New story: Stimulus
May. 13th, 2007 11:39 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
eretriaLast post for today. Promise.
Title: Stimulus
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
eretria
Fandom: SGA
Characters: John Sheppard, Rodney McKay, Sam Carter
Rating: NC-17
Size: 3399
Summary: You wanted this, remember?
Spoilers: This is a bit tricky. It uses a plot device based on spoiler speculation for season four, but only speculation, I know nothing beyond the fact of Sam joining the cast. So, read with that caveat.
Dedication: Forauburnnothenna
Warning: auditory voyeurism
Thank you: toauburnnothenna and murron for very speedy beta-read. Also, _inbetween_. You know why.
You wanted this, remember? Your own command. Your own staff. Your own responsibility away from your usual role in the team. You wanted something new, something to challenge you. Now live with your damn choices.
She hadn’t felt this cold and alone in forever. Even after her father had died, it had been better, because she always knew on which doors to knock in case things got too bad and she couldn’t bear the thought of being alone for one more second.
Atlantis was different. With its endless corridors, it was a little like the SGC, but in the end, not at all. Atlantis was old. Sure, for the one who only looked at it briefly, it looked modern beyond imagination, but whenever she touched a wall or a console or a piece of furniture, the age of this city sprang back to her mind and she felt like walking in a museum, always careful, never allowed to let her guard down.
And she never could. Now, having command of Atlantis with the approval of the SGC and the IOA, she wasn’t what the people in Atlantis had hoped for. Oh, they never showed it to her openly, but Sam knew what they thought. The scientists didn’t want her advice, didn’t want her to “meddle” because they wanted to make their own mistakes, and didn’t appreciate her suggestions, suggestions she couldn’t help make when she saw something was going wrong. But, unlike McKay, whom they grudgingly acknowledged as one of their own, she was an outsider, and no one liked getting advices from an outsider.
The military was much the same. They answered to her command, but she knew they wanted Sheppard back in charge. Just like she had wanted Hammond back after Landry had stepped up. The men were fiercely loyal, and suddenly having her in charge was met with not very well veiled resentment. The soldiers thought her too soft and she couldn’t rage against that, couldn’t show them what she was really made of without losing her integrity. So she gritted her teeth at night and woke up with headaches and a locked jaw, morning after morning.
As for the team … Sam ran a hand over her face, water sluicing over her hair and eyes. They never showed her what they really thought. Sheppard was a mixture between attentive, tense, and as laid back and downright snotty as Jack had been at his best, while McKay … McKay had stopped hitting on her the moment she set foot on Atlantis. He just hadn’t made any of the comments she had grown accustomed to, and that had been an odd punch to the gut. It meant that he saw her as the boss now. Not the same kind of boss Elizabeth Weir had been, but a boss nevertheless, and you didn’t hit on your boss. At least McKay didn’t. Sam hated to admit that she missed it, the familiarity of it. Ronon just grunted in her direction, never giving her a straight answer and Teyla was silkily polite, but never once showed her what she really thought. Sam was on the outside from the beginning. And interloper, not family, like Elizabeth Weir had been.
Sam lifted her head, blinked her eyes open against the rain-soft water from the large shower head, released the air from her lungs in a whoosh. It should have been different. Not all politics and everyday struggles and quarrels and reports, day in, day out.
In retrospect, she knew she’d been naïve. She’d heard Jack complain about the dullness of being a General enough. But she’d wanted her own command, to get away from Earth for some time. She had thought she’d find a weapon against the Ori somewhere in Atlantis’s vast databases. But with the gene therapy not taking, she only had a subdued version of what Atlantis had to offer. And she didn’t have the time. Administration suffocated here, muting everything like the water running into her mouth, eyes and ears.
She brushed a hand against the control and shut off the water. She still hadn’t quite grown used to not having tiles in the shower, but the sleek beige walls in the communal shower were similar enough to the communal showers at the SGC to make her feel a little bit at home.
It wasn’t homesickness. She’d been a military brat, moving had been her second nature. Still was. She got antsy if she didn’t move at least every four years.
This, here … She didn’t want to analyse it to death, and shouldn’t, really, but she had found out early on that the communal showers gave her back part of what she missed the most – feeling part of a team.
The showers back at the SGC only had a partition between men's and women's cubicles, and they had always talked to each other after missions, while washing off grime, sweat and sometimes blood. It was one way of team bonding. One of many, but a good one. She smiled, remembering. Daniel had once told her, beet-red and fast-talking, that it had taken him a while to get used to having her so close. Sam had only ruffled his hair. Of course, sexuality wasn't left at the door. Whoever said that lied. But in the end, they were a team, and a team worked better without complicating things. So they had talked. Laughed. Teased each other.
Water dripped from her bare arms onto the smooth taupe floor where it disappeared without her seeing a sink.
Slipping into her robe and walking the way back to her quarters on paths not frequented by anyone, only socks on her feet, would feel good. Then, after some coffee, she'd expect Sheppard and McKay back from their trip to the mainland of their new planet.
Only … there were voices in front of the door, voices that turned familiar as the door hisses open.
"If you'd been a little faster, you wouldn't—"
Sam bit back a gasp. Sheppard.
"If you hadn't insisted on checking out that plain, we never would have—"
This time, she had to bite her lip to keep from making a sound of dismay. McKay. Damn it. She was suddenly painfully aware of her state of undress.
"How was I supposed to know there'd be some freaky wild animal trying to eat us?"
"Maybe because, oh, we were in the forest of a planet that is still entirely new to us and you don't need to make friends with everything that crosses our path?"
"Just … shut up and strip, McKay."
Sam crossed her arms over her breasts and held her breath. Water dripped from her hair. With both men in here and undressing, she couldn't get her robe – Crossing the small corridor to the women's dressing rooms would put her in plain sight of them, naked as the day she was born, and even if she missed McKay's clumsy attempts at flirting, she'd rather not give him any kind of ammunition. He'd use it. If he felt the team was threatened by her, deliberately. Otherwise, just tactlessly.
She heard McKay grumble, but soon the tell-tale swishing sounds of shirts being pulled over heads and the clink of belt-buckles hitting the floor echoed in the high room.
Sam took a step backwards and pressed herself against the warm wall as she heard Sheppard and McKay pad to their showers on bare feet. One of them hissed as though in pain and something sharp and protective flared up in Sam. Those were her people, now, whether they liked it or not, and she hated seeing them hurt. Whenever one of them came back from a mission injured, something in her bled with them, no matter who it was. She wondered if Hammond had felt the same when SG-1 had returned battered and torn.
Next to her, the showers started to run, a soft, rain-like sound that held exactly what it promised. Water as gentle as it was needed after a long day.
A sigh of content sounded from the other side of the partition and Sam smiled. Atlantis's showers were a revelation, and she always sounded the same when she stepped under them.
She took a step forward, expecting this to be a good moment in which she could just slip out and restore her privacy and theirs.
It was a sound and a few words that made her stop dead in her tracks and reach carefully for the wall to brace herself.
A quiet squeak, and then McKay's question, raspy, surprised: "What are you doing down there?"
Sheppard chuckled. "What does it look like?"
"You're kneeling in front of me," McKay stated, his voice even more raspy, but edging into the higher notes which Sam knew meant he was nervous. "Not that people kneeling in front of me isn't fantasy material, but would you mind telling me what—" the sentence ended in a guttural groan.
Sam swallowed hard, forgot about moving to her robe for a moment. A droplet of water ran from her hair down between her breasts, tickling.
"Oh, God." This time, the groan was even lower, tinged with amazement and pleasure. Sam crossed her arms tighter over her breasts. They wouldn't… surely not those two?
"Figured you'd need that."
"How did you, how do you," another groan, "Oh, never mind, just go on. Don't stop." A hiss, then again. "Don't stop, please. God."
Under Sam's upper arms, her nipples were hardening. She knew she should get out of here, but the danger of being seen was even higher now than it was before. Especially now that she had heard what she shouldn't. Found out what she shouldn't know.
Sam imagined them – sleek, slim John Sheppard, his knees bent and on the floor, dark hair wet in his eyes, water running over that lush mouth which had starred in a couple of Sam's rather private dreams already. Heavier-set, firmly muscled Rodney McKay, his frame solid and his skin inviting to touch.
Together. Something in Sam's brain stuttered, rebooted and resurfaced again.
They had never given any indication apart from being team-mates and obviously good friends. But that didn't mean anything, now did it? No need to sexualise every relationship between two people. Except … she had been wrong here.
McKay's voice had sunk down to a murmur, allowing her only to catch single words and the sounds of his harsh breathing over the sound of the shower.
"God – love your hands."
She knew she shouldn't listen. This was private, between two people who believed they were alone. It was also an act contravening regulations and even if she didn't agree with the policy, she had an obligation as an officer to enforce it. She would have to turn a blind eye, though, because Sheppard and McKay were both too integral to Atlantis. But still, leaving was impossible. And it had been such a long, long time since she'd last had sex that maybe listening would be enough.
Most of all, she shouldn't let her mind supply the pictures to what she was hearing, shouldn't show her Sheppard on his knees and McKay braced against the wall, Sheppard nuzzling McKay's left leg, his hand pumping McKay's cock, red through Sheppard's tanned hands.
Sam sank her teeth into her lower lip as her vaginal muscles clenched involuntarily. She was wet. Wetter than she'd been when pleasuring herself in a long time.
"Harder," McKay said between his teeth. "Yes, yes, right there, come on, harder." His voice grew frantic.
Sam's hand dropped from her breast.
Sheppard's fond laugh echoed in the room. "Greedy,” he rasped, breathless.
Lower. Her breathing sped up.
"Harder!" McKay demanded. "Long … strokes, or I'll … I'll …"
Sam's right hand reached the edge of her pubic line. She stopped, breathing hard. She was … this wasn't …
"Oh, God," McKay moaned. "You're a genius."
Sam leaned back against the partition, felt the warm wall against her back and the chill of the drops which hadn't yet dried on her skin.
McKay's breath hitched.
Sam slipped two fingers between her labia. Circling.
McKay moaned again. Sheppard chuckled.
Circling, small, slick circles over her clit, fingernails adding exquisite friction, not as much as she needed; she'd get vocal, but she couldn't, not here, not now, what the hell was she doing?
"Yes," she heard McKay groan and pressed down harder on each new circle. Over the sound of their shower, the sound of her fingers gliding through her wetness seemed obscenely loud to her.
McKay's breath hitched. "One more time, come on, come on, please."
Sam pictured him under her. In her. Solid. Thick. Filling her.
One finger. Two. Curling her fingers, brushing over nerve endings that fired and sent shivers down her spine. Her face grew hot, shame and arousal and fear mingling in a heady mixture.
Next to her, McKay groaned a final time, then there was silence for a few moments and Sam felt bereft, her orgasm lingering just out of reach, as though refusing to unfurl without the added stimuli. Her breathing was ragged, her cheeks burning. Her hand still between her legs. She looked down at herself, over the breasts with the erect nipples down to where her hand was in her body. A muscle in her arm twitched and she bit her lip again as the tremor brought her closer.
In a more sane moment, she would have wondered what was really going on over there, if maybe she was misinterpreting and everything was different from what she thought, but she was too far gone to care. Besides, the noises had been clear, impossible to misunderstand them.
The sudden sound of McKay's voice was like a bucket of ice-water. Steady again, she heard: "Come on, I'll take care of it for you." A sound of protest, then: "Shut up, Colonel, you need this just as much as I do."
Just like me, Sam added in her mind. God, she couldn't remember the last time she'd been this turned on. Closing her eyes, she imagined herself between them, their skin rubbing up against her, their erections against her belly and her back. She had no idea how to face them again, later. She was getting off on a private moment between two of her subordinates. Her middle finger curled against her vaginal wall, making her clench around it. Yes, what she was doing was inexcusable. She didn't care. Not now. Not anymore.
"Go ahead, bend over a little, brace yourself against the wall," McKay said.
A snort of laughter from Sheppard.
Sam's mouth was too dry to swallow. A third finger. More pressure, scraping rough against her walls. Sparks against the inside of her eyelids. She wondered if McKay would fuck Sheppard with his face against the wall, using his fingers. His big, blunt, deft fingers...
"Good. Now stay that way. This might hurt."
Silence for a moment, then Sheppard gave a moan, even more guttural than McKay's had been.
A fourth finger. There just wasn't enough friction, not enough pressure against her damn sensitive spots. Her other hand joined the first, pressing it deeper, circling her thumb on her clit while the other hand pushed into her again and again.
"How's this?"
Speeding up.
"Rodney," Sheppard sounded pained and blissed out at the same time, and Sam knew, just knew that McKay had breached Sheppard's body now, he was in him, fucking John Sheppard under the blood-warm water from the shower while she fucked herself with slow, hard pushes that rocked her body, stretched her wide open even as she clenched around her hand, made herself sore and made her blood boil.
"Good?"
Sheppard just groaned.
She imagined them kissing, McKay using that wide mouth on Sheppard's, their tongues slick and visible in their open-mouthed kisses. Her own mouth was dry as she sank her teeth into her lower lip.
"Told you," McKay gave a little grunt and Sheppard moaned in earnest, the sound vibrating against the partition and crawling up Sam's toes to her legs and straight to her clit, "told you I'd be good at this."
“Ah,” Sheppard’s voice hitched in the middle of another groan, a helpless, pained sound that pooled low in Sam’s belly as she imagined his face – his eyes wide and his mouth slack with the sensory overload of his orgasm, his lips moist and swollen from the kisses he’d shared with McKay and Sam imagined herself there again, climbing up and guiding him into her, no matter how impossible it seemed, locking her feet around McKay’s broad back, feeling the strength with which he fucked Sheppard transferred into her own body, water over them, their breath harsh in her ears, panting, a hoarse shout … Sam came hard, her muscles clenching around the four fingers still moving, curling and uncurling, hitting the sensitive spots again and again until it was painful, too much. The force of her orgasm made her seek the support of the wall. Her teeth sank harder into her lower lip. Blood rushed in her ears and a sound began to surface, one she knew she wouldn’t be able to keep in completely, a high, desperate sound that had become her constant companion when masturbating. She swallowed against it, clamped her mouth shut even as aftershocks still skittered over her skin.
When her head stopped spinning again, she no longer heard the shower. Sam held her breath, and slipped her hand from between her legs. Her fingers glistened with her wetness and she realised that she’d have to take another shower to wash the unpleasant sticky residue from between her legs.
McKay’s voice, far too close to her for her liking, made her heart stop for a few moments. “Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
The sound of feet over a wet floor. Sam slowly slid down the wall and curled her arms around her knees. This was it. They would walk around the corner in a matter of seconds, and she’d-- “I could have sworn I heard something.”
Sheppard huffed. “Paranoid much?” Sam heard the warm-air dryers springing to life. Imagined Sheppard standing in front of them, turning slow and easy, unashamed in his nakedness, and closed her eyes against the image.
“You have to admit that you were quite vocal just now. If anybody saw us walking in here and drew certain conclusions…”
Sam’s eyes flew back open and heart began to pound. Did McKay know? Had he known all along? Was this his way of telling Sheppard that he had realised she was here?
“I was vocal?” Sheppard snorted. “You sounded like someone straight out of a porn flick, McKay!”
“Not my fault when you go straight for the cramped muscles,” McKay hissed. Sheppard gave a bark of choked laughter while McKay added in a worried tone of voice, quieter than before: “Can you be serious for one moment? What if –“
“Then whoever it was would find out you give fantastic massages. Afraid people will line up?” Sam’s stomach bottomed out. She swayed, even sitting down. Sank her teeth into the back of her right hand against the howl of hysterical laughter threatening to break free. The scent of sex hit her nose. A massage. A massage. You fucking pervert, Carter.
“Come on, don’t tell me it doesn’t bother you?”
“There’s no one here to care about it one way or the other, McKay.”
“But if there was?”
“Then our conversation just now would create enough doubt to make sure they never talked about it.” A pause. Then Sheppard called into the room, “Right?”
Sam let her head sink on her knees, eyes open. Waited until she heard Sheppard and McKay pad from the communal showers. When she was absolutely sure they had gone, she turned on the shower again, sitting under water that was much too hot to be pleasant. The back of her hand showed bite-marks she’d have a hard time hiding in the following days.
Sheppard’s last sentence echoed in her mind, over and over again while she began to vigorously clean herself. The humiliation, the shame was almost physical, a stain to be scrubbed at with all of her strength.
“… enough doubt to make sure they never talked about it.”
Deliberate or just a lucky shot?
She’d never know.
Title: Stimulus
Author:
eretriaFandom: SGA
Characters: John Sheppard, Rodney McKay, Sam Carter
Rating: NC-17
Size: 3399
Summary: You wanted this, remember?
Spoilers: This is a bit tricky. It uses a plot device based on spoiler speculation for season four, but only speculation, I know nothing beyond the fact of Sam joining the cast. So, read with that caveat.
Dedication: For
auburnnothennaWarning: auditory voyeurism
Thank you: to
auburnnothenna and murron for very speedy beta-read. Also, _inbetween_. You know why.You wanted this, remember? Your own command. Your own staff. Your own responsibility away from your usual role in the team. You wanted something new, something to challenge you. Now live with your damn choices.
She hadn’t felt this cold and alone in forever. Even after her father had died, it had been better, because she always knew on which doors to knock in case things got too bad and she couldn’t bear the thought of being alone for one more second.
Atlantis was different. With its endless corridors, it was a little like the SGC, but in the end, not at all. Atlantis was old. Sure, for the one who only looked at it briefly, it looked modern beyond imagination, but whenever she touched a wall or a console or a piece of furniture, the age of this city sprang back to her mind and she felt like walking in a museum, always careful, never allowed to let her guard down.
And she never could. Now, having command of Atlantis with the approval of the SGC and the IOA, she wasn’t what the people in Atlantis had hoped for. Oh, they never showed it to her openly, but Sam knew what they thought. The scientists didn’t want her advice, didn’t want her to “meddle” because they wanted to make their own mistakes, and didn’t appreciate her suggestions, suggestions she couldn’t help make when she saw something was going wrong. But, unlike McKay, whom they grudgingly acknowledged as one of their own, she was an outsider, and no one liked getting advices from an outsider.
The military was much the same. They answered to her command, but she knew they wanted Sheppard back in charge. Just like she had wanted Hammond back after Landry had stepped up. The men were fiercely loyal, and suddenly having her in charge was met with not very well veiled resentment. The soldiers thought her too soft and she couldn’t rage against that, couldn’t show them what she was really made of without losing her integrity. So she gritted her teeth at night and woke up with headaches and a locked jaw, morning after morning.
As for the team … Sam ran a hand over her face, water sluicing over her hair and eyes. They never showed her what they really thought. Sheppard was a mixture between attentive, tense, and as laid back and downright snotty as Jack had been at his best, while McKay … McKay had stopped hitting on her the moment she set foot on Atlantis. He just hadn’t made any of the comments she had grown accustomed to, and that had been an odd punch to the gut. It meant that he saw her as the boss now. Not the same kind of boss Elizabeth Weir had been, but a boss nevertheless, and you didn’t hit on your boss. At least McKay didn’t. Sam hated to admit that she missed it, the familiarity of it. Ronon just grunted in her direction, never giving her a straight answer and Teyla was silkily polite, but never once showed her what she really thought. Sam was on the outside from the beginning. And interloper, not family, like Elizabeth Weir had been.
Sam lifted her head, blinked her eyes open against the rain-soft water from the large shower head, released the air from her lungs in a whoosh. It should have been different. Not all politics and everyday struggles and quarrels and reports, day in, day out.
In retrospect, she knew she’d been naïve. She’d heard Jack complain about the dullness of being a General enough. But she’d wanted her own command, to get away from Earth for some time. She had thought she’d find a weapon against the Ori somewhere in Atlantis’s vast databases. But with the gene therapy not taking, she only had a subdued version of what Atlantis had to offer. And she didn’t have the time. Administration suffocated here, muting everything like the water running into her mouth, eyes and ears.
She brushed a hand against the control and shut off the water. She still hadn’t quite grown used to not having tiles in the shower, but the sleek beige walls in the communal shower were similar enough to the communal showers at the SGC to make her feel a little bit at home.
It wasn’t homesickness. She’d been a military brat, moving had been her second nature. Still was. She got antsy if she didn’t move at least every four years.
This, here … She didn’t want to analyse it to death, and shouldn’t, really, but she had found out early on that the communal showers gave her back part of what she missed the most – feeling part of a team.
The showers back at the SGC only had a partition between men's and women's cubicles, and they had always talked to each other after missions, while washing off grime, sweat and sometimes blood. It was one way of team bonding. One of many, but a good one. She smiled, remembering. Daniel had once told her, beet-red and fast-talking, that it had taken him a while to get used to having her so close. Sam had only ruffled his hair. Of course, sexuality wasn't left at the door. Whoever said that lied. But in the end, they were a team, and a team worked better without complicating things. So they had talked. Laughed. Teased each other.
Water dripped from her bare arms onto the smooth taupe floor where it disappeared without her seeing a sink.
Slipping into her robe and walking the way back to her quarters on paths not frequented by anyone, only socks on her feet, would feel good. Then, after some coffee, she'd expect Sheppard and McKay back from their trip to the mainland of their new planet.
Only … there were voices in front of the door, voices that turned familiar as the door hisses open.
"If you'd been a little faster, you wouldn't—"
Sam bit back a gasp. Sheppard.
"If you hadn't insisted on checking out that plain, we never would have—"
This time, she had to bite her lip to keep from making a sound of dismay. McKay. Damn it. She was suddenly painfully aware of her state of undress.
"How was I supposed to know there'd be some freaky wild animal trying to eat us?"
"Maybe because, oh, we were in the forest of a planet that is still entirely new to us and you don't need to make friends with everything that crosses our path?"
"Just … shut up and strip, McKay."
Sam crossed her arms over her breasts and held her breath. Water dripped from her hair. With both men in here and undressing, she couldn't get her robe – Crossing the small corridor to the women's dressing rooms would put her in plain sight of them, naked as the day she was born, and even if she missed McKay's clumsy attempts at flirting, she'd rather not give him any kind of ammunition. He'd use it. If he felt the team was threatened by her, deliberately. Otherwise, just tactlessly.
She heard McKay grumble, but soon the tell-tale swishing sounds of shirts being pulled over heads and the clink of belt-buckles hitting the floor echoed in the high room.
Sam took a step backwards and pressed herself against the warm wall as she heard Sheppard and McKay pad to their showers on bare feet. One of them hissed as though in pain and something sharp and protective flared up in Sam. Those were her people, now, whether they liked it or not, and she hated seeing them hurt. Whenever one of them came back from a mission injured, something in her bled with them, no matter who it was. She wondered if Hammond had felt the same when SG-1 had returned battered and torn.
Next to her, the showers started to run, a soft, rain-like sound that held exactly what it promised. Water as gentle as it was needed after a long day.
A sigh of content sounded from the other side of the partition and Sam smiled. Atlantis's showers were a revelation, and she always sounded the same when she stepped under them.
She took a step forward, expecting this to be a good moment in which she could just slip out and restore her privacy and theirs.
It was a sound and a few words that made her stop dead in her tracks and reach carefully for the wall to brace herself.
A quiet squeak, and then McKay's question, raspy, surprised: "What are you doing down there?"
Sheppard chuckled. "What does it look like?"
"You're kneeling in front of me," McKay stated, his voice even more raspy, but edging into the higher notes which Sam knew meant he was nervous. "Not that people kneeling in front of me isn't fantasy material, but would you mind telling me what—" the sentence ended in a guttural groan.
Sam swallowed hard, forgot about moving to her robe for a moment. A droplet of water ran from her hair down between her breasts, tickling.
"Oh, God." This time, the groan was even lower, tinged with amazement and pleasure. Sam crossed her arms tighter over her breasts. They wouldn't… surely not those two?
"Figured you'd need that."
"How did you, how do you," another groan, "Oh, never mind, just go on. Don't stop." A hiss, then again. "Don't stop, please. God."
Under Sam's upper arms, her nipples were hardening. She knew she should get out of here, but the danger of being seen was even higher now than it was before. Especially now that she had heard what she shouldn't. Found out what she shouldn't know.
Sam imagined them – sleek, slim John Sheppard, his knees bent and on the floor, dark hair wet in his eyes, water running over that lush mouth which had starred in a couple of Sam's rather private dreams already. Heavier-set, firmly muscled Rodney McKay, his frame solid and his skin inviting to touch.
Together. Something in Sam's brain stuttered, rebooted and resurfaced again.
They had never given any indication apart from being team-mates and obviously good friends. But that didn't mean anything, now did it? No need to sexualise every relationship between two people. Except … she had been wrong here.
McKay's voice had sunk down to a murmur, allowing her only to catch single words and the sounds of his harsh breathing over the sound of the shower.
"God – love your hands."
She knew she shouldn't listen. This was private, between two people who believed they were alone. It was also an act contravening regulations and even if she didn't agree with the policy, she had an obligation as an officer to enforce it. She would have to turn a blind eye, though, because Sheppard and McKay were both too integral to Atlantis. But still, leaving was impossible. And it had been such a long, long time since she'd last had sex that maybe listening would be enough.
Most of all, she shouldn't let her mind supply the pictures to what she was hearing, shouldn't show her Sheppard on his knees and McKay braced against the wall, Sheppard nuzzling McKay's left leg, his hand pumping McKay's cock, red through Sheppard's tanned hands.
Sam sank her teeth into her lower lip as her vaginal muscles clenched involuntarily. She was wet. Wetter than she'd been when pleasuring herself in a long time.
"Harder," McKay said between his teeth. "Yes, yes, right there, come on, harder." His voice grew frantic.
Sam's hand dropped from her breast.
Sheppard's fond laugh echoed in the room. "Greedy,” he rasped, breathless.
Lower. Her breathing sped up.
"Harder!" McKay demanded. "Long … strokes, or I'll … I'll …"
Sam's right hand reached the edge of her pubic line. She stopped, breathing hard. She was … this wasn't …
"Oh, God," McKay moaned. "You're a genius."
Sam leaned back against the partition, felt the warm wall against her back and the chill of the drops which hadn't yet dried on her skin.
McKay's breath hitched.
Sam slipped two fingers between her labia. Circling.
McKay moaned again. Sheppard chuckled.
Circling, small, slick circles over her clit, fingernails adding exquisite friction, not as much as she needed; she'd get vocal, but she couldn't, not here, not now, what the hell was she doing?
"Yes," she heard McKay groan and pressed down harder on each new circle. Over the sound of their shower, the sound of her fingers gliding through her wetness seemed obscenely loud to her.
McKay's breath hitched. "One more time, come on, come on, please."
Sam pictured him under her. In her. Solid. Thick. Filling her.
One finger. Two. Curling her fingers, brushing over nerve endings that fired and sent shivers down her spine. Her face grew hot, shame and arousal and fear mingling in a heady mixture.
Next to her, McKay groaned a final time, then there was silence for a few moments and Sam felt bereft, her orgasm lingering just out of reach, as though refusing to unfurl without the added stimuli. Her breathing was ragged, her cheeks burning. Her hand still between her legs. She looked down at herself, over the breasts with the erect nipples down to where her hand was in her body. A muscle in her arm twitched and she bit her lip again as the tremor brought her closer.
In a more sane moment, she would have wondered what was really going on over there, if maybe she was misinterpreting and everything was different from what she thought, but she was too far gone to care. Besides, the noises had been clear, impossible to misunderstand them.
The sudden sound of McKay's voice was like a bucket of ice-water. Steady again, she heard: "Come on, I'll take care of it for you." A sound of protest, then: "Shut up, Colonel, you need this just as much as I do."
Just like me, Sam added in her mind. God, she couldn't remember the last time she'd been this turned on. Closing her eyes, she imagined herself between them, their skin rubbing up against her, their erections against her belly and her back. She had no idea how to face them again, later. She was getting off on a private moment between two of her subordinates. Her middle finger curled against her vaginal wall, making her clench around it. Yes, what she was doing was inexcusable. She didn't care. Not now. Not anymore.
"Go ahead, bend over a little, brace yourself against the wall," McKay said.
A snort of laughter from Sheppard.
Sam's mouth was too dry to swallow. A third finger. More pressure, scraping rough against her walls. Sparks against the inside of her eyelids. She wondered if McKay would fuck Sheppard with his face against the wall, using his fingers. His big, blunt, deft fingers...
"Good. Now stay that way. This might hurt."
Silence for a moment, then Sheppard gave a moan, even more guttural than McKay's had been.
A fourth finger. There just wasn't enough friction, not enough pressure against her damn sensitive spots. Her other hand joined the first, pressing it deeper, circling her thumb on her clit while the other hand pushed into her again and again.
"How's this?"
Speeding up.
"Rodney," Sheppard sounded pained and blissed out at the same time, and Sam knew, just knew that McKay had breached Sheppard's body now, he was in him, fucking John Sheppard under the blood-warm water from the shower while she fucked herself with slow, hard pushes that rocked her body, stretched her wide open even as she clenched around her hand, made herself sore and made her blood boil.
"Good?"
Sheppard just groaned.
She imagined them kissing, McKay using that wide mouth on Sheppard's, their tongues slick and visible in their open-mouthed kisses. Her own mouth was dry as she sank her teeth into her lower lip.
"Told you," McKay gave a little grunt and Sheppard moaned in earnest, the sound vibrating against the partition and crawling up Sam's toes to her legs and straight to her clit, "told you I'd be good at this."
“Ah,” Sheppard’s voice hitched in the middle of another groan, a helpless, pained sound that pooled low in Sam’s belly as she imagined his face – his eyes wide and his mouth slack with the sensory overload of his orgasm, his lips moist and swollen from the kisses he’d shared with McKay and Sam imagined herself there again, climbing up and guiding him into her, no matter how impossible it seemed, locking her feet around McKay’s broad back, feeling the strength with which he fucked Sheppard transferred into her own body, water over them, their breath harsh in her ears, panting, a hoarse shout … Sam came hard, her muscles clenching around the four fingers still moving, curling and uncurling, hitting the sensitive spots again and again until it was painful, too much. The force of her orgasm made her seek the support of the wall. Her teeth sank harder into her lower lip. Blood rushed in her ears and a sound began to surface, one she knew she wouldn’t be able to keep in completely, a high, desperate sound that had become her constant companion when masturbating. She swallowed against it, clamped her mouth shut even as aftershocks still skittered over her skin.
When her head stopped spinning again, she no longer heard the shower. Sam held her breath, and slipped her hand from between her legs. Her fingers glistened with her wetness and she realised that she’d have to take another shower to wash the unpleasant sticky residue from between her legs.
McKay’s voice, far too close to her for her liking, made her heart stop for a few moments. “Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
The sound of feet over a wet floor. Sam slowly slid down the wall and curled her arms around her knees. This was it. They would walk around the corner in a matter of seconds, and she’d-- “I could have sworn I heard something.”
Sheppard huffed. “Paranoid much?” Sam heard the warm-air dryers springing to life. Imagined Sheppard standing in front of them, turning slow and easy, unashamed in his nakedness, and closed her eyes against the image.
“You have to admit that you were quite vocal just now. If anybody saw us walking in here and drew certain conclusions…”
Sam’s eyes flew back open and heart began to pound. Did McKay know? Had he known all along? Was this his way of telling Sheppard that he had realised she was here?
“I was vocal?” Sheppard snorted. “You sounded like someone straight out of a porn flick, McKay!”
“Not my fault when you go straight for the cramped muscles,” McKay hissed. Sheppard gave a bark of choked laughter while McKay added in a worried tone of voice, quieter than before: “Can you be serious for one moment? What if –“
“Then whoever it was would find out you give fantastic massages. Afraid people will line up?” Sam’s stomach bottomed out. She swayed, even sitting down. Sank her teeth into the back of her right hand against the howl of hysterical laughter threatening to break free. The scent of sex hit her nose. A massage. A massage. You fucking pervert, Carter.
“Come on, don’t tell me it doesn’t bother you?”
“There’s no one here to care about it one way or the other, McKay.”
“But if there was?”
“Then our conversation just now would create enough doubt to make sure they never talked about it.” A pause. Then Sheppard called into the room, “Right?”
Sam let her head sink on her knees, eyes open. Waited until she heard Sheppard and McKay pad from the communal showers. When she was absolutely sure they had gone, she turned on the shower again, sitting under water that was much too hot to be pleasant. The back of her hand showed bite-marks she’d have a hard time hiding in the following days.
Sheppard’s last sentence echoed in her mind, over and over again while she began to vigorously clean herself. The humiliation, the shame was almost physical, a stain to be scrubbed at with all of her strength.
“… enough doubt to make sure they never talked about it.”
Deliberate or just a lucky shot?
She’d never know.
Fin