Re: Stargate: Atlantis, Repli!Shep/Repli!McKay (the duplicates from "This Mortal Coil"), determinati
Rodney paused and parsed, and then ran his free hand roughly over Sheppard's shirt, feeling for damage. He found one sleeve where the black cotton hid stiff bloodstains, and turned around (ignoring Sheppard's muffled oof) to feel down Sheppard's legs.
"Pervert," Sheppard said, but there was no sting to the word.
"No worse than airport security," Rodney snapped back. "What did you do?" He jabbed Sheppard over the mended holes he'd found on his thigh.
"I shot myself." Rodney could hear the smirk. "The scientific method in action. It's not like this is my real body," he said, almost defensively (and defensive was good, Rodney thought, defensive meant that Sheppard knew he was wrong). Rodney reached around and undid Sheppard's belt, and then the fly of his trousers, and pulled them down.
That got a reaction; Sheppard bucked beneath him and called him fucking insane. Rodney used all those hard-earned fighting tips he'd got from Ronon and Teyla, applying his weight like a lever as he turned around and rolled Sheppard over and pinned Sheppard's wrists to the jumper floor. Sheppard didn't have enough padding to protect himself: in Rodney's hand, he felt Sheppard's bones grinding together. He supposed it hurt. But not half as badly as being shot. He slid his free hand down Sheppard's body, over his hip, made several exploratory passes over Sheppard's hairy leg, but he hadn't really expected scars.
He hadn't expected Sheppard to make a low, broken noise, either, or to try and rip himself away.
"Well, that's interesting," Rodney said, shoving his hand up, maybe a little too hard, into Sheppard's crotch. Sheppard hissed as Rodney rubbed his hand over his hard-on. The front of his underwear was already damp. "I didn't know you were into guys."
"I'm not," Sheppard said, his legs tensing. His knees drew up, feet flat against the floor as if he were going to try bucking Rodney off again, and then he took three fast breaths -- holding himself still.
Which was a pity, because if Sheppard wasn't getting off on Rodney, then it must be the situation. Threat, restraint, and pain. Well. Who was Rodney kidding? Sheppard had been shooting himself, for fun.
"I am." Rodney stared down at Sheppard, not caring if he saw his unhappiness. "I have to admit, this isn't something I ever really considered, but I think we can arrange something. Can I trust you?"
"Yes?" Sheppard said, and Rodney felt Sheppard's cock jerk against his palm.
"Then keep your hands there," Rodney said, and let go immediately, because he needed to know now if this was going to work. Sheppard's fingers curled into loose fists; Sheppard stared at him with narrowed eyes. Rodney stared back. "You're not going to like this," he added, feeling his mouth slide down at the corner the way it did when he was sad.
"That's the point, McKay," Sheppard said, with a sort of a sigh as Rodney patted his cock goodbye and used both hands to unbutton Sheppard's shirt. He wasn't wearing a t-shirt underneath. Rodney wondered if it was lying somewhere stiff with blood, full of inexplicable holes, the victim of violence Sheppard had unleashed on himself.
Rodney touched Sheppard's nipples, rolled them between his fingers, held them between index and middle fingers and scraped the tops, lightly, with his thumbnail.
"I remember the first time Rodney saw your chest," he said, trying for a light conversational tone. "I remember him being angry with you for ruining perfectly good jerk-off material by being all hot and half-naked and dead."