One day, John falls down the stairs.
Thing is, he was that absorbed in his thoughts – thoughts he should not have – he simply missed the first step. Furthermore, he is kind of tired. With him not having slept for… too long, anyway. Which is no excuse. At all.
The fall is vastly embarrassing.
And kind of inconvenient as it leads to questions like, “Are you all right?”
Yeah, sure. Just sprained my ankle. Feels like it, at least. And my head kinda hurts. And I’m so tired, I could sleep right here on the floor – just that I CAN’T FUCKING SLEEP. Not that I’d be telling you any of this.
And, “What happened?”
I fell… Down the stairs… Obviously. And, great, I am starting to sound like McKay.
And, “Can you stand up?”
Do I have to?
Luckily, neither Teyla, nor Ronon, nor (worse) McKay have seen his little accident.
Unfortunately, it happened in the Gate Room - so they will know about it soon enough.
John gets up, mumbles something about seeing Dr. Keller and hightails it to his room. His ankle hurts like hell, but that he can deal with. And he has no concussion. Probably.
So, yeah. He’s just fine.
Not talking about shit has, to date, worked perfectly well for John. And he isn’t about to change this long-practiced habit of his. Just as little as he wants to think about stuff he’d rather ignore – also something he is good at.
The next day, John’s ankle hurts just as it did hours before. That’s to be expected. And, considering the kind of stuff he is getting up to on a regular basis, he is used to a little bit of pain.
Problem is, he still hasn’t slept. And in this state, his mind strangely numb and slow, he can’t possibly go on a mission. What, if his next mistake won’t be something like missing a step, but failing to react fast enough in the next inevitable fight on some not so friendly planet and getting his teammates hurt or killed? It’s a risk, he won’t knowingly take.
In the end, John swallows the pill, so to speak, and goes to see Dr. Keller.
She tells him to talk to Heightmeyer if his condition – “No idea, why I can’t sleep. Maybe something I ate?” – doesn’t improve soon.
“Sure thing, Doc,” John lies with an easy smile and doesn’t fumble around with the sleeping pills she gave him. He hates those things.
Getting some sleep doesn’t seem to help with John’s problem all that much.
“Not to point out the obvious, but you do realize that I will make fun of you for… oh, I don’t know… all eternity?”
John tries to ignore the damn pins sticking in his damn palm because he was so distracted he goddamn put his hand on them – and by the way… Fucking ouch! “Why don’t you go back to your vastly important project that no one else could possibly, ever, finish as brilliantly as you can?” He indicates the console McKay had been working under. “Except, maybe, for Zelenka.”
Unfortunately, McKay doesn’t raise to the bait. “I could put some more pins onto a chair, if that’s the kind of thing you are into,” he says. And then the bastard does go back to work – crawling under the console head-first…
Everything started right in the middle of a mind-numbingly boring meeting. A thought came to John out of nowhere:
McKay looks good, today.
This alone wouldn’t have been all that bad – if McKay actually had looked any different AND if this realization hadn’t been accompanied by a sudden, very unwelcome and inconvenient erection.
In a far corner of his mind, stuffed into a well-filled box labelled: “ignore”, John knows that sometimes his eyes might stray and linger, appreciate not a woman’s body but a man’s.
It has never been that much of an issue.
But with McKay, John can’t seem to forget. And – it isn’t even the “man” theme which bugs him, keeps him awake at night. If it had happened with Ronon, par example, John would have simply shrugged it off. Because the satedan is a logical choice regarding thoughts about attractiveness.
McKay on the other hand?
Even if you came to accept, that the man has … something … to him, he is still McKay. Whatever this may mean.
When John had met McKay for the first time, he hadn’t been keen on spending any amount of time with him. The man had been quite annoying. He still is. Except – he likewise isn’t.
John kind of … maybe … might silently enjoy the other man’s demeanour. Even when John is on the receiving end of McKay’s ranting. Especially then, to be true.
As if: “Seriously! It’s a miracle that you can even figure out how to put one foot in front of the other. You utter idiot! How did you even survive one day of your sorry life, when you are too dumb to avert being shot but instead walk right into the line of fire!” really means, “I care for you and don’t want you to die.”
It probably does. In some way, at least. Because without John walking into the line of fire, McKay probably would soon be the one catching a bullet.
Somehow, being attracted to McKay feels… John has no words for it.
On Monday, John contemplates the breadth of McKay’s shoulders while walking behind him and runs against a post which ends at crotch level. At least, that takes care of a - let’s say - growing problem. For the time being.
On Wednesday, John almost falls down a ladder.
On Thursday, he traps his finger in a door on Atlantis. Which shouldn’t even be possible without any kind of malfunction.
The next Monday, John loses his balance while changing into his BDUs.
… This is really starting to get ridiculous.
Sometimes – or quite often – missions entail a strange situation, ranging from frightening to hilarious.
So, when the priest on PX 953 says, “To prove yourself worthy, you need to kiss …,” John isn’t surprised at all. Instead, he feels a sudden rush of excited anticipation which he just so can hide beneath his friendly “yeah -sure-I-respect-your-absolutely-reasonable-cultural-identity-stuff”- expression.
Putting his lips against the feet of the stony goddess-statue a few minutes later, he very deliberately does not think about how the sentence didn’t end with: “… each other,” and that he had expected those very words.
And, of course…
When it’s McKay’s turn to kiss the goddess’ feet with badly hidden reluctance, John, yet again, can’t help but stare at him.
The man is hunched over, his body forming an unattractive heap of impatient disapproval – hopefully not all too obvious for their esteemed hosts – and his shirt is stretched across his back. Threatens to slip out of his trousers.
McKay shifts and – almost.
John realizes that he is licking his lips. He feels kind of hot.
Later, he is almost surprised that he didn’t hurt himself in some stupid way.
Somewhere along the way, McKay has become sort of like a friend. John thinks. He isn’t good with this kind of thing, is much better at keeping people at a distance. So, he can’t be completely sure.
At the very least, McKay is team. This should be more than enough.
“You know, I am really starting to reconsider putting my life into your hands on a regular basis.”
“Oh, shut up, McKay,” John grouses.
They are on a perfect planet, with perfect weather as well as perfectly welcoming people. And John is sitting on a terrace situated beside a, naturally, perfect beach with – until just now - no one around to disturb his peace.
He had even been thinking about taking a nap before going for a swim.
That’s when McKay came by, wearing those new and well-fitting trousers and having his sleeves rolled up, showing off his arms without meaning to. Strong muscles playing beneath soft skin…
John adds, “It was just some grape juice.” Which he utterly failed to drink, but instead poured out in front of his mouth. As if he wasn’t able to put a damn glass to his damn lips.
Glancing down at himself, John sighs internally. There is a huge and wet and awfully red stain all over his shirt and his trousers. Over his crotch.
Which McKay is looking at, right now.
Which he won’t stop looking at.
And… No, no, no. John won’t allow the still tentative stirring between his legs to become anything more visible. He must have some fucking fragment of self-control left!
“Oh, that was on purpose. Give you an excuse to stare at my crotch,” John drawls.
This choice of words seems to be a good idea – play it cool, add some sarcasm, some needling – and McKay does look up, his ears tinged red. But then, in almost the same breath, he snorts. “How very thoughtful of you, Colonel.” Because Rodney McKay, as he is now, doesn’t back down that easily.
Especially not when interacting with John.
“You are making a dream come true,” the damn man adds.
To his utter horror, John has to fight a blush himself.
The sudden urge to flee is strong. Yet, instead of giving in, John leans back on the chair he is sitting on, puts his arms over his head and stretches his legs out, putting his crotch blatantly on display, and he drawls as unconcernedly as possible, “Have at it.”
Which McKay does.
The tingling sensation coming over John’s whole body in a sudden rush is no surprise, per se, but still so very inconvenient.
McKay’s lips are slightly parted, shining wetly as if he had licked them. And John realizes two things: He is licking his lips, and McKay is staring straight at John’s face.
John blinks, knows that he should do something, that he needs to pull himself together. Normally, he is good at not displaying his thoughts, at keeping a neutral face or a relaxed one. Anything but showing the inner turmoil he is experiencing.
Right now, he seems to be frozen in place.
Even worse, McKay’s expression is the one he has when thinking about a particularly challenging problem. A problem he will solve, sooner or later.
“Huh,” McKay says, while John is still trying to break out of his sudden stupor.
And because things aren’t already worse enough, McKay steps between John’s legs and puts his hands on the armrests of the chair. “You have been behaving strangely for some time now,” he says, his face, his whole damn body, hovering over John.
Now would be a good time to finally get out of this situation, John thinks and does nothing.
“And you have been awfully distracted all the time,” McKay continuous. “Often didn’t meet my gaze properly.”
And that’s it, isn’t it? McKay knows. He might not be the best at interpersonal matters, but he is a genious. He’ll connect the dots. Has done so, already. And now, he will –
He will –
With a cold feeling infusing his whole body, John finds, that he can’t finish the thought. Has no idea what McKay will do. And he hates not knowing.
Hates to feel exposed.
In the first moment, with John all caught up in his thoughts, the touch barely registers. Then, it hits him like a ton of bricks. Not in a bad way, but more…
Oh fucking HELL!
McKay has put his hand on John’s crotch. “Is this all right?” the man asks in a tentative undertone which feels as true as the sure and calm pressure of his hand.
John swallows, words lodged into his throat. How did it even come to… this?
It feels as if McKay was all over him, even if there is just one point of contact between them. One very prominent point. And John does want more. That’s not the problem. Or it is.
“I …,” he starts, doesn’t continue. And then, he shakes his head. Because McKay asked, “Do you want me to stop?”, and John needs to do something. Needs McKay to do something.
“Open your trousers,” McKay says, takes his hand away so John can follow the order. And while following orders usually doesn’t come easily to John, now it does.
After that, it’s an accumulation of flashes, sensations, fragments of touch and movement and sound. The chair under him, his hands clasping the backrest, muscles bunching. Bunching and clenching in his whole body. Breath against his face. Moans. His own moans. Too loud. McKay’s hand is moving. Skin on skin.
McKay is jerking him off. Is seeing him. Touching him. It doesn’t feel real. And yet, it does
John comes with a cry.
“Are you panicking?” McKay asks when it is over and he is standing upright again, looking down at John.
And John doesn’t know. He might be.
He can’t think straight.
“I’ll make it easy for you,” McKay says. “If you want more, come to my room tonight, when we are back on Atlantis. Otherwise… don’t come.”
Already leaving, he adds with a gaze over his shoulder, “And, if it wasn’t clear… I would like you to come. Double entendre fully intended.”
Again, over his shoulder, “Try not to hurt yourself when you’ve finally managed to get up.”
A line like this should have been John’s. But he is kinda off his game, isn’t he? And when did McKay become so disgustingly self-confident in an area which isn’t science?
Disgusting, yeah. Not so very, very hot.
John doesn’t seem to get himself to move. Yet, he knows, where he will spend the night.
Even if it scares the shit out of him.
Because… The cat is already out of the bag. And McKay just being team… It isn’t enough.