stillane | Fic Post (Or, holy crap, another one?): Revelations, SGA

See, I told you there'd be something SGA-oriented around here eventually.

Yeah, so... this one had a mind of its own even more than most. I wanted porn. It didn't. It won. Oh well.

Just a little post-Epiphany tag that's been sitting mostly completed on my computer for the last month. I finally found a way to make it stop, and thus here it is. Author's notes (if you're interested in hearing me whine a little) are at the end.

Fandom: SGA
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Epiphany
Summary: Time starts moving again.

Revelations

When they get home, Rodney doesn’t jump John. It takes a supreme exercise of willpower, but he keeps his distance. It’s been a few desperate hours for him, but much longer for Sheppard. Rodney’s not going to push the issue, not without proof that John’s still on board. Plus, the man’s a little ripe. He figures the least he can do is let Sheppard come to him. Preferably after a shower.

He gives it three hours. By the time night is just creeping over the ocean, he’s decided patience and understanding are overrated. It takes him about five minutes to get to John’s door, the first and last of which he spends being righteously determined. He fills the middle three with being slightly more uneasy in unspecified ways.

He does make the gesture of waiting for John to open the door. Admittedly, he’s also fully prepared to hotwire the system should John prove uncooperative, but it’s the thought that counts. Sheppard complies easily enough, though, and lets him in wordlessly. He’s wearing boxer shorts only, with a towel around his neck. Rodney’s gratified to realize he’s timed this correctly, and John is definitely post-shower. He turns away from Rodney immediately, heading for the bathroom at the back of his main living space. Still feeling pugnacious, Rodney follows.

John moves to stand over the sink – bathroom layouts apparently being a constant of the universe, like the wheel – and that’s when Rodney sees the paraphernalia. There’s a towel spread on the largest counter space, little flecks of dark hair already spotting it. A pair of scissors rest on one side. The pelt on his face is tamed, but still present. Sheppard is wiping the clippings off his neck and carefully not meeting Rodney’s eyes in the mirror. He puts the second towel down and reaches for the scissors. He’s using the other hand to coax his damp hair to rebel against gravity when he speaks.

“So, what are you doing here? Thought you’d be asleep by now, what with the big day and all.”

He wasn’t gone long enough to forget that much, surely, and… he can’t possibly be attempting what Rodney thinks he’s attempting. Except he is. “Are you insane? You can’t do that. Not by yourself. You’ll put your eye out.”

Sheppard is smirking at him in reflection. Rodney thinks it over, but he fails to see the humor. “Don’t worry. I’m sure the soap poisoning will get me first.”

Rodney huffs impatiently and grabs for the scissors. Sheppard doesn’t release them immediately, and both their hands stay closed around the handles for a moment. Rodney is acutely aware that it’s the first contact they’ve had since Sheppard’s detour to the land that time mislaid. Then he’s the only one holding the scissors, and he jolts back into movement.

“Come here.” He fusses busily with rearranging John in front of him, trying out a few positions before realizing the flaw to this plan. “Wait.”

He carries the scissors with him, hooked around a finger, to save Sheppard from himself. He comes back with a chair, plunks it down facing the mirror, and manhandles Sheppard into it. The towel goes back around John’s shoulders, and then Rodney has no choice but to begin.

He starts fondling the hair mostly as a stalling tactic. It’s been awhile since he’s done this, and he needs to size up the job before he starts. It isn’t until he tries to turn Sheppard’s head for inspection and meets just a fraction of resistance that he notices the tension in the other man. Now that he’s looking, Sheppard’s shoulders are rigid, his head held just slightly bowed and unmoving. Rodney’s hands still for a moment. He starts cutting to let them move again.

Neither one of them says anything for a while. When Sheppard finally speaks, it’s with a deceptively mild tone. “So, you’ve done this before, right?”

Rodney answers in his best voice of distraction. “Yes, yes. I’m not a threat to your precious follicles. I’m certainly better at it than you would have been.”

Sheppard snorts. “You have some deep, dark past as a beautician you’ve been hiding from us?”

“No. And the term is stylist. I’ve just spent the last several years of my life working on very secret projects in very secret places with no barbershops in sight. You acquire certain skills.”

Sheppard nods in understanding. Rodney nearly clips his ear, and grips his head firmly with one hand as a reminder. Sheppard grunts his assent this time. The pattern of carding, measuring, and snipping becomes very Zen.

He’s working near the top on the left side when Sheppard says, “I did. With her.”

He freezes for a moment, eyes stuttering to the mirror where Sheppard is looking at him from under his brows, then resumes measuring and cutting. He’s hoping the set press of his lips will pass as an effect of concentration. “I know.”

When he glances up at the mirror again, Sheppard is focusing his gaze on the sink like it might suddenly do tricks. “I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t falter this time. “I know.”

Sheppard nods again, and this time when Rodney accidentally trims a lock a bit too short in response, he doesn’t feel guilty.

He finishes with the rest quickly and efficiently. When he’s done with the soft fringe where skull meets neck, he brushes the detritus away and does not kiss the skin that is revealed, paler than the rest. He moves between Sheppard and the sink, leaning back against it. He tilts the other man’s head up, and keeps his eyes firmly on the bangs he’s trimming. Finally, he’s out of things to occupy his hands. The beard proves to be his salvation.

John moves to stand, and Rodney pushes him back down with a palm to the chest. He doesn’t explain, just grabs the shaving cream from the counter behind him and goes to work. John’s forehead stays crinkled with confusion right up until Rodney reaches for the safety razor that he is somehow not surprised to find John owns. Then it smooths out unnaturally swiftly, and it’s Rodney’s turn to be confused. He looks back and forth between John and the blade in his hand a few times before he gets it, and then feels his own eyebrows lift in surprise.

John’s afraid of him. Right here, in this moment, John Sheppard the Fearless is freaking out over Rodney McKay. He finds himself utterly thrown by this.

“Ah, here… why don’t you -“ He tries feebly to hand the razor over. Sheppard doesn’t take it.

“No. Go ahead.” He still won’t look at Rodney, and that’s really not very conducive to reading this situation correctly. Finally, Rodney makes a few abortive motions toward John’s face and then settles in like he means it.

John is still throughout the experience, moving only when Rodney poses him. For his part, Rodney is trying not to breathe too hard. The razor glides effortlessly over John’s skin, moving from top to bottom, over cheek and neck. The process goes surprisingly smoothly, right up until John breathes and Rodney flinches and there’s a tiny horizontal line of blood on the left side of John’s jaw.

Rodney blinks at it stupidly for a moment, then steps rapidly away. He lays the razor carelessly on the counter and staggers toward the door. “I’ll just…”

Sheppard doesn’t say anything and doesn’t follow. Rodney makes it as far as Sheppard’s bed and sinks down to sit. He stares out Sheppard’s windows, hands on his knees and back too straight, until John comes out.

And the crazy thing is, he doesn’t mind that John shared his body with someone else. Alright, that’s a lie. He does mind. Quite a lot, actually, but it’s more like salt in the wound already made.

He understands that John, despite all appearances, is monogamous by nature. However many partners he may or may not have cycled through, they all came and went one at a time. He isn’t faithful, however, not full of faith at all, and that may be what truly bothers Rodney most. As much as he’d like to write it off as boys-will-be-boys ideology and be subsequently righteously furious, he can’t. This is a far more subtle cut.

John didn’t just hop the nearest nearly-Ancient bimbo. John gave up, and John got even.

Rodney doesn’t know what to do with that fact. He wants to shout, See, I saved you.

Somehow, hah doesn’t stand up very well in the face of I fucked someone else.

There really is no appropriate comeback for that one. There isn’t even really an inappropriate one.

Adding to the impotent fury burning through him is the fact that it is, in some ways, completely unjustified. He’d never thought to specify, never thought it was actually necessary, but they hadn’t ever mentioned being exclusive.

Rodney decides this fact makes a good shield to cover his retreat and stands up briskly. “Look, we never really established any boundaries here, and I don’t have any right to –“

As usual, John’s already flanking him. “You have the right.”

It’s quiet but firm, and has the effect of stopping Rodney in mid-stride. “Oh. Huh.”

John left the towel in the bathroom, and he’s still wearing only his boxers, and he looks startlingly naked where he’s standing at the foot of the bed.

Rodney spends a long moment just staring at him, and realizes two things. First, he’s remarkably tired. It really has been one hell of a day. Second, he’s missed John. All other considerations aside, that fact still holds true.

He’s got his jacket off and is back to sitting on the edge of the bed, reaching for his shoelaces, when John finally opens his mouth. “What are you… Wait, what?”

“What does it look like? I know you’ve been among the savages, but surely they retained the concept of sleep.” He makes a point of stripping off t-shirt and pants before crawling under the blankets. John doesn’t move for a long pause, and then shakes himself like a dog drying off or a man coming awake. He moves to the other side of the bed and crawls in.

They lie there for a bit, flat on their backs. If the bed were big enough, they probably wouldn’t be touching one another at all. It isn’t comfortable, in a variety of ways, but it’s a start. Despite all expectations, it isn’t long before Rodney feels himself start to drift.

He comes quickly back awake when Sheppard very deliberately turns and drapes himself carefully over Rodney. John lays an arm across his chest and puts his head on Rodney’s shoulder. There is a tension in him that screams of discomfort. Rodney is equally cautious as he moves his leg a bit to the side. John takes the hint or maybe challenge and lays a leg over Rodney’s.

They’re lying there, both as horizontal as can be, when Rodney realizes that this is John on his knees.

It isn’t perfect, and he’s not over the whole damaged situation – not by a long shot – but he’s surprised to find that he’s willing to be, eventually. He fully intends to put Sheppard through hell in the coming days, but that tacitly implies he will be near Sheppard to begin with.

He really is most of the way asleep again when Sheppard rumbles into his neck, “I missed you.”

He doesn’t let on, for John’s sake, but he hears it. Despite everything else, he recognizes this as truth, and shares it.

Author’s notes: This is what happens when you watch the movie Phenomenon, the episode Epiphany, and have Chris Larabee stomping around somewhere in the back of your mind. Really, that’s the only explanation I can come up with.

On a more uplifting note, I’m working on one that is much less of a downer and more of a romp. Off to scribble some more over there.