SG:A Ficlet: "Nothing Beside Remains"
Jan. 14th, 2005 01:13 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kageygirlThe universe decided to beat me like a red-headed stepchild today, so, quick, melancholy little ficlet. Missing scene, big spoilers for "The Brotherhood," small one for "Letters From Pegasus" (as in, if you know the premise or have seen the ads, you know the spoiler).
McKay/Sheppard, R/NC-17ish. Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
wickdzoot for eyeballing and maching_monkey for the fastest beta in the Milky Way. *g*
Nothing Beside Remains
The Wraith are coming.
It keeps repeating in Rodney's head, like an echo down one of Atlantis's soon-to-be-obliterated corridors.
The Wraith are coming.
He kisses John fiercely, desperately, shoved up against the wall of John's quarters. Rodney hardly noticed whose room they ended up in, because it doesn't matter, soon this will all be gone...
The Wraith are coming. There's no more time.
John moans into Rodney's mouth, and the neediness there makes Rodney's throat hurt in response. He's yanking John's clothes off, struggling as John helps him with his own, and they're both ignoring how badly their hands are shaking...
Rodney licks his way down John's neck, sucks hard on his collarbone, wanting to leave a mark. He wishes they could take this slow, but the Wraith are coming, and there's no more time for the dance they've been doing around each other. No more time for the simmering between them to build to a comforting fire.
The Wraith are coming. Atlantis is going to burn, and shatter, and sink.
Rodney pulls John down on top of him, needing to feel solid and warm and alive and John against him, because the Wraith are coming, and soon, there will be nothing left but debris floating on the tide.
John will probably die in a Jumper, in a ball of fire, like poor Markham. Rodney will probably die in the city, though he should have evacuated with the others, to some other world where they'll eventually be picked off one by one. But Rodney won't leave. He's going to die here, with John, with Atlantis as it slips beneath the waves again.
Rodney's breath catches as John slides into him, and he fights to breathe past the constriction in his chest. It aches, but he wants to remember this, because the Wraith are coming, and they're going to wipe Atlantis away without a trace.
John stares down at him, and that look is so sharp and piercing that it cuts deep, too deep, so deep that it doesn't even hurt yet. The power of this--thing--between them is too great. They should have eased into this. But there's no more time.
John starts moving, and it's bright and razor-keen and too much, and the most painful part might be John's hand, fingers tightening between Rodney's. He can't even think about the light in John's eyes, because the Wraith are coming and they're going to destroy everything that they've built here.
Rodney's orgasm shocks him, and he buries his face in John's neck and chokes on his name. Part of him wants to bite down, but the rest of him can't stand the thought, now. John is beautiful; he shouldn't be marred like that.
John grips his hand and fights to keep his eyes open as he comes, gasping out Rodney's name and watching him like Rodney is the one thing holding him together.
Rodney reaches out and wraps his arms around John, pulling him down, breathing harshly into John's shoulder and holding him close, tasting his sweat.
This ocean whose name they never learned will swallow the city down, leaving no craters, no scars on the landscape. Wind and waves will scatter the flotsam and jetsam.
Everything they've learned, everything they hoped to learn, everything will be gone, as if it had never been.
No one on Earth will ever know what happened here. The gate will be gone, buried in the depths of the sea.
John shifts down onto his side and settles his head on Rodney's chest, mumbling something into Rodney's skin, tickling him a little. Rodney strokes his damp hair and watches John drift into sleep. Rodney wants to join him, after too many waking hours on Dagan, too many hours with Kolya and the other Genii, but he can't, because the Wraith are coming and they don't have the ZPM to power the shield, and there's no more time, and Rodney doesn't want to waste any of it sleeping.
John's hand is curled loosely on Rodney's chest, and Rodney rubs his thumb delicately along the inside of John's wrist. The feeling that surges through him is jolting--it's the barest touch, but the power of it is overwhelming.
Rodney sighs at the sentimentality of his own thoughts, but he lets himself be foolishly romantic, because the Wraith are coming, and nothing he does here will matter anymore. So he stares at the top of John's head, and thinks about clichés like harnessing the power of what they have between them...
Harnessing the...
Rodney blinks, and goes still, except for the sound of his own breathing, suddenly loud in his own ears.
Carefully, he extricates himself from John's grip, soothing his sleepy grumbles with a kiss and a touch to the shoulder. He dresses as quickly and quietly as he can, and slips out into the corridor.
Because the Wraith are coming. There's no more time. They're all going to die.
But maybe, just maybe, they can leave some record of their passing.
***
Title is from Ozymandias, by Percy Bysshe Shelley.
McKay/Sheppard, R/NC-17ish. Thanks to
wickdzoot for eyeballing and maching_monkey for the fastest beta in the Milky Way. *g*Nothing Beside Remains
The Wraith are coming.
It keeps repeating in Rodney's head, like an echo down one of Atlantis's soon-to-be-obliterated corridors.
The Wraith are coming.
He kisses John fiercely, desperately, shoved up against the wall of John's quarters. Rodney hardly noticed whose room they ended up in, because it doesn't matter, soon this will all be gone...
The Wraith are coming. There's no more time.
John moans into Rodney's mouth, and the neediness there makes Rodney's throat hurt in response. He's yanking John's clothes off, struggling as John helps him with his own, and they're both ignoring how badly their hands are shaking...
Rodney licks his way down John's neck, sucks hard on his collarbone, wanting to leave a mark. He wishes they could take this slow, but the Wraith are coming, and there's no more time for the dance they've been doing around each other. No more time for the simmering between them to build to a comforting fire.
The Wraith are coming. Atlantis is going to burn, and shatter, and sink.
Rodney pulls John down on top of him, needing to feel solid and warm and alive and John against him, because the Wraith are coming, and soon, there will be nothing left but debris floating on the tide.
John will probably die in a Jumper, in a ball of fire, like poor Markham. Rodney will probably die in the city, though he should have evacuated with the others, to some other world where they'll eventually be picked off one by one. But Rodney won't leave. He's going to die here, with John, with Atlantis as it slips beneath the waves again.
Rodney's breath catches as John slides into him, and he fights to breathe past the constriction in his chest. It aches, but he wants to remember this, because the Wraith are coming, and they're going to wipe Atlantis away without a trace.
John stares down at him, and that look is so sharp and piercing that it cuts deep, too deep, so deep that it doesn't even hurt yet. The power of this--thing--between them is too great. They should have eased into this. But there's no more time.
John starts moving, and it's bright and razor-keen and too much, and the most painful part might be John's hand, fingers tightening between Rodney's. He can't even think about the light in John's eyes, because the Wraith are coming and they're going to destroy everything that they've built here.
Rodney's orgasm shocks him, and he buries his face in John's neck and chokes on his name. Part of him wants to bite down, but the rest of him can't stand the thought, now. John is beautiful; he shouldn't be marred like that.
John grips his hand and fights to keep his eyes open as he comes, gasping out Rodney's name and watching him like Rodney is the one thing holding him together.
Rodney reaches out and wraps his arms around John, pulling him down, breathing harshly into John's shoulder and holding him close, tasting his sweat.
This ocean whose name they never learned will swallow the city down, leaving no craters, no scars on the landscape. Wind and waves will scatter the flotsam and jetsam.
Everything they've learned, everything they hoped to learn, everything will be gone, as if it had never been.
No one on Earth will ever know what happened here. The gate will be gone, buried in the depths of the sea.
John shifts down onto his side and settles his head on Rodney's chest, mumbling something into Rodney's skin, tickling him a little. Rodney strokes his damp hair and watches John drift into sleep. Rodney wants to join him, after too many waking hours on Dagan, too many hours with Kolya and the other Genii, but he can't, because the Wraith are coming and they don't have the ZPM to power the shield, and there's no more time, and Rodney doesn't want to waste any of it sleeping.
John's hand is curled loosely on Rodney's chest, and Rodney rubs his thumb delicately along the inside of John's wrist. The feeling that surges through him is jolting--it's the barest touch, but the power of it is overwhelming.
Rodney sighs at the sentimentality of his own thoughts, but he lets himself be foolishly romantic, because the Wraith are coming, and nothing he does here will matter anymore. So he stares at the top of John's head, and thinks about clichés like harnessing the power of what they have between them...
Harnessing the...
Rodney blinks, and goes still, except for the sound of his own breathing, suddenly loud in his own ears.
Carefully, he extricates himself from John's grip, soothing his sleepy grumbles with a kiss and a touch to the shoulder. He dresses as quickly and quietly as he can, and slips out into the corridor.
Because the Wraith are coming. There's no more time. They're all going to die.
But maybe, just maybe, they can leave some record of their passing.
***
Title is from Ozymandias, by Percy Bysshe Shelley.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2005-01-14 02:54 pm (UTC)Well, something good came of your rotten day.
Very good.
...
Another unneeded glimpse into the dregs of my mind:
Melancholy --> Melon --> Cantalope
Go figure.
no subject
Date: 2005-01-14 08:40 pm (UTC)Melancholy --> Melon --> Cantalope
LOL. I keep having to decline to explain things like why the use of a word like "festive" or "diplomatic" in a certain context made me giggle uncontrollably.