James (elven_wolf) wrote,
James
elven_wolf

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Fic: The Desk (SGA, Beckett/McKay)

Title: The Desk
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: humour, slash
Pairing: Carson Beckett/Rodney McKay
Rating: NC-17
Justification: what Mice wants, Mice gets
Vindication: pega liked it
Spoilers: none whatsoever
Plot: minimal
Summary: Rodney builds a desk.


Rodney grunted again. Carson rolled his eyes. "Need help, luv?"

"No, Carson, I am perfectly capable of--" Grunt. "Ah, fuck!"

Carson sighed. "Fine. I'll be over here if you need me." But of course, when he sat down, he realized he still had no desk, and there was nowhere for him to put his laptop except his lap, which was never as comfortable as it should be.

Rodney cursed.

"Rodney, you built an A-bomb in sixth grade. You bloody well should be able to put together a desk!"

"A desk, yes! This--! This is designed to be impossible!" He held up what looked rather vaguely like a desk leg in one hand, and waved a sheet of paper in the other. "I should've known the Ancients had their own version of Ikea." He dropped the leg and stood up from the floor, shoving the paper practically in Carson's face. "Does this look like Ancient to you? It's like Ancient badly translated from some other language I can't even identify! How is anyone supposed to make sense of these instructions? Listen to this," he said, and began translating from the page. "Please to insert orbit in chicken. What the fuck is that?!"

Carson sighed again, closed his eyes and shook his head. "Rodney, have you had your coffee this morning?"

For a second, Rodney looked equal parts confused and annoyed. "No, why?"

Carson reached for the paper in Rodney's hands and flipped it over so it could be read right-side-up. "Do you want me to get you a coffee now?" he asked, all sweetness and helpfulness, but only on the outside.

For a few seconds Carson wondered if Rodney would explode, literally, little bits of Rodney splattered all over their quarters, each one growing into a little tiny version of the whole and running around like something out of a Bruce Campbell movie, wreaking havoc everywhere. But the feeling passed as soon as Rodney gave his lover an embarrassed look and nodded. "Please."

Carson smiled. Good, good, he thought. I've trained him well. He had been working on his recalcitrant astrophysicist since Antarctica; it had taken a long time, but after months of living on Atlantis it was beginning to pay off. Subtly turning Rodney into a more agreeable version of himself was hard work, and Carson didn't mind taking a break to find coffee as long as the desk got built with minimal amount of collateral damage. He patted Rodney's shoulder and gave him a brief kiss. "Try not to think too hard while I'm gone," he said, grinning to himself as he left their quarters.

After an hour, two cups of coffee, and much grunting and complaining, the desk was built. It stood in the middle of the space that passed for a 'den', shining in the afternoon sunlight and seeming quite embarrassed by its own existence. Rodney and Carson stood before it, side by side, gazing with sceptical approval at their new piece of furniture. It probably wasn't helping the desk's self-esteem any. "Well, it looks all right," Carson finally said after a long silence.

"Of course it's all right," Rodney replied. "I built it. Working under pressure and against near-insurmountable odds, may I add, but I built it. Therefore, it is flawless."

"Well, if you want to get technical, the Ancients built it, you just assembled it," Carson pointed out. He ignored Rodney's eyerolling and took a step towards the desk. "You think it'll hold?"

"Of course it will hold," Rodney said, putting both hands on the surface and pushing down. "See? It holds."

"I'm not sure." Carson frowned thoughtfully then turned around and sat up on the desk.

"Carson!" Rodney protested, then gave up the effort when it was obvious Carson wasn't planning on vacating the desk right away.

Carson smiled triumphantly. "I suppose it holds. But I think it needs some more testin', wouldn't you agree?" He wriggled a little to test the desk's solidity in a way that wasn't entirely not suggestive.

"Carson, I am not fucking you on that desk."

Carson laughed. "Who said anything about fucking?" He grabbed hold of Rodney's shirt and pulled him close, quickly wrapped his arms around him and kissed him, fiercely, silencing any further protests from one cranky Dr. McKay. The sounds Rodney was soon making were anything but protests, actually, to judge by the way his hands quickly found themselves on Carson's back, snaking under his shirt in that way they had of doing that. Carson himself almost forgot his plans when he felt a warm hand sliding up along his spine, fingers callused and soft and rough all at the same time.

Carson shivered, wanting more direct contact. He loved how Rodney had taken to wearing those tight t-shirts now that his body mass had been steadily rearranging itself, and the way the fabric seemed to just slightly chafe at Rodney's chest, just enough for his nipples to stand up at attention. But now, now he wanted the whole thing off, off, OFF! It took him an instant to remember that he couldn't get Rodney's shirt off if they didn't break the kiss, and he did, reluctantly, and threw the shirt aside without looking to see where it landed. His arms were around Rodney again, stroking up his sides, feeling the muscles move under the skin.

He felt Rodney's lips and teeth at his neck, then his voice, deep with arousal, very close to his ear, naught but a whisper. "I'm still not fucking you on this desk."

Carson laughed in spite of himself and slid a hand up to Rodney's chest, fingers finding a nipple and tweaking it suddenly. Rodney yelped, a sound that was almost but not exactly unlike a squeal. "Again, who said anything about fucking?" Carson asked, and kissed Rodney's mouth again, tongue parting lips and teeth and meeting its counterpart until Rodney was making those non-complaint sounds again. Then, "This desk is just the perfect height, though," he said, smiling mischievously as he gently but firmly pushed Rodney down on his knees.

For a second, Rodney lifted his hands to Carson's thighs, fingers reaching for the zipper, but then he stopped and gave Carson a doubtful look. "How isn't this fucking?"

"You're down there, instead of on the desk," Carson explained.

"Oh, yes, that makes perfect sense," Rodney said, half-assed sarcasm, just to get that out of the way before plunging in, unzipping Carson's trousers and freeing his member from an already uncomfortable confinement. His breath shivered hot over Carson's skin, then tongue and lips followed, a hand stroking the base and it was all Carson could do to hold on to the edge of the desk, one hand heavy on Rodney's shoulder.

"Oh, Rodney, good," he mumbled, breath hitching as his cock was taken deeper into his lover's mouth. The hand that had been soft and warm on his back was now hot and firm around his length, and was soon replaced with lips and tongue and oh god, there was suction and he couldn't quite keep still and somewhere in the back of his mind was the fear that the desk wouldn't be able to take it and would collapse under him. But it held, through more breathless moans, more cries of "Fuck, yes, Rodney!" and more wriggling helplessly on the desk, held still only by the act of grabbing onto a chunk of Rodney's short hair.

Still, he almost fell off when he came, or at least that's how he felt with his trembling body thrown slightly off-balance on the edge, stilled by Rodney's strong hands on his hips. "Oh, crap, Rodney," he panted, brain still buzzing with endorphins.

Rodney stood and pushed him back against the desk, kissed him with all the enthusiasm he had shown his cock a few moments before. "I want you," he whispered roughly against Carson's lips.

Carson shivered at the need plain in that voice. "Oh god," he said breathlessly, definitely in accordance with that idea. "Just, not on the desk."
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