Fic: Mmkay (Explicit)
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romancingmcshepAuthor: mezzo_cammin
Title: Mmkay
Rating: Explicit
Word Count: 900
Proxy posting formezzo_cammin who's currently dealing with some internet issues.
The story is also up at AO3 Here
This is how it started.
"Major, I need a few minutes of your time." The soft-spoken young sergeant stood, a bit ill at ease, beside the 'head' table, as his cohorts referred to it. It'd taken him a few minutes to work up the courage to even approach his commanding officer, but it was something of an emergency, so. Well.
Major Shepard glanced up from the chess board and cocked his head to the side. "Mmkay," he said. Which is when Dr. McKay, engrossed in their ongoing game, and apparently heedless of the young sergeant's presence, said, "What?"
Major Shepard's eyebrows lifted. "What what?" he said.
"You said my name. What do you want? Am I not moving fast enough for you? Some of us like to plan our strategies rather than – ohh-" McKay reached for his knight, thought better of it, and slid his bishop diagonally a few squares.
"I didn't say your name." The major sat up abruptly from his semi-sprawl, moved his queen, said "Check," and rose to face the sergeant. "That'll keep him busy for a few minutes, Sergeant…Cobb. My office?"
"Uh, no sir, actually, you're needed in the armory."
And off they went, Major Shepard immediately on his mic to Lt. Ford, the sergeant trailing in his wake, McKay left staring intently at Shepard's haphazard and dastardly effective chess move.
It didn't stop there.
"I don't think you understand the seriousness of the situation. Sir." The security officer tacked the 'sir' on as an obvious afterthought, but John ignored that. He did not, however, ignore the way the security officer was looking at Dr. McKay's hands as he ran them over the data relay system, searching for who knew what.
"Mmkay," John drawled, his tone just a bit on the testy side, "Why don't you explain it to me, again? Maybe use words of two syllables or less?"
The security officer swallowed hard, a flush suddenly covering her high cheekbones. She opened her mouth to reply, but…
"Shepard," McKay said, managing to imbue the syllables with both exasperation and a hint of fondness, "Drop the dumb flyboy routine, okay? I'm onto you. I also don't have time to go over this again, and you need to spend your time more productively. I need another set of hands here. Chop, chop."
John moved over to help McKay, and if he kept his body between the security officer's avid gaze and McKay's strong, sure hands on the console, well. That's what she deserved for her insubordination.
Ford thought it was hilarious.
"So, Major Shepard, we thought it'd be a good idea to hold firearm training sessions for the scientists out on the east pier. Is that okay, sir?"
"Sure," John said, wincing when Ford kicked his shin under the table.
"You're sure that's okay, sir?" Ford tried again.
"Mmkay," John said.
"What?" McKay looked up from the Beretta 92FS he was meticulously cleaning, having already had his first training session a while earlier, under John's direct supervision.
Ford cracked up, and McKay looked between John and Ford, puzzled.
"Nothing," John said, handing McKay the oil. "Make sure you don't waste any of that."
"Trust me," McKay said. " I know how precious a commodity lubricating oil is."
John had to get up and walk away, leaving Ford bent over, cackling, while McKay frowned down at the Beretta.
"Rodney," Elizabeth said, settling her hand between his shoulder blades. "Breathe."
Rodney breathed. Rapidly. Shallowly. Then he stopped. His face was blotchy, red and white. Shepard was patting him down, frantically searching for the EpiPen he knew McKay kept on his person at all times. Except, apparently, when dining in the mess hall, godfuckingdammit, but then Teyla was pressing one into his hand, and he was jamming it in Rodney's thigh, depressing the plunger, and Rodney started breathing. Rapidly. Shallowly. But breathing, nonetheless, and John was shaking.
"Mmkay?" He asked a little later, hand still on McKay's thigh.
McKay waved a hand, rasped, "What? Trying to…breathe…here…in case you…hadn't…noticed."
"Yeah," John said. "Yeah, I noticed. You just keep doing that. The breathing." John sat back on his heels, left his hand where it was until the medics got there.
Of course, McKay figured it out. Eventually.
"How is that? Is that okay?" He asked John, watching as his fingers, more than adequately lubed (precious commodity or not), entered John's ass, spreading and twisting, gently stretching his rim, as John squirmed and shimmied on the bed beneath him.
"S'good. S'perfect." John turned his head to the side on the pillow and raised up just a little, enough that he could get a hand on his cock. Rodney ran his free hand over the dip in John's back, then pressed a thumb in the dimple of his left buttock. He scooted down, slid his tongue beside his fingers and began licking. John's hand on his cock stilled.
Rodney raised his head, and John keened, a needy, pleading sound.
"Still okay?" Rodney asked.
"Mmkay," John said, panting.
"You know," Rodney said, kneeling up behind John as he lined the fat head of his cock up with John's hole and started to push in, "I prefer it when you call me Rodney."
"Mmkay," John gasped, raising himself up onto his knees.
"No, really," Rodney said, once he had bottomed out and reached around, his hand joining John's and stroking John's flushed, straining cock with long, leisurely pulls. "Rodney. Much better than MmKay."
Their laughter filled the room.
mezzo_camminTitle: Mmkay
Rating: Explicit
Word Count: 900
Proxy posting for
mezzo_cammin who's currently dealing with some internet issues. The story is also up at AO3 Here
This is how it started.
"Major, I need a few minutes of your time." The soft-spoken young sergeant stood, a bit ill at ease, beside the 'head' table, as his cohorts referred to it. It'd taken him a few minutes to work up the courage to even approach his commanding officer, but it was something of an emergency, so. Well.
Major Shepard glanced up from the chess board and cocked his head to the side. "Mmkay," he said. Which is when Dr. McKay, engrossed in their ongoing game, and apparently heedless of the young sergeant's presence, said, "What?"
Major Shepard's eyebrows lifted. "What what?" he said.
"You said my name. What do you want? Am I not moving fast enough for you? Some of us like to plan our strategies rather than – ohh-" McKay reached for his knight, thought better of it, and slid his bishop diagonally a few squares.
"I didn't say your name." The major sat up abruptly from his semi-sprawl, moved his queen, said "Check," and rose to face the sergeant. "That'll keep him busy for a few minutes, Sergeant…Cobb. My office?"
"Uh, no sir, actually, you're needed in the armory."
And off they went, Major Shepard immediately on his mic to Lt. Ford, the sergeant trailing in his wake, McKay left staring intently at Shepard's haphazard and dastardly effective chess move.
It didn't stop there.
"I don't think you understand the seriousness of the situation. Sir." The security officer tacked the 'sir' on as an obvious afterthought, but John ignored that. He did not, however, ignore the way the security officer was looking at Dr. McKay's hands as he ran them over the data relay system, searching for who knew what.
"Mmkay," John drawled, his tone just a bit on the testy side, "Why don't you explain it to me, again? Maybe use words of two syllables or less?"
The security officer swallowed hard, a flush suddenly covering her high cheekbones. She opened her mouth to reply, but…
"Shepard," McKay said, managing to imbue the syllables with both exasperation and a hint of fondness, "Drop the dumb flyboy routine, okay? I'm onto you. I also don't have time to go over this again, and you need to spend your time more productively. I need another set of hands here. Chop, chop."
John moved over to help McKay, and if he kept his body between the security officer's avid gaze and McKay's strong, sure hands on the console, well. That's what she deserved for her insubordination.
Ford thought it was hilarious.
"So, Major Shepard, we thought it'd be a good idea to hold firearm training sessions for the scientists out on the east pier. Is that okay, sir?"
"Sure," John said, wincing when Ford kicked his shin under the table.
"You're sure that's okay, sir?" Ford tried again.
"Mmkay," John said.
"What?" McKay looked up from the Beretta 92FS he was meticulously cleaning, having already had his first training session a while earlier, under John's direct supervision.
Ford cracked up, and McKay looked between John and Ford, puzzled.
"Nothing," John said, handing McKay the oil. "Make sure you don't waste any of that."
"Trust me," McKay said. " I know how precious a commodity lubricating oil is."
John had to get up and walk away, leaving Ford bent over, cackling, while McKay frowned down at the Beretta.
"Rodney," Elizabeth said, settling her hand between his shoulder blades. "Breathe."
Rodney breathed. Rapidly. Shallowly. Then he stopped. His face was blotchy, red and white. Shepard was patting him down, frantically searching for the EpiPen he knew McKay kept on his person at all times. Except, apparently, when dining in the mess hall, godfuckingdammit, but then Teyla was pressing one into his hand, and he was jamming it in Rodney's thigh, depressing the plunger, and Rodney started breathing. Rapidly. Shallowly. But breathing, nonetheless, and John was shaking.
"Mmkay?" He asked a little later, hand still on McKay's thigh.
McKay waved a hand, rasped, "What? Trying to…breathe…here…in case you…hadn't…noticed."
"Yeah," John said. "Yeah, I noticed. You just keep doing that. The breathing." John sat back on his heels, left his hand where it was until the medics got there.
Of course, McKay figured it out. Eventually.
"How is that? Is that okay?" He asked John, watching as his fingers, more than adequately lubed (precious commodity or not), entered John's ass, spreading and twisting, gently stretching his rim, as John squirmed and shimmied on the bed beneath him.
"S'good. S'perfect." John turned his head to the side on the pillow and raised up just a little, enough that he could get a hand on his cock. Rodney ran his free hand over the dip in John's back, then pressed a thumb in the dimple of his left buttock. He scooted down, slid his tongue beside his fingers and began licking. John's hand on his cock stilled.
Rodney raised his head, and John keened, a needy, pleading sound.
"Still okay?" Rodney asked.
"Mmkay," John said, panting.
"You know," Rodney said, kneeling up behind John as he lined the fat head of his cock up with John's hole and started to push in, "I prefer it when you call me Rodney."
"Mmkay," John gasped, raising himself up onto his knees.
"No, really," Rodney said, once he had bottomed out and reached around, his hand joining John's and stroking John's flushed, straining cock with long, leisurely pulls. "Rodney. Much better than MmKay."
Their laughter filled the room.