Stargate/Atlantis fic. Spoilers through 'Rising'. PG-13.
*
Sam can't quite believe the fact that it's come to this. Not that she actually regrets sleeping with him per se, it's just that it's *him*. And he's going to *gloat*.
"I've never slept with a colonel before."
There it is. Sam opens her mouth to produce an appropriately withering retort when the tone of his words sinks in. He hadn't sounded sarcastic, hadn't seemed as if he was mocking her - and yes, this is McKay, so she wouldn't put it passed him to find some devious new way of mocking people by sounding like he wasn't...but she decides, this time, to give him the benefit of the doubt.
Hopes she won't regret it.
"That makes two of us."
He smiles from where he's laying next to her and Sam thinks that he can be kind of.
Cute.
Sometimes.
"I made you scream just by using my tongue," he declares happily.
And sometimes she wants to remove certain parts of his anatomy. "And *I'll* make you scream with just my teeth."
He stops smiling.
Well. He stops regarding her quite so moonily.
It's her own fault for having sex with him at all. Standing in her lab refining calculations, and she'd forgotten how *hot* it was when she discussed wormhole theory with someone who knew what they were talking about. Some opinions differed but at a basic level he *understood*. Sam hadn't even realised how much she'd missed that until he'd mumbled something about "Don't know if I'm ever coming back," and then jumped her (something she was so planning on holding over him until she remembered that she'd *had sex with him* and that might just give him a greater advantage).
She hadn't exactly objected. Quite the opposite.
She studies him now as he looks almost docile, but it's one of his many disguises. She's met McKay exactly three times and knows that he is always *always* planning. Thinking. Plotting.
"I won't be there when you go," she tells him, though she thinks he knows anyway.
He smirks. "And here I was hoping for a farewell rendezvous on the ramp."
She contemplates kicking him in the shin.
Does so.
"Ow! Hey!"
"Stop being so...*McKay*, Mckay." It's difficult with McKay. Hard. Everything's a challenge; he makes her work for every little thing. It's frustrating, irritating, and somewhere between that it's *fun*. She becomes someone else with McKay, a Sam Carter she wishes she could be more often.
That probably says disturbing things about her psyche.
"Christ," he complains, his body moving under the covers as he bends to rub at his shin, "no wonder your other boyfriends died. They probably all offed themselves."
She could kick him again, but settles for messing with his head instead. "Just think - now you don't have to wonder why I slept with you anymore."
Rolling his eyes, McKay releases his leg and stretches out on the bed. "Oh yes. You had sex with me on the off chance I'd commit suicide later. That's the kind of scientifically sound theory that makes me oh so proud to be in our profession."
She wonders how far away the armoury is.
What level is she on? She vaguely remembers stumbling into the packed elevator just wanting to *take his clothes off* and not much else. He either pressed the button himself or the elevator had already been going there.
Had someone got off behind them?
Crap.
Damn him for having his own quarters until he ships out.
He's still waiting for a response.
Or maybe he isn't. He's not looking at her expectantly; his right hand moves until his fingers are tracing over her shoulder.
That can't possibly feel as good as her body seems to think it does. "Um." Crap. Again. Was that out loud?
His fingers are still tracing, his eyes still fascinated by her shoulder. "I do so enjoy our verbal repartee."
She should push him away. Argue over one of the many aspects of wormhole theory they disagree on. Knee him in the groin (though she suspects he'll actually enjoy that one).
Instead Sam lets herself relax as his hand moves further down her body, and as she grasps onto the sheets all she can do is be amazed that anyone could *ever* say that he was bad at playing the piano.
~FINIS