"Major! Major Sheppard!"
John turned at the sound of his name to see PDA Guy jogging down the hall toward him. The passenger manifest said his name was McKay, but to John he was PDA Guy—he always had his nose buried in the apparently endlessly fascinating documents loaded on his Palm Pilot.
The only time John had seen him not completely engrossed in his work was the time he'd checked John out, a lingering scan from foot to head that was quickly broken off when he realized John had seen it. John had returned the favor, and McKay wasn't bad to look at: sturdy, probably early forties, active enough.
John had never seen him smile, though—he wasn't sure the man was even capable of it. He certainly wouldn't have thought McKay had looked away from his PDA long enough to catch John's rank, let alone his name.
"Yeah?"
"What's the delay?"
"What do you mean, what's the delay? MCC didn't let you know?"
McKay's mouth twisted with mild annoyance. "Obviously not, Major, or I wouldn't be asking you, now would I?"
John nearly rolled his eyes. "We have to wait for the flight from Christchurch to get in with your supplies. There's a storm between here and there that's big enough to keep them from flying around it to get to us, so they're grounded for at least another hour or two. We aren't flying out to the field station without the supplies, because it's ridiculous to waste the run for only a few people and an empty cargo hold."
"Yes, yes. Eminently logical. I suppose I'll have to find something else to do in the meantime." McKay cocked his head and looked at John intently. John suddenly felt like a lab specimen. "What are you heading off to do while we wait?"
Oh sure, McKay couldn't be bothered to introduce himself or acknowledge John's presence until he needed entertainment. Maybe if he used the dumb, crude flyboy routine McKay would leave him the hell alone and he could return to his quarters and finish his book. "Well, Doctor—?" John prompted with a raised eyebrow.
"Hmmm? Oh, yes, McKay, Rodney McKay."
"Well, Dr. McKay," John replied, crossing his arms and exaggerating his drawl just a little bit, "I figured I'd head back to my quarters, take a nap, maybe jerk off. Could go either way. You?"
"Yes, I could go for the last one, definitely go either way. Which building are your quarters in?"
John blinked. "I didn't ask if you wanted to help."
"I realize that, but since you're not seeing anyone here—you're not, right? I haven't missed some terribly obvious public displays of affection with someone, have I?" McKay's speech was speeding up and one hand was fidgeting. It made John want to restrict the man's caffeine intake. "I'm certain I would have noticed. Anyway, assuming you aren't otherwise involved, there's nothing stopping you from accepting my help, right?"
"You mean beside the fact that you have no idea if I'm going to punch you in the face for even suggesting it?" John said, wryly.
McKay waved a hand, airily dismissing what John thought was a fairly valid question. "No, you're far too laid back to resort to physical violence. I would have noticed by now if you had a tendency to express overwhelming frustration in such a fashion."
John felt his mouth twitch with amusement. "You think so?"
"I'm certain of it. I've been paying close attention." McKay sounded almost offended, like he was Fermat and John had just asked him to show his work.
"But it's not like you have any empirical data to prove it, right? I mean, you haven't seen me get propositioned by another man, so this is all theoretical. I could be like any other stereotypically homophobic member of the military, for all you know."
McKay rolled his eyes. "Yes, but you're not, or we wouldn't be having this conversation."
John smiled. "No, I guess not."
"Well, there you are, then." McKay rubbed his hands together and grinned back. It was amazing how the smile changed his whole demeanor and made him look years younger. "Where do you want to do this?"
John wondered when he'd completely lost control of the conversation as he watched McKay bounce in place. Oh, what the hell, it had been a while. "There's a small storage room down at the end of the hall that doesn't seem to get much use, from what I can tell. It's closer than my quarters."
"Lead on, Major." McKay gestured down the hallway.
John shook his head and started walking, smiling as he heard McKay scramble to catch up. "So, do you always stalk random people on bases you work at for a while, or am I just lucky?"
McKay coughed. "I wouldn't call it stalking, per se—more like gathering intelligence."
"Uh hunh. Right," John replied, drawing the word out.
"What about you, Major? Do you usually go off into storage rooms to have sex with strange men?"
"That's a very good question," John said with a small grin and a sideways look. "Are you strange?"
A short laugh escaped McKay. "I suppose you could say that. But it's all part of being a genius, so I've learned to bear with it as best I can."
John laughed as they arrived in front of the storage room door. He turned the doorknob and ushered McKay in. "Modest, too, aren't you?"
"When you're as brilliant as I am, really, who needs modesty?" replied McKay with a smirk.
John closed the door behind them and moved to stand near McKay. "Obviously not you."
"Obviously." McKay grinned and leaned forward into John's space. His eyes flicked up to meet John's, then back down to John's lips, before leaning in to mouth John's collarbone. John's eyes closed as McKay's warm mouth moved up his neck. Big hands grasped his upper arms, and McKay started moving the two of them away from the door.
McKay tugged John's shirt out of his BDUs and pushed him against a bank of lockers. John fumbled with the button fly on his pants, then grabbed at the doctor's belt loops and pulled him closer so he could try to get McKay's pants undone, too. The breath on his ear was hot, nearly as hot as McKay's fleece-clad body as it pressed him into the unforgiving metal behind him. The sun filtered through the tiny window into the storage room, throwing weird patterns on McKay's face as his breathing got more and more ragged.
"Turn—turn around, it'll be easier—" McKay's hands flipped him around to face the lockers. John quickly raised his hands to keep from being squashed against the cold metal as McKay crowded John with his body.
McKay pulled the collar of his jacket aside and bit down on his shoulder through his t-shirt, just hard enough for it to be the right side of painful. A low, startled groan escaped John, and he pushed against the solid body at his back. Rough, chapped hands dragged his pants and boxers down around his knees, then he could feel McKay fumbling to finish undoing his own pants.
"Hurry up—" He could feel the chill in the air, felt goose bumps running down his legs and across his ass, until it was shocking to feel McKay's hot, naked lower body come into contact with his skin as McKay slipped his dick between John's thighs.
"Shut up, I'm just—squeeze your legs together—oh, God—" McKay shoved forward, nearly squashing him into the locker, but John pushed back, arms straining as he gritted his teeth. He tried to shift to get a hand on his own dick, but McKay was pounding them together, his dick shoving against John's balls over and over and over, as pushy as the man himself.
"Damn it, I could use a little help here," John growled.
"Yes, yes, hang on," McKay slid one hand off John's hip and down to grab his dick, roughly, impatiently jerking John off as he continued trying to shove them both through the lockers.
"You're far too cute to be stuck down here playing shuttle pilot, Major," McKay panted in his ear. "Who the hell did you piss off?"
"I—" John shuddered as his release swept through him, leaving him wrung out and shivering a little in the chill as the sweat on his body evaporated in the dry air of the Antarctic summer.
He felt McKay strain against him one last time, felt McKay's come splash against his balls and start to trickle slowly down his thighs. The sudden weight against his back was startlingly warm, but he wasn't going to be able to stand there much longer. As his breath evened out, he wiggled to the side, letting McKay slip forward. A grunt escaped McKay as he hit the locker, but he stayed there, leaning against it, panting and watching as John yanked his clothes back into place.
"I saved a friend instead of following orders," John replied with a harsh smile as he zipped his jacket up to the collar again.
McKay's eyes widened and he looked like he wanted to say something, but John crossed his arms and continued before McKay could interject. "What are you working on so intently down here?"
"I can't talk about it, actually. Classified." McKay looked slightly uncomfortable, like he couldn't come up with a better answer.
John shrugged and turned to the door. "I'm going to go get cleaned up, then. I'll see you at the airstrip in a while."
"Major." John paused before opening the door—McKay's voice was rough and quiet. "I—would you like to get coffee, maybe this evening after we're back from the field station?"
John turned back to face McKay. "Can't, I have to make the run back to Christchurch tonight. The regular pilot's sick with the flu or something, and there's some brass coming to visit." He continued with a wry grin, "Can't leave him stuck in New Zealand, now can we?"
"Oh, okay." McKay's shoulders slumped slightly. He should have been a ridiculous sight, leaning against the metal lockers with his pants halfway down his thighs, but mostly he just looked . . . sad, like the weight of the world was firmly planted on his shoulders and John had only provided a temporary break from his worries. Everything was temporary down here, at the end of the world.
But maybe he should change that once in a while.
The room was silent for a minute before John spoke again. "I didn't mean that as an 'I never want to see you ever again.' I really do have to go pick up the general, but that doesn't mean we can't grab something to eat another day, right?"
A relieved smile lightened the serious look John was beginning to think was McKay's habitual expression. Which was a shame, really—it was a nice smile. "Yes, right, of course, silly of me. Another time, then, Major."
John grinned. "So long, McKay," he replied, and went out into the hallway, whistling cheerfully as he strolled away.
Many, many thanks to my personal Furies, who never let me get away with anything, and without whom this story would be so very much less than it is now: Tiriel and Ophidiae, for their neverending support, prodding and spiffy keen editing skills. Thanks, ladies, you're the best. *vbg*
And here's to magnificent friends old and new, who never tell me to just shut up already when I'm talking over plot points for the gazillionth time. *g*
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