Email: nel_ani@yahoo.se Rating: R Fandom: Stargate SG-1/Stargate Atlantis Pairing: Sam/McKay (OMG, ship!!11!!) Spoilers: Rising (Atlantis) and 48 Hours (Stargate
SG-1) Requested by: sage_theory Summary: "I'd rather kiss a jaffa." Author's Notes: Part of theLJ
Writing Meme.
So, um... This got to be a bit longer than 500... But,
I mean, Sam/McKay? They're all difficult!
As always, thanks to Suz for a kickass job of shredding. My Sam would
be so much worse without her.
Sam knew she should have remembered the golden rule: never open the
door on a Saturday. If it wasn’t an annoying salesman, it was someone
else just as annoying.
She eyed said annoying person as he continued talking.
”Come on.”
She considered the request. Then, ”No.”
He looked at her pleadingly. ”Please?”
”No.”
”I’m going to another galaxy and might never come back, letting me
in isn’t going to kill you.”
She smiled. “No, but it might kill you.”
His pleading expression turned downright puppy dog-ish. “Come on,
Sam.”
“McKay, I’d rather kiss a jaffa.”
He smiled pleasantly. “Rodney, please. And yes, I can see how they’d
have a certain charm in a buff, brain-dead kind of way.”
“Shouldn’t you be home packing or something?”
His expression turned more sober. “I thought there were more important
things to do.”
“Like showing up on my doorstep demanding entrance after two years?”
“Demanding is such a strong word.”
“So is ‘bite me’.”
He grinned in that maddening way of his. “That’s two words.”
Now she was beginning to recall why he bugged her so much. “McKay…”
“Please.” The word was so quiet that Sam lost track of what she was
about to say. With a pang of surprise she realized that she’d miss
him when he left. When had that happened?
He didn't seem to have changed much since the last time she'd seen
him, although his sucking up skills had improved.
Well, slightly.
She sighed. “Come in for some coffee.” She held the door open.
He raised his eyebrows. “Such sweet hospitality, how could I resist?”
Nope. Hadn’t changed.
*
He paced the living room as she made coffee, seeming unable to stand
still. He jumped as she touched his shoulder. “The coffee will be
done in a few minutes. You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m just a bit jittery.”
She nodded. “That’s understandable. The Atlantis mission is a big
one.”
“I’m not jittery about that.”
She frowned. “You’re not?”
“Well yes, okay, I am, in a “shit, what the hell am I doing?” kind
of way, but not right now.”
Which seemed like a reasonable jitteriness. “What are you jittery
about then?”
“I’m wondering how much it’ll hurt.”
This conversation was turning more bizarre by the second. “How much
what will hurt?”
“This,” he said before leaning towards her and kissing her.
In the short moment she froze she had time to think of three things;
1) wow, he’s a good kisser, who would have thought? 2) did I remember
to brush my teeth this morning? and 3) this is *such* a bad idea.
Then the moment passed and she drew back, trying to catch her breath.
She swallowed as McKay stepped back and looked like he was ready to
face a firing squad.
“I…I don’t know what to say.” Understatement of the century. If he’d
shaved his head and proclaimed that he was a starting a new life as
a Tibetan monk, she couldn’t have been more surprised.
“You don’t need to say anything. I just…there were some things I
thought I needed to say before leaving.”
“Saying it two years ago wouldn’t have been easier?” And actually
*saying* it instead of bringing her off-balance in a disturbingly
pleasant way?
McKay snorted. “Please, I knew what my odds were.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Oh yeah?”
He shrugged. “You hated my guts.”
“And I don’t now?” she asked, genuinely curious of what he thought.
He looked away. “I don’t know. I just thought that I had nothing to
lose.”
She nodded. It made sense, in a twisted kind of way. Kind of like
McKay himself.
“I didn’t hate you.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Is this the point in the conversation where
I pretend to be stupid?”
“You were a self-centered, pain-in-the-ass, slimy, arrogant bastard-“
“Really, don’t spare my feelings now.”
“-but you weren’t too bad at the end.”
“Thank you.” And she’d thought Colonel O’Neill was the only one who
could put so much sarcasm in a statement.
“Should I be insulted that you thought it’d hurt?”
“I was more thinking of the way you’d kill me afterwards,” he said
in an off-hand kind of way, but she noticed how he shifted his feet
nervously.
“Oh,” she said in comprehension, “that.”
McKay swallowed.
“Any reason in particular I’d do that?”
He looked at her, a bemused expression on his face. “Well, besides
the obvious, don’t you have a boyfriend?”
She frowned. “No.”
“What about that cop guy?”
“We broke -hey! How do you know about him?”
“Are you kidding me? That report was the most exciting thing the
rumor mill had gotten in ages.”
Right. The Osiris thing.
Sam nodded. “I see your point. Well, quick or slow?”
He raised his hands, looking alarmed. “Mostly, that was meant as
a joke. To relieve the tension that my screw up would create.”
“There’s definitely tension,” Sam agreed and kissed him back.
*
She woke from the feeling that someone was watching her. She opened
bleary eyes to look at the glowing red digits of the alarm clock.
4:23. Who was watching her at such an ungodly hour?
“You’re pretty when you’re confused.”
She twisted until she was in a comfortable position and looked at
Rodney. “Yes, I forgot, you like dumb blondes.”
He laughed. “Yeah, that was kind of an asshole thing to say.”
She smiled and leaned over to kiss him. “You should get laid more
often, it does wonders for your personality.”
“Ha ha,” he said before shutting up as she pulled away the cover
and crawled on top of him.
They kissed for long minutes, moving lazily against each other. Finally,
as Sam was becoming dizzy from lack of air, she pulled back.
Rodney framed her face in his hands, rubbing his thumbs against her
temples. “Tell me honestly, will I have any chance at all with you
when I come back?”
Sam didn’t correct him on his use of ‘when’. She rubbed her face
against his hands and looked into his eyes, that even covered with
the early morning shadows pleaded with her to tell the truth. “I don’t
know. I can’t make any promises.”
He nodded, looking away.
“But,” she said, and he turned back to look at her hopefully, “it’s
Sunday today. And I have absolutely nothing to do.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He smiled. “Let’s do something about that then.”
Their kisses grew more frantic and their movements more desperate.
Sam pulled away from his mouth, panting, and pressed her face into
his neck. “Say that you’ll come back.”