FIC: A Little Better All the Time (SGA)

[unamaga]

I'm not dead yet! Robin and I are sort of holed up in my room, eating pasta and drinking iced tea and being generally giddy like school girls. Also, I think I'm on...episode thirteen in SGA, and we only started watching two days ago. I'm EXCITED. And I wrote fic. *facepalm* I blame Robin in such a big way.


Title: A Little Better All the Time
Pairing: McShep
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 350 words
Notes: Once again, not my fault. They're so adorable!

Atlantis is very accommodating when she wants to be: the lights are low, the room is warm enough that the covers are tangled around their ankles, but not hot enough that they’re sticking together or sweating in odd places.

John’s never been so uncomfortable in his life.

“If you wouldn’t mind, I kind of need that arm to save the galaxy,” Rodney says acidly, knocking John in the stomach with his elbow when he tries to sit up. It doesn’t exactly work; Rodney’s hand slips on the sheets and he goes sprawling, forehead connecting painfully with John’s chin. “This…this.”

“Sucks?” John suggests.

“Yes, thank you, Major.”

They scuffle for a minute, trying to figure out a new position that doesn’t leave Rodney with a dead arm and John supporting his weight with his ear. One of his legs winds it way between Rodney’s, his arm sliding under Rodney’s neck to prop him up. It’s awkward. Their free arms are sort of hanging out in between their torsos and John can’t even get close enough to kiss McKay’s chin.

“We’re bad at this,” John concludes with a sigh, pulling away and sprawling out on his back. “Why are we bad at this?”

Rodney doggedly follows him over, draping himself half on John’s stomach, his nose digging into the side of John’s neck. His breath huffs out, loud and whistling. John winces and resists the urge to reach up and rub his ear.

“Maybe we should stick to sex,” Rodney says mournfully, mouth turned down at the corner where it’s mashed against John’s skin. “We’re good at that. I’m good at that. Right?”

John arches his eyebrow at the ceiling. “This was your idea, McKay.”

Rodney wriggles a little – “Shut up” – knee painfully jamming against the top of John’s thigh, and opens his mouth on John’s neck, dropping wet, messy kisses from the hollow of his throat to his chin. Their stubble scrapes together.

“Oh,” John says slowly.

He feels Rodney’s lopsided grin against his cheek, the gentle swipe of thumb just under his ear as Rodney says, “Yeah. Getting better.”