently. There is promise and forgiveness in that kiss. And now it is all okay.
“You should know,” John breathes into Rodney's hair, “That you did handle me very well.”
And despite the cramped spaces they keep finding themselves in, there is enough room for laughter.
~~~~~
Author's Notes: I'm a sucker for wall sex, angry sex, and poetry. i apologize. this is also incidentally my first post at this community, as well as the most direct sex scene i have ever written...normally, i just allude to the fact that they've had sex, and lots of it, but I've never actually *written* a sex scene. If this even qualifies as one...it's still pretty much abstract.
ETA: I fixed the paragraph thingy. turns out ljcut destroys all structuring i originally had. i'm just as much a grammarnazi as all of you, i swear. and the past/present tense thing, which i swear i didn't even realize i did.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2007-03-21 12:47 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-03-22 05:22 am (UTC)yay for the passing out!
(no subject)
Date: 2007-03-22 09:53 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-03-21 02:35 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-03-22 05:23 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-03-21 02:38 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-03-22 05:22 am (UTC)yay for the dying!
(no subject)
Date: 2007-03-21 05:47 pm (UTC)Good short-fic. You did an excellent job alluding to the device's properties without harping on them, letting us concentrate on the sex. Yay sex! (Also, "handle me" = *grin*)
Spaces between the paragraphs really would be nice, though. Some folks might be scared away by having to work for their fic.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-03-22 05:23 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-03-21 06:52 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-03-22 05:24 am (UTC)so, i fixed it, added spaces (blame ljcut!) and now it's just funny and hot (right? yay!)
(no subject)
Date: 2007-03-22 08:38 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-03-21 06:59 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-03-22 05:25 am (UTC)first post here, but not first fanfic. i post a lot of prosepoetry sga fanfic over at atlantis_slash.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-03-22 04:37 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-03-23 04:42 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-03-25 04:29 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-03-28 04:08 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-01 04:08 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-28 05:56 pm (UTC)