Fic Post (Or, she's progressed to porn?): The Hearth and the Salamander, SGA

I should be doing paleontology. Instead, I’m doing John and Rodney. (A girl can dream, anyway.) Bad me.

 

Fandom: SGA
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: None
Feedback: Will be hugged like a puppy. Even if it bites.

Summary: Unmitigated porn inspired by Danvers. Quite short. The porn, that is. Not Danvers.

 

Author’s Notes: The title and Rodney’s moment of literary introspection are brought to you by Bradbury. The brilliant opening line was put forth by Danvers (dvswraatins ) in the hopes of inspiring fic. It worked. If you like this, it’s her fault. If you don’t, it’s mine. I reserve the right to tinker. (Incidentally, she used the line herself in her latest fic, and to better effect. Hers even has plot. Go see it at her journal. Shoo.)

The Hearth and the Salamander





Sometimes you want to fall.
 
When he does, they fly.
 
Rodney sees it building in him occasionally – this wild look. Like smoke and fire both. There’s a hint of twisted wreckage glinting in there as well. Most likely, shrapnel waits for the unwary.
 
Rodney’s good with mechanisms, and knows all about pressure gauges and release valves. What’s in Sheppard’s eyes makes Rodney want to kiss him blind. Makes him want to make Sheppard breathe, even if it’s only in gasps and pants. Makes him want to show him that this is good, this is right, this is worthy.
 
Instead, he fakes enthusiasm. He borrows a pair of wings in the form of a jumper, trying to get high enough to keep Sheppard from the sun. He drags and often bullies Sheppard into flight lessons that never show much progress and probably never will. Rodney wasn’t born for the sky.
 
He knows why he does it; he’s not great with human nature as a whole, but in cases specifically drawing his attention, he can do the math. What he doesn’t know is why Sheppard goes along with it. The best theory he’s got going is that Sheppard will do anything to be in the air, although he quietly harbors the hope that it’s more.
 
And then one day, Sheppard sets the controls to automatic and turns to Rodney and kisses him like he’s starving. There are teeth, and it’s messy and wet, and oh god is it good.
 
Rodney’s not quite sure how they get from the cockpit to the rear – and, someday when there is not sex, he’ll need to assess those word choices – but they’re stretched out on the floor and Sheppard is above him and there are hands in very interesting places. His own, for instance, are finding out that Sheppard’s lower back is already a little slick from sweat, and his shoulder blades are almost a perfect hand's width apart. Sheppard’s hands are finding out things Rodney has wanted to tell him for a long time.
 
They’re naked from hip to knee, Rodney’s t-shirt pushed up to his chest, and Sheppard is braced with a hand on either side of Rodney’s head. They’re breathing into each others’ mouths, quick and hard, and Sheppard is rutting against him in the same pattern. Sheppard pulls back to look at him, and Rodney sees the smoke is gone. It’s all flames now. He thinks, a little hysterically, It was a pleasure to burn.
 
His pants are holding his knees together and he can’t get his legs wider. It isn’t quite enough, and he’s going crazy with it. And then Sheppard goes still above him, head bowing to Rodney’s chest as he makes a noise only recognizable to the dying and the lost, and his hips jerk down convulsively. He shakes with the strain, and his forehead presses heavily on Rodney’s sternum. Rodney can feel breath against his bare stomach, stuttering and harsh. After a moment, Sheppard shifts onto one forearm and slips a hand down between them, head still pressed to Rodney’s center. His hand is firm and sure, no hint of hesitation in the smooth strokes. Rodney’s fingers scrabble at the metal below him before finding purchase on Sheppard. The angle of Sheppard’s head changes slightly, and he presses his lips to skin in a dry kiss just below the line of Rodney’s shirt. Rodney comes with his eyes wide, breath suddenly cut off by the shock, hips arching and twisting off the deck.
 
Sheppard’s strokes gentle gradually and then stop, and he moves to slip to the side. Rodney’s just recovered enough to hang on. Sheppard reads his cues and stays put instead, settles himself with care. Rodney would find it almost funny, if it weren’t making something inside him ache.
 
They’ve got three of the four elements up here. They could almost stay right where they are. Rodney’s never had much luck with water anyway.
 
He knows this won’t change anything. Well, maybe some things. The way he spends his free hours, for one. And, with any luck, the frequency and quality of his orgasms. The look will still come to Sheppard’s eyes, though, and Rodney will keep making himself a millstone to keep Sheppard in the air. A lifetime of slow build doesn’t fade quickly.
 
It’s alright, though. Next time, Rodney will have plans. He’ll even think happy thoughts.

Edited to add: This one now has a companion, this time from John's perspective. If you're interested, go here.