Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Pairing: McKay/Zelenka
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 629
Warnings: Explicit m/m sex
Notes: Originally posted to
slashfest, for 
garneteve. The request was: "Their shouting matches in the lab accumulate into something more in the bedroom." (Hope she doesn't mind that they didn't make it to the bedroom.)Disclaimer: Not mine. Just having some fun.
What happened between the soldiers in the sparring rooms of Atlantis was nothing compared to the arena of the labs. There were other modes of attack to anticipate and block, other weapons and injuries to contend with. In the end, the sweat smelled the same, and the results were identical in Radek's mind: highly trained individuals who could think and act and use their skills to take an enemy out, if they managed to survive.
He'd never admit it to Rodney in a thousand years, but he needed these battles like he needed to breathe.
At the height of one of their work binges, during a particularly triumphant moment for Radek, Rodney says, "Either there is a Higher Power, and He, She or It has rewritten the laws of physics sometime in the middle of the night, or you are a cheating bastard!"
"Maybe you will learn this time to stop making bets you can't win," Radek replies. "Already I have won from you three pounds of coffee, a year’s pay and every box of pop tarts in this galaxy, which sounded good on paper, but are only two, might I remind you."
Everything has a formula, even their dance. Coffee, whiteboard, work, conflict, rage. Most of the time, Rodney has the presence of mind to yank the glasses off Radek's face before he slams him against the nearest wall to savage his mouth and take his breath.
Rodney kicks his legs apart, grinds down hard against his hips. His cock is like steel against Radek's thigh, and he snarls and fists his hands in Radek’s hair, holds him in place to bite and lick.
"I take vicious bullshit from you all day," Radek hisses, inches from Rodney's flushed, furious face. "Surely you can do better." With both grace and economy, he kicks Rodney’s legs out from under him so his ass lands on the floor. Sure, Rodney has about 40 pounds of bulk on him, but engineers know all about leverage.
He gets a boot down on Rodney's back as he's rolling to stand. He wants Rodney down on his stomach before he can get any ideas of his own. Radek drops down on him hard, to hear his breath gust out of him. "Fucker," Rodney says, as he struggles, trying to dislodge him.
Radek likes to feel the strength of him, likes to wrestle and push and break himself against Rodney's solidity the way that the ocean shatters and rains against the piers of the city. He works Rodney's shirt up enough to get to some skin and gets his pants down just enough to open him with spit and rough fingers; then Rodney bucks and swears for entirely different reasons.
Radek holds him down with a hand pressed to the middle of his back and works his own pants open. He pushes into Rodney relentlessly, fucks him hard and fast, comes with his teeth against Rodney's neck, nearly breaking skin.
When Radek rolls off him, Rodney frees himself from the tangle of his pants and straddles Radek’s face. “Take it,” he growls, and feeds Radek his cock until he’s choking on it, fucks his mouth until he comes with a shout down Radek’s throat.
Rodney collapses on the floor next to Radek, and for a while they just catch their breath and watch the lights on the ceiling.
“I still think you’re a cheating bastard.”
“Shut up, and bring me those pop tarts.”
He'd never admit it to Rodney in a thousand years, but he needed these battles like he needed to breathe.
At the height of one of their work binges, during a particularly triumphant moment for Radek, Rodney says, "Either there is a Higher Power, and He, She or It has rewritten the laws of physics sometime in the middle of the night, or you are a cheating bastard!"
"Maybe you will learn this time to stop making bets you can't win," Radek replies. "Already I have won from you three pounds of coffee, a year’s pay and every box of pop tarts in this galaxy, which sounded good on paper, but are only two, might I remind you."
Everything has a formula, even their dance. Coffee, whiteboard, work, conflict, rage. Most of the time, Rodney has the presence of mind to yank the glasses off Radek's face before he slams him against the nearest wall to savage his mouth and take his breath.
Rodney kicks his legs apart, grinds down hard against his hips. His cock is like steel against Radek's thigh, and he snarls and fists his hands in Radek’s hair, holds him in place to bite and lick.
"I take vicious bullshit from you all day," Radek hisses, inches from Rodney's flushed, furious face. "Surely you can do better." With both grace and economy, he kicks Rodney’s legs out from under him so his ass lands on the floor. Sure, Rodney has about 40 pounds of bulk on him, but engineers know all about leverage.
He gets a boot down on Rodney's back as he's rolling to stand. He wants Rodney down on his stomach before he can get any ideas of his own. Radek drops down on him hard, to hear his breath gust out of him. "Fucker," Rodney says, as he struggles, trying to dislodge him.
Radek likes to feel the strength of him, likes to wrestle and push and break himself against Rodney's solidity the way that the ocean shatters and rains against the piers of the city. He works Rodney's shirt up enough to get to some skin and gets his pants down just enough to open him with spit and rough fingers; then Rodney bucks and swears for entirely different reasons.
Radek holds him down with a hand pressed to the middle of his back and works his own pants open. He pushes into Rodney relentlessly, fucks him hard and fast, comes with his teeth against Rodney's neck, nearly breaking skin.
When Radek rolls off him, Rodney frees himself from the tangle of his pants and straddles Radek’s face. “Take it,” he growls, and feeds Radek his cock until he’s choking on it, fucks his mouth until he comes with a shout down Radek’s throat.
Rodney collapses on the floor next to Radek, and for a while they just catch their breath and watch the lights on the ceiling.
“I still think you’re a cheating bastard.”
“Shut up, and bring me those pop tarts.”