"Infinite Degrees"
by Maisie (maisierita@comcast.net)
Rating: R, I guess
Pairing: McShep. Again.
Spoilers: None
Summary: ... it was oh-so-many different kinds of wrong to be here, watching
this, but even so, it wasn't like she'd done it on purpose.
Author's Notes: You know, I had no idea what, if anything, to write for this
challenge, and then I realized I had this little piece of nonsense sitting on my
hard drive already. Talk about serendipity. All the fun of posting, none of
the pressure of a deadline. Not betaed yet. And yes, I do have
backstory in my head for this, but you can feel free to fill in your own.
It wasn't her fault.
Really.
It wasn't her fault. At all. Because, well, yes, okay, it was oh-so-many
different kinds of wrong to be here, watching this, but even so, it wasn't like
she'd done it on purpose.
Not the first time, anyway.
The first time was definitely Daniel's fault.
So that made this Daniel's fault, too. Yeah, that sounded right.
It was Daniel's fault.
Daniel's fault that she was here, in her office, with the door locked and bolted
for good measure, with the speakers turned up just loud enough so she could hear
the moans but not so loud that anyone in the corridor could, with the lights
down low so that the illicit images from the security feed cast strange,
flickering shadows on the walls.
This was bad. Being here, watching this, had infinite degrees of badness, and
she knew she should turn off the monitor and disconnect the feed and never,
ever, ever do anything like this again. Ever.
But then, on the screen, John Sheppard arched his back and slammed his head
against the wall, and even though she couldn't see all the details, even though
most of the interesting parts were obscured by the body in front of him, he was
obviously coming and coming hard; his body was shaking with the force of it, and
the look on his face ...
God, the look on his face.
And then his eyes opened slowly, hazel and sleepy and dazed, and he grinned a
lazy grin, smiling at the gods and the universe and particularly at the man
kneeling on the floor in front of him.
"Rodney," he said, in a plain and simple voice, no seduction in his tone because
it was all in that languid grin, and extended a hand down to help pull his lover
to his feet. Then there was kissing, lots of kissing; fierce and rough and hot,
alpha-male kissing with lips and teeth and tongues, and damn it if Rodney McKay
didn't give as good as he got.
Rodney.
McKay.
Seriously, who would have thought?
Samantha Carter sighed to herself and shifted uncomfortably in her chair.
This was all Daniel's fault.
Really.