Word count: 960
Characters: Sheppard, McKay
Summary: Uhm. Kissing. Written with this in mind.
On the exceptionally long list of things he would never, ever do under any circumstances, making out with John Sheppard was last on that list with an estimated 75230584096.2 percent chance against. The longest of longshots. On his To-Do list, it was below "be eaten by sharks" and "eat toxic waste."
But there they were, on the floor of Rodney's room, Sheppard pinning him down and his own traitorous hands clenched so tight he was sure John's shoulders would be bruised. That'll be fun to explain to Beckett, he thought.
They had been arguing about... what? Oh. The specifics of a particular mathematical sequence. Rodney was sure the math was sound. John was sure there was an error somewhere because what Rodney said the formula was, was obviously what the formula wasn't. He had the gaping hole in his shirt to prove it.
"Well you just did something wrong!" Rodney insisted, and then John was in his face. Rodney backed up until he was against the wall, which, unfortunately, meant John had him trapped.
"Self-centered, egotistical..." John's angry words were punctuated by evenangrier stabs at the wall directly next to Rodney's left eye. "Can't accept the possibility that you were wrong. It could have killed me! One setting higher and it would have disassembled the atoms of my stomach!"
John seethed. "What."
"That's what it is! It's for disposal of organic materials. It dissolves the molecular bond and turns it into energy. Good for a place where burial space is limited, or for getting rid of your enemies bodies. It probably wouldn't have hurt you because you're still alive. It couldn't have broken down-"
John was purple, and he was going to punch Rodney in the face. Rodney employed the best hand-to-hand, close-quarter, self-defense move he knew.
He tightly shut his eyes, sucked in his lips, and dropped his neck and raised his shoulders until his chin was near his chest. Even his testicles drew up tight, desperate for shelter.
"I really wish you'd look at me when I'm yelling at you. Look at me, McKay!" John gripped Rodney's face and tried to pry Rodney's eyes open.
Rodney squeezed them tighter and tried to turn his head, but John had hands that were not just strong but large and it simply wasn't possible. Rodney's fists clenched in anticipation of the blow and hoped as hard as he could that it wouldn't break his jaw, because then eating would be just impossible. Although he might be able to use it for months of guilt.
The punch didn't come and it didn't happen and Rodney thought maybe it had but it had been so hard that it'd knocked him unconscious, or it had killed him.
His stomach growled. Oh good. Not dead, he thought, and Sheppard laughed. Snorted through his nose, really. Humorlessly and a little ashamed.
Rodney opened his right eye just the tiniest fraction afraid that would be the moment John chose and the last thing Rodney would ever see would be that fist aimed right at his head.
Instead what he saw was John's head aimed right at his head and before Rodney could even open close his eye again, John's mouth was on his and one of his hands had snaked around to hold the back of Rodney's neck.
Oh my God, what is he doing? Rodney thought wildly and now his eyes were certainly wide open and he could see John's nose, and the blurry flicker of John's eye beneath the lid, and it was repulsive. Yet strangely interesting. But why were Rodney's hands creeping up until they were on John's shoulders? And why weren't they pushing John away? And why were they both half sliding and half falling to the floor?
Hello?! I'm dead and this is Hell,right? Rodney wanted to squirm away, but his mouth and his hands had their own agenda, and John's knee firmly between his legs and his weight against Rodney's thigh and abdomen limited anything else he might have tried.
John's breathing was deep, steady, and hypnotic. Rodney breathed through his nose and it whistled a little. His head was starting to hurt from the lack of air.
John bit Rodney's lower lip and slipped his tongue into his mouth when Rodney squeaked. Rodney pressed forward, but instead of evicting John's tongue from his mouth, he found his tongue in John's mouth.
John tasted like Atlantis: water with a little salt and a little metallic tinge, and something like the taste Rodney got in his mouth when something was emitting ozone. It was exactly what Rodney had thought John would taste like.
Wait. What?! Rodney pulled back, pressing himself against the floor and finally managing to push up against John's shoulders.
They split apart, John still kneeling over Rodney's leg and Rodney flat on his back, looking confused, dazed, and irritated. Which was how he looked most of the time, really.
John wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "Ah," he said.
"You're restricting blood flow to my foot, Sheppard."
"Right, sorry buddy." He absently patted Rodney on the stomach, then stood up. He held out one hand to Rodney. "Need help?"
"You've done more than enough for one day, thanks. What the hell was that? One minute you're trying to kill me, the next you're... still trying to kill me only in a really strange way. Maybe that disintegrator did more damage than Carson thought. You should go see him. Get your..." Rodney flapped his hands, "get your brain checked out."
John smiled slightly and tipped his head to one side. "Yeah, maybe I'll do that. Catch you later, McKay."
Rodney was already falling under the spell of his computer. He waved dismissively. "Yeah, whatever. See ya, Sheppard."