1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer: I don't own Stargate Atlantis or any of its characters. Do you THINK I would be here if I did?! So I do not, in any way shape or form own any of the plot or the characters. They belong to whoever owns 'em. I just took the general idea for a test jaunt. So, don't sue me...not that it would be beneficial, as I am a poor university student, yadda yadda yadda.**_

**Warnings:** This is a Mckay and Sheppard slash story, boys and girls. Thus, here be smut and man-on-man goodness. If that's not your style, well then, toodles!

Spoilers are considered fair game up to the end of the Season three and four-sh. And while this story doesn't really have a set place in the storyline, just consider it occurring at a time when Elizabeth was still on Atlantis, and Carson either didn't die, or this is his clone, (I usually just repress the thought that he died anyway! Heh!), and Ronon is on Atlantis.

**Authors Note:** Please read and review. I am excited to see what you all think. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism. I totally blame this story rabid plot bunnies. I have NO idea where this story came from. _Really._ I was innocently sitting at my desk doing homework, when _THIS_ popped into my brain. (*pauses to snuggle brain, because seriously the mental images were AWESOME*) So, instead of taking down chapter notes from my Tudor England text book, a few pages of loose leaf morphed into this! (Then I got interrupted by my roommate with coffee! But that's another story for another time! HA!).

**PS:** I totally got inspired by those new Starbucks VIA ready-to-brew packets of coffee-tubie-thingies! (Yes they actually exist! And no, I unfortunately do not own them.) I could totally see Rodney being transported into his coffee-happy-place with those. (I know I was! Ha!)

**Why Astrophysicists shouldn't wear Leather Pants **

Rodney stepped out of the puddle jumper in _someone else's_ pants.

That was the first thing that occurred to him. The second thing was that they were _leather_ pants....

_Well...shit._

It was like getting hit right in the face by something as _subtle_ as an Ancient drone, or forgetting to duck and getting punched in the gut during a sparring session by Ronon when he was having one of 'those days', such as when the cafeteria had run out of his favourite pudding, and the kitchen staff were in a bad enough mood to be immune to his roguish charms, or intimidated enough by his pointed glares to make some for him.

_Those were bad days to be the big guys sparring partner, even the Marines avoided him like the plague when they scented one of those no-butterscotch pudding days on the wind. He really didn't want to be here to experience the day that their supply of pudding actually ran out....Scary thought._

All he could do was stare, tilting dangerously to port from his casual slouch against the wall, ending up over-correcting himself and stumbling slightly to the left as he tried and failed to gracefully regain his balance.

_Tight, leather...pants..._

And it was right about there that he had had to pick up his jaw from the metaphorical floor, as he reminded himself that dropping into a dead faint right there in the middle of the jumper bay was probably not the most suave and manly of reactions for the Military commander of Atlantis to have. _Not to mention that NO ONE_ _would ever let him live it down either..._

But suddenly, despite all thoughts of 'manliness' and purported rules of military conduct, everything else seemed remarkably unimportant when he was faced with the sight before him.

Because...well..._PANTS. _

Therefore he figured it was rather appropriate that about his fourth and a half thought, in the space of time it had taken for Rodney to have moved about three steps down the jumper ramp, was that he was so monumentally, and entirely.. _screwed_._. _

_And not in the good way either._ Which in hindsight was really the crux of the whole problem.

Mckay was wearing leather pants.

_Leather-freakin'-pants!_

They were clearly Athosian made, the craftsmanship unmistakeable, you could tell with just one look that they were obviously the result of a long and dedicated effort, lovingly crafted by both hand and awl. The supple, dark brown leather had been cured and tanned expertly, the legs stitched up both sides with the strong, light brown rawhide strings done in the tightly woven criss-crossed fashion that Telya and her people seemed to favour. It was maddening; he doubted he had ever seen both so much and so little of Rodney's skin at the same time. _Stupid pants._

They were the 'smell-like-they-had-been-just bought-leather-pants', completle with that unquie, and unmistakeable scent. It was a dangerously wild scent that did awful, nasty, delicious things to his brain.

_Mckay and leather pants shouldn't even be used in the same sentence. The thought alone was enough to fry his brain synapses and make him stupid and flushed as his other head decided to add in it own opinion about the ....pants. Damnit._

He was going to find whoever made Rodney those pants and strangle them. Then send them a gift basket. He hadn't decided on which to do first.

He nearly strangled himself on his own tongue trying to take it all in. And worst of all, it seemed as though the bomb shell had not yet completely dropped, because then he noticed those other little things, things that while shocking in their own right, when compared beside the ...pants, made them seem down right _conventional._

Rodney was wearing a simple black t-shirt that he had never seen before, one that accentuated his broad shoulders and surprisingly developed biceps. The shirt was just on the shy side of being tight, form fitting in all the ways that his science uniforms never tended to be. He looked slightly tanned, like the 'been out on a sunny day' kind of tanned, the slightest of sun kissed flushes coloring his high cheek bones despite the visible smear of missed sunscreen lotion that still lingered near his right ear. Even his hair was different, all ruffled, and stiffened into sea salt spikes by the ocean spray...

_The man literally oozed sex appeal like it was going out of style, and of course, in true Rodney style, the man remained entirely, and totally oblivious to it. _

And worst of all, to top it all off, the man was smiling hugely as he got off jumper. _Smiling! _His smile turning into a full on happy, high voltage-like beam when he spotted him from across the bay. It wasn't that snarky, half smile, half imposing smirk that he usually reserved for everyone from his lab minions to the occasional band of technologically backward natives, or even _him_ when he managed to say something stupid, like attempting to tell him that the method he was using to calculate a set of mathematic variable vectors was outdated, just to get a reaction out of him.

No, the smile that was now playing across his lips was that rarely seen, honest to god, true Rodney McKay-smile, one that was heart-stoppingly open and genuine as it broke freely across his face. It brought up the corners of his expressive mouth in the widest and most honest of grins, twisting his full lips and morphing his face into such a child-like look of pleasure and excitement, that even Ronon had been known to crack a smile at it.

It was an unavoidable reaction, like trying to stop a yawn in the middle of a particularly boring staff meeting and causing a domino-like reaction among everyone else until Elizabeth fixes the perpetrator with an accusing glare, even as she actively battled the urge to yawn as well.

And, not for the first time since they had arrived on Atlantis, he had to wonder if Rodney even knew how utterly _devastating_ that smile of his could be...

_Where was the distraction of a Wraith attack, or an overly affectionate carnivorous plant, or a rampaging herd of those not-giraffe-elephant-bear thingies from PRT-X114 when you __really__ needed them anyway?_

He nearly whimpered, but yet even _he_ couldn't really find the energy to all himself on it.. Because, was it really his fault that McKay was wearing a pair of _god forsaken, _snug-in-all-the- right-places, leather pants?! _Definitely not. _

_...It was _**all** _the pants fault._

It was the kind moment that one generally wishes that they had a video camera for. He had been leaning carelessly along the wall of the jumper bay, his hands stuffed in his pockets as he impatiently waited for the jumper to power down, responding to the excited Canadian's radio message from the mainland, he could actually picture the man bouncing up and down on his chair with barely restrained glee as he had asked, well more like _demanded_ that John meet him as they landed. The nearly-giddy scientist refused to go into detail over the radio, but it was the happy tilt in his voice, the one that was usually reserved for the possibility of ZPM's and iced pastry products that was enough to make him double time it to the jumper bay.

Before the....pants happened he figured they would go down to the labs and work together on whatever it was they had found on the mainland, ... and by work, he meant he would act much like a sounding board for McKay's unstoppable stream-of-consciousness way of thinking, and would generally hang around and harass Mckay as he worked. Something which served to both amuse himself, but also act as a double agent, giving them both the sense of company and comfortable companionship each knew the other appreciated and had learned throughout the years to either demand or actively seek out from each other.

After a few hours he figured he could entice the man out of the labs for the night with a few of those new Starbucks VIA ready-to-brew packets of coffee that had just arrived on the Deadalous while Rodney and Radek's science team had been on the mainland. And from there he had seen the evening as gradually winding down into their usual fare, a companionable evening watching a bootlegged movie, frustrating Rodney at golf, or joining both the marines and the scientists alike in crashing the women's infamous weekly poker tournament. It was a highly circulated rumour that this weeks winners pot was a four pound bag of the coveted Kona coffee from the Hawaiian Islands, something that already had the scientists in near orgasmic raptures, and even the jarheads were literally drool.

_But that was all before the pants._

Mckay and leather pants. He nearly pinched himself; half convinced he had somehow stepped into an alternate reality where Rodney McKay regularly walked around embodying sex incarnate. Funnily enough that explanation sounded far more likely then what he was actually seeing in front of him right now. Because while he had always had this ... _thing_ for the Canadian man, he had also always managed to hide his feelings under the guise of their close friendship....but _this_, **this** was over the top!

_Only in the freakin' Pegasus galaxy would there be leather pants and Rodney's ass existing in the same sentence._

The fall out was instantaneous, the two marines on guard duty almost walked into the wall. Sergeant Markham _did_ walk into the wall, only saved from falling flat on his ass by the quick thinking of Lieutenant Miller, who after an impressive juggling act with a few of the seedling cases he was carrying for Katie Brown, managed to catch the falling man by his elbows. Down near Jumper two, Simpson looked up and gasped, dropping the small generator she was hefting on squarely on Kavanaugh's foot, who in turn didn't even seem notice because he was too busy doing an admittedly impressive imitation of a gold fish, seeming for once entirely wordless, his mouth working, yet no sound making it out.

_And John kinda knew how he felt; _he doubted he could have formed a coherent sentence on his life at that moment...

And if he knew one thing for sure, he knew that those pants..were evil. In a mere eight seconds flat they had caused more havoc then the time Parrish and Lorne had accidentally brought home a sample of what had later been semi-affectionately if not somewhat unimaginatively nicknamed: "Sexton the sometimes-and-sometimes not sex fern." Though on the other hand, it was a name that pretty much spoke for itself. Because really, as close as they all were on Atlantis, he really hadn't needed to know that Major Lorne, or Parrish for that matter were... _that ...._bendy, or that Zelenka was _that_ hot a commodity with the female marines.

They had apparently _still_ been finding stray panties and bras strewn throughout the labs for over a week later, the Czech's face going a shade of pink that nearly rivalled the smouldering red color of the last matching bra and panty set that he had inadvertently discovered on top of a long line of 7 foot tall spare parts cupboards, refusing point blank to answer Rodney's incredulous question of how it could have possibly gotten up there, as he headed out of the room to return the final garment to it's respective owner.

He wasn't sure what was more impressive and surprising, the fact that the Czech scientist had been the epi-center of a now infamously passionate sex orgy that had included over six female marines and had spanned over five labs and out into a number of corridors, or the fact that Radek knew exactly which undergarment set belonged to which woman. _Now that was talent..._

He could go on, but that would entirely be missing the point. Which was of course about the _pants_...the leather pants...Rodney's pants.

_They were definitely evil pants...._

_**A/N: So, continue? You tell me!**_ _**I am going to leave it here for now, to see how well it is received and if anyone is interested in this story. Since I am literally in the middle of 4 or 5 stories right now, depending on the feedback I will decide on whether or not to continue. Honestly, I wish my brain would just let me finish one STORY at a time before bombarding me with plot-lines that EAT**_ _**MY BRAIN. Because seriously...A Hewlett-ass in leather pants? GUH. **_


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own Stargate Atlantis or any of its characters. Do you THINK I would be here if I did?! So I do not, in any way shape or form own any of the plot or the characters. They belong to whoever owns 'em. I just took the general idea for a test jaunt. So, don't sue me...not that it would be beneficial, as I am a poor university student, yadda yadda yadda.

**Warnings:** This is a Mckay and Sheppard slash story, boys and girls. Thus, here be smut and man-on-man goodness. If that's not your style, well then, toodles!

**Authors Note:** Please read and review. I am excited to see what you all think. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism. I totally blame this story rabid plot bunnies. I have NO idea where this story came from. _Really._ I was innocently sitting at my desk doing homework, when _THIS_ popped into my brain. (*pauses to snuggle brain, because seriously the mental images were AWESOME*) So, instead of taking down chapter notes from my Tudor England text book, a few pages of loose leaf morphed into this! (Then I got interrupted by my roommate with coffee! But that's another story for another time! HA!).

_**Why Astrophysicists shouldn't wear Leather Pants – Part Two**_

_**'Straight through my heart...Solider Down...My heart...Soldier Down…My heart..'**_

In less then five minutes flat he knew he had formed an unhealthy love and hate relationship with those pants. In a sense he found it impressive, he hadn't even let himself form an opinion of Cadwell in less time then that... and yet, here he was, both condemning and nearly having a heart attack over a pair of stupid pants!

_Leather-god-help-him-pants._

He caught Zelenka's eye from across the awestruck room, quickly spotting the smaller, wild haired man as he squeezed out from the crowded jumper to join Rodney on the exit ramp, avoiding the man with easy, long accustomed grace as Rodney's flying hands started gesturing expressively, punctuating his points with increasingly excited movements as he turned to address Radek.

_The man was practically all but dancing on the spot! Dancing around in leather pants! He didn't even know what to even say about that other then utter a few monosyllabic sounds and something that sounded suspiciously like a whine._

Apparently Radek had been in the presence of the pants long enough to become somewhat immune, as he only gave him a roll of his eyes and a noncommittal shrug in return for what he hoped had been a questioning expression, rather then a deer-caught-in-the-high-beams-look, before the man clapped his hands loudly and summoned all the other scientists around him, his accented English thickening as he raised his voice, vainly attempting to gain everyone's attention.

_'Good luck with that pipe dream, any chance of that died when Rodney had stepped off god damn jumper..' _He thought somewhat petulantly, scuffing the toe of one of his freshly shined boots along the floor as he took a deep, steadying breath.

But the excited babble of their discoveries and plans for a new expedition team for the following day fled from his mind entirely when Rodney finally caught sight of him.

It was like metal to a charged magnet, and unbidden his stomach twisted into strange, happy knots as he watched the man's eyes light up, his grin growing impossibly wider as he made a bee-line towards him, his mouth already moving a mile a minute, his voice already at the highest level of what he had come to interpret throughout the past few years as Rodney's 'so-excited-he's-almost-chirruping-in-glee-mode'.

For once he didn't even care what the man was actually saying, he wasn't even sure if the words Mckay was actually saying were even registering in his brain. All he could think, all that was there was the pants! Those stupid, dangerously animated pants that were standing out like the giant pink elephant in the room that McKay didn't even know existed.

_God did he hate, hate, hate those pants. Stupid, one hundred percent pure delicious, pure enthralling, frickin' leather pants!_

The man ploughed through all the havoc he had caused as if he didn't even notice, bounding off the ramp like an overly excited kid coming home from a field trip, almost sashaying through the dumbstruck people as he weaved through the unmoving crowd, his grin fit to split his face, leaving shocked devastation, and speechless chaos in his wake.

_Rodney was NEVER going to be allowed to go back to the mainland EVER again. He was putting his foot down._

McKay was going on about something one of the Asoethian hunting parties had discovered, the remains of some long abandoned, and half-collapsed ancient structure, the majority of it apparently having been built underground, the design quite different from the usually Atlantian fare, with the unique arching spirals that the Atlantian's seemed to have coveted only reaching as high as the forest canopy. It was now mostly obscured by a grove of some sort of not quite-walnut trees that had latched onto the spirals and had grown up entwined around them, the root systems having actually enveloped the majority of the decaying structure itself.

All in all, on a usual day the excitement of a brand new ancient structure to explore, and the possibility of new ancient toys to play with was something he was pretty sure that he would have been just as excited as Rodney about. In fact he was actually certain that he would have probably already been dragging the man back to the nearest jumper, demanding to have his own look.

_But not today. No, today he was in HELL. _

_Except that this was the special kind of hell that contained Rodney bouncing around in skin-tight leather pants, close-fitted black t-shirts, and a grin that he wagered could have brought about world peace all before supper if they had only been back on Earth._

But today, he only heard about half of the conversation and cared about even less of it, because all he could take in was how the man's near frantic excitement was causing his arms to windmill around erratically, his hands flailing about as he talked, the movements pulling and stretching at the darkly cured leather that flexed along the span of his groin and hips, with the movements also causing the snug black t-shirt, (_which looked more like it had be PAINTED on by the way) _to ride up just the smallest of bits to reveal an all too lickable strip of skin at the man's hips, the sleeves slithering around the muscles of his forearms, hugging the skin like the embrace of a lover.

He wasn't sure what he had done to deserve this! He hadn't dropped any ancient technology (that Rodney knew about anyway), he hadn't stolen any of Rodney's coffee (because he didn't have a death wish thank you very much), nor had he swiped anything off the mans food tray in the last few weeks either, having eventually learned his lesson after Rodney picked up on Ronon's bad habit of stabbing at his fingers when they wandered suspiciously close to his food tray.

In fact the man stole more freely of his tray then anyone. _Actually he was the only one he actually let do that, even from their very first week on Atlantis!_ The scientist seemed to be able to sense what he was actually planning to eat and what he was not and snitched the items accordingly. _'And you let him.'_ His brain reminded him smugly.

Cocking his head in continuing confusion he made the mistake of looking down, his eyes travelling unbidden downwards just at the precise moment that Rodney canted his hip to the side, his hands resting imperiously on his hips before fluttering off again, the movement punctuating his words as he ploughed onwards.

But the image of those cocked hips and those broad hands resting against his leather-covered thighs was now scarred across his retinas, the subtle creaking of leather gliding across his skin echoing in his ears.

_Those pants were going to kill him. He just knew it._

"....I mean it could easily be an ancient love shack or storage shed for all we know right now. But the point is that we need to check it out. It's not like it would take very long if you would requisitioned enough Marines to help us dig it out....It would give them an opportunity to show off their manly strength." The scientist said sarcastically, actually making air-quotes as he finished the sentence, barely pausing for a half a second to take a breath before starting again.

_'The man's lung capacity was truly impressive.' _He thought vaguely before metaphorically back- peddling in horror as the mere thought brought forth a whole host of images that were really not very work appropriate.

_They were 'Rodney appropriate', but just not necessarily appropriate when one is standing in the middle of the jumper bay, surrounded by a milling group of scientists and military personnel. Such thoughts more often then not led into...dangerous territory, where his biggest enemy was his brain and his balls. _

".....And besides, the possibility that there could be ZPM's and god-knows what else down there merits checking it out. Especially since no one is currently trying to kill us, -which is a nice change by the way- Well other then the Wraith obviously. But at this very moment, there is no random aliens attacking us, massive power failures or structural problems, - I fixed that problem out on the east pier before I left by the way, can you believe that the docking seals that connect Atlantis to the Deadlus when they dock were nearly completely shorted out?! When I find out who was on repair detail for that section I am going to rip them a ---...Where was I?" He trailed off suddenly, changing gears in mid-sentence as smoothly as a stick shift as it slides into first, not seeming to notice that he was just staring back at the man, open mouthed, trying and failing to find his tongue.

_This whole thing was starting to get embarrassing._

"Ah, right!" The man replied a few short seconds later, snapping his fingers excitedly as he regain the track of his increasingly animated rant.

"So there is no _current_ possibility of IMMINENT death due to technical failure, no exposure to alien sex spores, violent trading partners, rampaging herd animals, superior aliens trying to convert us, viral plagues, coffee shortages, or sadistic races wanting to infect us! **Yet... **I mean honestly! How often does that actually hap-...."

Abruptly, the excited Canadian seemed to realize that he wasn't actually listening to him, and he couldn't help but watch in secret appreciation as the mans expressive mouth abruptly went from full on-techno-babble mode to form an annoyingly snarky smirk, as if he had just caught John in the act of trying to cheat at chess, or pretending to actually understand what the hell he and Radek went on about in the Gate room when they were chest deep in power conduits and DHD readings.

But after a long moment that snarky look turned suddenly concerned, his forehead scrunching up in confused worry lines, quickly forming his classic 'Iam-not-sure-what-is-going-on-but-I-demand-to-be-told-or-a-turn-off-the-hot-water-in-your-room-face', not to be confused with his 'oh-crap-I-just-found-out-something-bad-and-we-need-to-run-away-really-fast-now-before-the-aliens-with-the-pointy-sticks-decide-to-kill-us-face', as he rounded on him.

"Are you alright Sheppard? You look even more spaced out then usual."

_Huh. Well he supposed he actually deserved that one._

_'Nothing was wrong. It was all the pants._' He thought viciously, glaring at his feet accusingly as one of his combat boots inched a few imperceptible millimetres closer to the man, broaching the already short space between them even further, ignoring his brain as the cheesy metaphorical red-alert alarms echoed in his brain, finding himself unable to back away as the man fixed him with an imposing, yet curious stare, his arms crossing in irritation and barely contained impatience as he awaited an answer.

He swayed slightly, trying to move both forwards and backwards at the same time, attempting to cover the movement by pivoting directionlessly on his heels, as if he had been about to turn around and had thought better of it. His brain was sending him conflicting signals, shorting out like a length of circuitry wire in the man's capable hands as the scientist's scent rose in the air, detectable now that he was close.

_It was so strong, and so present in the air that he swore he could nearly taste it. Taste the man along with the leather and the smile..._

The man smelled like the herby mainland soil, of sweat, sunshine, leather, and sunscreen, all mixed together with that subtle Rodney-like scent of him, a smell that was always a mix of that unique, masculine-like musk, the slight whiff of coffee or burnt circuitry as piled atop those surprisingly soft and gentle tones that put together all made up the scent of this confusing, yet enticing man.

Strong and soft, the man smelled like something he could only describe as ...contentment. To him at least, that was what Rodney smelled of, of the possibility of happiness.

And you know, looking like a porn star wasn't doing him any disservices either...

_Before he had met Rodney he had never really thought much about how a man could actually manage to smell the way Rodney did. He was an ever changing buffet of pleasant and strangely alluring scents, a weird, yet entertaining symphony of rich sounds, and sights. It was akin to visiting a new country every day.. with the snarky scientist always proving to be a man of contrasts. _

_One thing could be definitely said about life with Rodney McKay, that it was certainly never boring.._

_The man wore his emotions like a war banner, written in day-glow colors, while his heart often remained partially hidden under bluster and sarcasm, only rearing it's sometimes timid, but always brave head when it was needed, bestowing itself like a breath of fresh air to whomever cared enough to recognize it. The man couldn't help being always different, and unique in the best of ways. _

_'Yeah...unique...Like, you know him showing up in leather pants...that definitely topped his scale of 'uniqueness'..... For this month at least.. And even so, if the leather pants were anything to go by for next time the man decided to shock the crap out of him, well then he didn't think he'd live to survive the next one.' _He thought stubbornly, deliberately forcing himself to look at some point off the mans right shoulder.

"What did you do now? Inhale one too many whiffs of your hair spray? Snort the styling gel? Honestly, how did you even manage to bring hair care products with you on to Atlantis anyway? You are in the middle of another galaxy, who cares what your hair looks like anyway? Unless you are one of those guys that bank their sexual prowess on their physical appearance rather then real skill?" The man commented heatedly, the crinkling around his lips, and the amused grin on his face erasing any doubts his tone might have caused as he shifted his stance easily, not seeming to notice when he crowded right into John's personal space, hands flying, gesturing suggestively at his hair as he spoke.

_Well okay, he knew he hadn't deserved that one! He hadn't so much as even picked up bottle of hairspray in his entire life! But despite it all he even didn't bother to attempt denying it. He would have had more luck talking to Ronon about the innermost complexities of data-core extraction then getting Rodney to believe that Sheppard was a hair-product free zone._

_And he might have been able to speak up in his defence if Rodney would only stop alluding to his sex life, (or lack there of) he might have been able to collect himself enough to be able to form a whole coherent sentence...._

_...Maybe.._

_Besides, like the man could talk anyway! Standing there all wind swept and sea-spiked hair! The man looked like he had stepped off the cover of the Rolling Stones magazine rather then a jumper ramp, and judging from the mans slight shifting, and soft little hungry noises, those strange little movements and sounds that McKay tended to display mere minutes before the demand for a power bar or a snack break were voiced, also about to drag him off to the mess to boot.._

It was in hearing those noises that he regained enough presence of mind to fumble automatically in the his pocket of his black khakis, silently handing over the slightly mangled power bar that he had begun keeping there for just such occasions as the man kept right on talking, the quirk in his lips turning infectiously gleeful as he ripped off the wrapper and took a huge bite, his dark blue eyes momentarily closing in power-bar created bliss as he massacred a quick thank you, still chewing happily as he peeled of more of the sticky wrapper to attend to his next bite.

And predictably, because today just seemed determined to absolutely _destroy him, _the man let loose a string of pleased, and in his opinion, highly suggestive noises, making him almost wish he has just let Rodney drag him off to the mess hall instead. The appreciative sounds making him shiver inwardly as the man hummed in contentment, virtually inhaling the snack in less then thirty seconds flat, flashing him a grateful look and failing miserably as he attempted to covertly eye the remaining cargo pockets for the evidence of anymore power bar-sized lumps.

_He was going to have to make a list of things McKay was no longer allowed to do in public.... And he had the sneaking suspicion that it was going to be a long ass list.... No pun intended._

_Damnit!_

_**A/N: So, continue? You tell me!**_ _**I am eager to know your opinions, advice, comment, and etc. I love hearing from you and welcome constructive criticism. **_

_**A/n #1: Chapter title is from the new BSB**_ _**song, "Straight through my Heart." (Shaddup, it is AWESOME.)**_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Disclaimer: I don't own Stargate Atlantis or any of its characters. Do you THINK I would be here if I did?! So I do not, in any way shape or form own any of the plot or the characters. They belong to whoever owns 'em. I just took the general idea for a test jaunt. So, don't sue me...not that it would be beneficial, as I am a poor university student, yadda yadda yadda.**_

**Warnings:** This is a Mckay and Sheppard slash story, boys and girls. Thus, here be smut and man-on-man goodness. If that's not your style, well then, toodles! (And yes, there will eventually be smut...at some point...traditionally it takes awhile for me to get there).

**Authors Note:** Please read and review. I am excited to see what you all think. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism. I totally blame this story rabid plot bunnies. I have NO idea where this story came from. _Really. (Actually I totally do but it is embarrassing like-whoa! Ha!)_

*I had originally thought this was going to be a one shot, or at the very most a two- parter. Alas my sadistically cruel muse has deemed otherwise! I hope you enjoy the insanity!

_**Why Astrophysicists shouldn't wear Leather Pants – Part Three**_

_**Because apparently Bacon plus Rodney McKay automatically equals sexy**_

"No really, Sheppard...I mean helllllllooooo? Anyone in there?" The scientist finally asked, his voice switching to an annoyingly sing-song tone as the skeleton of the power bar wrapper crinkled loudly, fluttering noisily in his hand as the man waved it back and forth in front of his face, nearly poking him in the eye with it as he tried to get a reaction out of him.

_Sometimes, for a self-proclaimed super genius, Mckay was really just an idiot..._

Because if he had been even the smallest bit less oblivious, then he would have been able to figure out by now that it had actually been HIM that had stolen all of his attention in the first place!

And by _him_, he meant the _pants_. The pants ON Rodney. The leather pants.

_Who in their right mind would actually pay attention to something as mundane as **words** when they had something like..like THIS just lounging in front of them?!_

"Did you hit your head again Colonel? Seriously, Carson is going to kill you, what is that? Like six times in less then two months?" The man commented with a shake of his head, ticking off the times on his fingers as he leaned in closer, presumably inspecting his scalp for possible bumps, giving his hair a mistrustful glance as he pivoted around him so he could see the around the back.

He wasn't sure where the words finally came from, but impressed even himself when he discovered somewhat belatedly that his lips were forming the words, his brain lagging only a few seconds behind this time. _He figured that in this case he would take what he could get._

"Knock it off Rodney." He replied, his voice embarrassingly thick and husky even to his ears as he leaned slightly to the left to stop Rodney from glaring a hole in the back of his head, the man still closely inspecting him for head wounds.

But the Canadian only quirked his lips, jutting out his chin for an indignant few seconds before nodding to himself, as if those words had expelled all his hypochondriac-like worries and all was right again in the world of Rodney.

_'Must be nice..'_ He thought sarcastically, hardly taking in the moment of silence that stretched out between them before the man's mouth started moving again.

"Pretty soon Carson is going to make you wear a safety helmet on away missions." He added with an amused tilt of his lips, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet as he eyed him, looking pointed at him as if he was waiting for something other then his response to spontaneously occur.

And maybe it was just Rodney's paranoia rubbing off on him, but had Rodney just leaned in _closer?_ _**He had...**_ The distance between them now was barely a step and a half wide. The taller man was so close that he wouldn't have been able to raise his hand from where it rested limply at his side without brushing it along the mans arm.

Usually some smart remark would come and they would trade barbs. But nothing did. And he blamed the pants.

_Because he had never thought of McKay in leather pants, thank you very much. Rodney in jeans had been like discovering a new country in of itself. He had needed serious time to adjust after that, only gradually coming to accept that firstly Rodney actually **owned** a pair of jeans, and secondly that despite each new instance causing him to barely cover his awed double take, the man insisted on continuing to wear the damn things._

So no, there had been no thoughts what so ever of Rodney prancing around in cured leather pants, tied up with rough, roguish laces that were just peeking out from the front, hint enough that they were done up in the front.

_Until now.... Damnit._

If he had been a man that regularly lied to himself he might have wondered just _when _he had started paying that much attention to Rodney's as-... pants. _Pants_! But since he wasn't a man in the habit of deluding himself he had to admit that he really _had_ been paying attention, not only to the man himself, but to the ...other parts of him as well.

Because the fact of the matter was, that Rodney just had an ass that did _something_ to John. He couldn't exactly explain it, and neither was he entirely sure he actually wanted to.

He had been content to ignore it the first few times, noticing and cataloguing away the rouge thoughts as brief bouts of Pegasus galaxy-induced insanity.

However that excuse had only worked for about the first few weeks they had been on Atlantis before his own brain had had the audacity to call him on his delusions. But of course, since he never made things of this nature easy on himself, his mind had finally tired of trying to get through to him in the other more conventional ways, and decided to do him the favour of hitting him with the realization in a way akin to the fate of an unlucky pedestrian that has barely stepped onto the cross-walk, only to get broadsided by an rampaging double-decker bus.

It had happened a few weeks after the Wraith siege, the hour barely past 0300, with the small sparsely-staffed night shift already in full swing and down to only a half a vat of coffee. The city was almost completely silent, with the hushed ocean waves having lulled almost everyone else to rest; even Rodney had passed out hours ago, the half-conscious man having been practically dragged from the labs by Radek a few hours earlier.

It was a testament to the Canadian man's exhaustion that Rodney hadn't pitched a fit at being forcibly removed from his own labs, with the small, messy haired scientist proving to be perfectly adept at both handling and steering the sleepy scientist through half of Atlantis as they made their way to the residential wing, Mckay only bickering with him half-heartedly as they discussed the repair schedule for a partially collapsed section of the east wing.

He himself had been fast asleep, having strayed into dreamland still fully dressed, with page seventeen of 'War and Peace' bend oddly across his face. However, as everyone on Atlantis had eventually learned, sleep was something of a luxury in the Pegasus galaxy.

The book went flying comically through the air as the alarm klaxons suddenly screamed through the city, going off without any warning or any indication of a problem, but with each deafening sound, it only heightened the fever pitch of tension that still existed in everyone's chest, the threat of the wraith still fresh on everyone's minds.

He had been out the door and flying through the halls before the book had even fully come to a halt, thudding limply against the wall with an indignant, paper-like scream.

He had reached the gate room in less then two minutes, arriving out of breath but still looking every inch the military commander of Atlantis, with even his sidearm still strapped to his thigh.

The entire control room was in a milling frenzy of confusion and half-panicked activity as the technicians and military personnel alike attempted to figure out what the emergency was, with no one exactly knowing what had set off the security alarms.

It had been amidst that chaos and confusion that Rodney had blown in. _Literally_. The man arrived like he had rocket-boosters strapped to his shoes. And come to think of it, he had no idea how the man had even arrived in footwear, seeing as though he made his grand entrance in what could have only been his pyjamas.

And worst off, in spite of the growing possibility of life-sucking, apocalyptic doom, no one other then him had really seemed to notice or even care what the man was dressed in until _after the fact.... except for him.._

_He had DEFINATELY noticed. Right then...not after._

A few tense minutes later when Rodney discovered that the alarm had actually been triggered by a short in one of the south piers grounding stations, and there was actually no real emergency, the man finally turned, slumping against the console in tired relief, unconsciously petting at the console in grudging approval, taking in it's happy chirp of confirmation as he programmed it to self diagnose, his still profile at the power station unknowingly giving everyone else the chance to fully appreciate his attire.

The man appeared decidedly rumpled, with his hair sticking up in adorable sleep-ruffled tufts on one side, while the other side remained strangely flattened, the hair slicked straight down to one side of his head as if he had fallen asleep with damp hair. His face was lightly tattooed with the amusing indents of where his pillow had pressed into his face, the marks still visible on his high cheekbones, trailing down to detail the course of his sleep by their presence around his chin and mouth

_And that wasn't even the worst part._

The man was wearing a bright orange t-shirt, much like the color of his Antarctica orange fleece jacket, however this t-shirt bore the faded, yet still readable words of: "_You had me at Bacon,"_ emblazoned in block letters across the chest.

_The shirt alone was cause enough for one or two sleepless nights (for more then one reason he must add).. .But that wasn't all..._

No...because like with all brain-destroying-watch-your-IQ-dribble-out-your-ears kind of outfits, there was ALWAYS the aspect of the pants. Not the leather ones mind you, no, just the regular, everyday run of the mill...PANTS... Or in this case, what he had christened: 'Rodney's-I-can-roll-out-of-bed-and-limit-you-to-monosyabu-words-with-the power-of-my-joe-boxer-style-pj-pants'.

_He figured that by now the universe owed him a few dozen or so breaks at not thinking up a cooler name on the spot. However, thinking back on it, even now he still couldn't find the perfect words to describe them either..._

The brilliant orange color of the t-shirt clashed magnificently with the dark, navy blue pyjama pants that the man wore, softly accentuating his rear while outlining the strong lines of his calves and legs, before coming down to flare slightly at his ankles.

_The man looked like a comedic traffic pylon that had gotten into a tragic accident with a runaway underwear model. _

_He hadn't been able to stop staring **then** either._

And that was one of the first...but _not_ the last time that he had really let himself notice Rodney's as- ..._choice of pants._

_And the worst of it was he couldn't even that one blame that one on the pants!_

_This was karma. It had to be. Because this was pure, unadulterated TORTURE. Someone was definitely sitting somewhere, watching this whole thing unfold and laughing their ass off._

He was shaken out of his mental listing of all the people he had ever pissed off, realizing as he did so that the list was already likely half the length of War and Peace and he was still in his senior year in High School, as Rodney fumbled in his pocket, complaining loudly about the lack of power bars as a fold up screw driver slipped out the pants single, hip high pocket.

_That was it... It was all over._

Because that was the moment when the man bent down, swooping down upon the offending instrument like a hawk does to its prey, his timing almost perfectly in tune with the moment the heavy metal tool settled into silence on the strange, metallic-like jumper bay titles.

The man bent down in those tight little leather pants like he was moving in sweatpants, with an ease, grace, and purely sexual motion that nearly killed him.

_Killed him DEAD._

And he'd be damned if those god damned pants didn't display that round, pert, fleshy, perfectly shaped ass like a showcase displays it's most prized trophies. With each movement, each and every wiggle, wriggle, and god save him, **BOUNCE** of the man's ass sending a bolt of pure, uncensored lust through him.

_This was just NOT fair anymore..._

He knew then, that when he finally managed to scrape what was left of his brain together, and scoop his gaping jaw off the floor that he was going to kill that man. Leather pants were going on the black list, and he was going to make up some sort of bullshit rule that would make Rodney walk around in only sweat pants from now on...

_'Wait...' _No, because that wouldn't work either, because he had actually _experienced_ Rodney in sweat pants and that had been no better then Rodney in pyjama pants.

_Apparently no matter what the pants, Rodney's ass was dead set on rendering him brain dead.._

He vainly attempted to take stock of the situation, trying to weigh his options on a professional level, falling back on his training as the man unconcernedly threaded the wrench in between his long finger as he continued...well continued whatever the hell he was ranting about now.

His brain had been rendered useless, with his intellect apparently having taken an impromptu vacation. His motor control was stuttered at best, his ability to walk, questionable. His ability to dampen the increasing evidence of his bodies interest...impossible..

He screwed his eyes shut, desperately thinking of anything but Rodney and the leather pants. But not even the images of 'pantless' Asgard, overly friendly Wraith-Bugs, or Commander Caldwell dancing around in a frilly pink tutu and speedo-tight ballet leotards did nothing to slack the growing pressure in his groin.

_God, He was so, utterly and completely SCREWED that even HE didn't even know where to start figuring this one out._..

Suddenly he had the weirdest and strangest thought that Rodney might have done that on purpose. But that thought was quickly negated when the man straightened, smiling with kid-like triumph as he stuffed the offending tool back into his pocket, the force of the motion stretching the waist of the pants downwards, revealing for a few glorious seconds a pale expanse of nearly hairless navel and hip.

And in that heart stopping moment, he realized that Rodney was going commando underneath those leather pants. _Under those pants, he was naked. NAKED!_

And that was the point when he was pretty sure that something virtually important had just broken in his brain. Snapping like a string pulled too taunt around the skin..

_Stupid pants. Someone was going to pay.._

_**A/N: So, continue? You tell me!**_ _**I am eager to know your opinions, advice, comment, and etc. I love hearing from you and welcome constructive criticism. **_

**A/N #2: _KaIzoku-Taii =] I have to say your review made me laugh! If I could have I would have replied to you! Either way, no one has ever called me a god before! (winks) I think I could get used to it! Heeeeee! Also, a big thank you to all the reviewers who are reviewing anonymously. I try to respond to all my reviews, but since I cannot for you guys, know that I appreciate them!_**


	4. Chapter 4

_**Disclaimer: I don't own Stargate Atlantis or any of its characters. Do you THINK I would be here if I did?! So I do not, in any way shape or form own any of the plot or the characters. They belong to whoever owns 'em. I just took the general idea for a test jaunt. So, don't sue me...not that it would be beneficial, as I am a poor university student, yadda yadda yadda.**_

**Warnings:** This is a Mckay and Sheppard slash story, boys and girls. Thus, here be smut and man-on-man goodness. If that's not your style, well then, toodles! (And yes, there will eventually be smut...at some point...traditionally it takes awhile for me to get there).

**Authors Note:** Please read and review. I am excited to see what you all think. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism. I totally blame this story rabid plot bunnies. I have NO idea where this story came from. _Really. (Actually I totally do but it is embarrassing like-whoa! Ha!)_

*I had originally thought this was going to be a one shot, or at the very most a two-parter. Alas my sadistically cruel muse has deemed otherwise! I hope you enjoy the insanity!

**Dedication:** A good portion of this chapter is dedicated to _**Late for the Sky **_because it is ENTIRELY her fault. She kept going on about Kavanaugh in leather pants and short circuiting my ENTIRE brain until I HAD TO add a whole bunch of sections to what I already had. Sheesh! Haha! So if this is irredeemably smuttish then blame HER. (PS: But not completely, because she is unique, she shares my Kav!love! Sqweee!) Yeah..and if you don't like Kavanaugh...well..tough!

_**Why Astrophysicists shouldn't wear Leather Pants – Part Four**_

_**Rawhide ties and Idiots**_

He was still trying to desperately catch up with what Rodney was actually saying, when he suddenly realized that the vast majority of the jumper bay was still gaping at the man, with a soft, tittering mumble starting to buzz it's way through the back of the crowd as one by one, people began to regain their ability to form words.

_And if he had had the ability to do so, he might have been able to feel little smug at being one of the first to recover enough to do so. Barley._

Scientists and Marines alike were still visibly recovering. One of the new female marines, a red haired spitfire of a woman who was his leading choice to fill the position Cadman had recently left, the bomb expert currently doing a few extra rotations on the Deadalus before being reassigned to SG1 Command. This woman however was one of the only names from the newest batch that had arrived on the Deadalus the week before that he hadn't quite gotten around to remembering her name yet. And now, Erenchie? Edrenchie? Either way it was something French-Canadian sounding, was shifting restlessly in place, blinking her impossibly huge, bright green eyes towards Rodney, shaking her head slight as she did so, as if fully expecting it all to be a mirage.

He quickly scanned the crowd, momentarily proud of himself for being able to tear his eyes away from Rodney for more then a five second period. Across the jumper bay Radek had apparently given up on trying to get everyone's attention and was in what looked like a weirdly deep, conversation with a tall, sable haired German marine, who was also apparently immune to the pants because he actually looked like he was paying attention to the babbling Czech, grabbing a hold of his shell-shocked partner, Chilia, a tiny little Brazilian sniper, who was still gaping in the general direction of Rodney's ass, not really seemingly to notice when the man got tired of waiting for her and simply hooked his arm under her shoulder and practically carried her up the jumper ramp, presumably to help Zelenka wrestle with the botanist's sample boxes.

He was somewhat impressed to see that Kavanaugh seemed to have recovered enough of his motor skills to be already bitching about his 'broken' foot, hopping up and down on his one good foot, not even looking in their direction as he flailed around trying to keep his balance, closely inspected his admittedly bruised looking toes, as his shoe narrowing missed broad siding the back of Simpson's head as she remained where she was, apparently not hearing a word the tall, pony-tailed man was saying.

When he had time to mentally dwell on it, he realized he had found the entire moment so intensely hilarious that upon remembering it he had snorted half a glassful of powered milk substitute up his nose right in the middle of the lunch rush, ungracefully spluttering and coughing as Ronon had unhelpfully pounded him on the back, each thud of his massive palms making his back crack all the way up the spine.

_On the flip side, despite the bruised vertebrae it had been akin to a rather rough massage, and since then his back hadn't ached in weeks! The man definitely needed to set up a practise; he would be fat off chocolate bars and butterscotch pudding within a week._

The blond haired scientist was looking from the pants to Kavanaugh in a way that normal people would have watched a tennis match, looking from one to the other and then back again as if she couldn't help herself...her eyes lingering on Kavanaughs tan khakis in a way that could have only been described as halfway between predatory, and the look a woman gets when she has just made an earth-shattering realization.

The man must have sensed her gaze, because after a few long moments of hopping around and making vaguely threatening motions in the general direction of the fallen generator, he suddenly looked up (an impressively flexible feat in his mind due to the fact that the scientist was still clutching his foot), meeting the sandy haired woman's eyes as whatever he had been about to say appeared to have died on-route to his lips, his face morphing into a soft, yet heated look as his jaw snapped shut with an audible click.

A feat that he hadn't even _known was even POSSIBLE for the temperamental man._

He had no idea what had past between them, the veil of Simpson's long blond hair shielding her face from view, but that being said he _did_ see the spark of realization as it dawned like a sunrise in Kavanaugh's dark blue eyes, transforming his features into an expression he had never seen the difficult man wear, as the ghost of a heated flush stole across his cheeks.

There was a muted noise that echoed across the jumper bay, startling several people out of their own dazes as his bruised foot slipped out of his grip and thudded to the floor, barely brushing the metallic tiles before it was unceremoniously crammed back into his boot. He hadn't even gotten his laces shoved into the side of his shoe before the blond-haired beauty began tugging him out of the room... by the _loops of his god damn belt_, pulling him through the restless crowd.

Though the question of who was leading who, got somewhat muddled somewhere around them passing Sergeant Markham and Lieutenant Miller, and a gaggling of dumbstruck geologists, as Kavanaugh's hand somehow found its way around the curve of her hip, his long fingers tangling along the hem of her shirt as he pressed her up against him until she was almost plastered across the profile of his chest and hip as they beat a hasty retreat out of the bay, leaving the fallen generator where it had fallen, splayed out across the humming blue floor like a blatant, neon yellow accusation.

_And WELL_ _wasn't __**that**__ just a thought..._

For a moment he surprised himself by actually being suddenly and intensely curious if 'Sexton' had been responsible for _**THAT**_ as well... It appeared that Lorne and Parish as well as more then a dozen of Atlantis' freshly established love birds weren't the only ones that had...._benefited_ from the flamboyantly over-sexualized plant's affections.

_Rodney was going to have a stroke when he told him._

He began to fear for the possibly of a leather pants-induced epidemic when he realized that in some cases, people were just happening upon the sight. Such as Parrish, who has just bounced excitedly into the room, obviously already transported to his happy place due to the quickly spreading rumour that the science team had discovered some sort of previously unknown form shrubbery or _something_...and you know, not to mention...the massive not-walnut-tree-groves that had essentially eaten an entire ancient building.

Something which sounded suspiciously like the stuff of a botanist's wet dream now that he had a chance to think about it. You never could tell with the life scientists.

_Poor Parrish... There was no hope for him, like a bullet to the brain he never even saw it coming. The pants had claimed their next victim._

The young botanist was struck as dumb as the rest of them when his brain finally registered what his eyes were actually seeing. But he only had a quick second to blink in startled surprise before he ploughed directly into the back Major Lorne.

The major had been standing by the jumper, still slack-jawed, and gripping his P-90 like a life preserver. (Something surprising in itself as he had been the one that had been babysitting the science team for the whole day, and had even piloted the damn jumper back home.) Apparently unlike Radek, the Major had not been able to pull himself together.

The pair nearly went down like dominoes, both men uttering a grunt of surprise as they collided, Parrish's gangly legs tangling with Lorne's more muscle-bound frame, sending them teetering together into the jumper's side, clumped together in an awkward sort of lovers embrace that was a virtual whirl wind of flying limbs and wriggling torso's as each sought instinctively to keep upright and stop the other one from falling.

_It looked remarkably like a lover's hug shared between an amputee octopus and something out of 'The Blob"._

Really Lorne should thank the sandy haired botanist, because now, unlike the rest of them, at least he had a new thing to focus on instead of the _god damn pants_.

...Like, you know, trying to juggle a handful of long-legged scientist while at the same time trying to desperately figure out where he should lay his hands on the man in public. Because really.. after Sexton and the incident in Jumper One that he _STILL_ hadn't completely forgiven Lorne for, it was only really a matter of time between those two.

_Everyone knew it except them however, so in the meantime, everyone else got to just sit back and enjoy the cute and awkward hilarity of it all. He had it on good authority that their was a new betting pool with people guessing not only the date and time that might happen, but also where it might happen. Apparently there was good odds for Botany lab 9._

_He was going to have to get Rodney to change his bet.._

Coincidentally, on that note, he had never seen Lorne blush quite that shade of red before, it was quite weirdly becoming...and judging from Parrish's embarrassed, yet endearingly million-candle-watt-powered grin, he thought so to.

_'Six down...only about twenty to go...' _He thought somewhat sardonically, his feet shuffling in discomfort as he unconsciously put himself in front of the babbling man, trying and failing to block Rodney from the crowds appreciative stares.

But the moment was effectively broken when Cadman breezed through, her Deadalus uniform half unzipped, tac vest hanging open loosely around her small waist, arms piled high with a stack of duty roisters. She was just one of the dozens of Deadalus crew members taking the opportunity to engage in a bit of impromptu shore leave while Hermoid completed a few minor system repairs before the crew made their return trip back to Earth,

_When Cadman had wolf whistled at them he wanted to punch her._

But when Rodney had half-turned to see who was making all the noise, he only flapped a half irritated, half amused hand in her direction, apparently still oblivious to the fact that fifty percent of the room was still gaping, god smacked at the pants, while the other fifty percent was making good use of the mans inattention to take a few long appreciative glances at the mans ass.

But other then Cadman, (presumably because she had seen it all before, which he was definitely _still_ not thinking about) and the few others, nearly everyone else was still staring..

_They were **all **STILL staring. _

_Staring at Rodney. Staring at the pants. Staring at Rodney in the god damn pants._

And for some reason, the mere thought of that, of them staring at Rodney, staring at him _like that_ ...well that was just the last straw. _He had had enough already!_

He almost couldn't contain it, the feeling burning like a hot brand in the gut. He wanted to know who had given Rodney those god damn pants. He wanted to know that on top of it all, why the hell the man was practically flouncing around in them, rather then wearing his khakis like everyone else! He wanted to know where the hell Rodney had gotten that shirt and that smug look.

_**He had to know. **_

_He had to know so he could go strangle the person that had thought it was okay to give McKay skin tight leather pants WITHOUT consulting him._

And suddenly, for a few heart wrenching moments a single, terrible, terrifying thought occurred to him.

_'Oh god, what if they were **sex pants**?!'_

What if they were? What if they were the result of a clandestine mainland rendezvous with one of the Asothisians? Even in his head he knew the words sounded stupid, but that didn't change the face that this was the one horrible explanation, as terrible and gut wrenching as it was, that almost made sense...

Because it was basically common knowledge to everyone on Atlantis by now that it was a common Asothesian custom to fashion and gift clothes for the object of their affections, a gesture made in order to show flirtatious interest. Telya had had to eventually explain it to them a few months after coming to Altantis, after practically the entire gate room had witnessed just such an occurrence. When a young, long haired Athosian man had nervously, but purposely come forward, a skin wrapped bundle clutched tightly in his hands as he veered over to one of the off-duty female marines, talking to Grodin and another lab technician as they fiddled around with a door panel at the bottom of the gate room stairs.

The tall man, who according to Telya was one of her peoples most promising rising leaders, and a expert hunter in his own right, had towered rather prominently over the small, south American beauty. But the black haired woman hadn't even seem to notice, in fact her brilliant green eyes had lit up upon seeing him, a huge smile transforming her face as she had wrapped up her conversation with the others before walking up to meet him.

Even he, who really didn't go for that sort of thing, had to admit that it had been pretty cute. And he hadn't been the only one that had thought so. He had heard virtually all the women in the room give a tiny, collective sigh at the sight. Hell, even a few of his own marines had had stupid grins plastered over their faces as the somewhat bemused, but obviously touched woman had accepted the bundle, looking from the nervous man to the soft cloth in confusion before she bent down to open it, a surprised, but pleased sounding noise eliciting from her throat as she pulled the thick fur covering aside.

To this day, she still won't tell everyone what exactly had been hidden in that bundle, despite the almost unending, well meant jibes from her fellow soldiers, and friends. But regardless it was a well known secret that the cloth used to wrap the gift still held a place of honour in her room, folded neatly at the bottom of her bed like a blanket. And if anyone had noticed, in days that she had spent, sitting with the man in the infirmary after he had been injured during the Wraith Siege, that she had been wearing a long, flowing leather and cloth sewn shirt, expertly, and painstakingly constructed to be laced up snug at the bodice, with the rest of the butter-soft material left to flow in demure waves of fabric, hugging her waist and hips, well then they certainly weren't telling.

As Telya had explained it, the ritual was more then just the gifting of clothes, or a indication of interest, but it was a signal of devotion and love, showing that one person cared so much for the other that they sacrificed their time and labour, sweat, and sometimes even their own blood by the prick of the sharp bone awls, to create such a garment, showing that their interest was genuine by giving up time that could be spent doing other things, things deemed necessary in their survival. It was considered to be one of the highest measures of love and respect that two people in their culture could engage in.

..Other then doing the horizontal tango of course.

It too was a ritual that continued to be practiced as a relationship progressed, something which he had learned though merely observing some of his own men as they came back and forth from the mainland. Over the years a handful of them had struck up relationships with some of the women there, and he was pretty sure that some of them were running out of closet space to put their lovely hand-made tunics and leggings.

And in this way, it wasn't honestly that big of a surprise when Asothesian-made clothing became something of a fashion statement for the majority of the expedition. In fact it became almost a regular sight to see a pair of Asothesian slacks coupled with a earth made sweater, or a visa versa. After all, it wasn't as if they had actually come here with much in the way of wardrobes anyway..

Indeed he knew for a fact that Elizabeth nearly coveted her not-quite-sheep-not-quite-exactly-wool sweater that some of the women had fashioned for her at the end of the first year, in the way of a thank you.

His stomach clenched painfully, his gut starting to burble in anxiety and in a barely admitted sense of fear. Fear that he had might have missed the chance he had never really let himself admit he was steeling himself to take.

_Because...you know, he had kinda been in love with Rodney for a long time now..._

Unsurprisingly, finally admitting it to himself didn't make him feel any better. In fact, it only churned the broiling knot of fear, doubt, and frustration that was expanding in his gut all the tighter. And as he looked around him, taking in the staring crowds, the appreciative looks, and the disturbingly fixed and confident looks that a few of them were starting to sport, casually wandering closer, ....closer....to them. _Closer to Rodney.._ He knew that this was it, this was the moment. It either happened, or it didn't.

And in that moment, he was weirdly reminded of the cliché phrase that the priest always utters in the movies at the end of the ceremony. "Speak now or forever hold your peace..." or something cheesy like that. A phrase that never really means anything nowadays unless _it is_ in the movies, a line is the cue for the dashingly handsome male character to burst onto the scene and yell: "I object!" thus saving the stunning female lead from a boringly normal, run of the mill marriage...

Well.... Rodney certainly wasn't wearing a flowing white dress...and he was certainly no voluptuous lead. But then again, for what he had in mind, if he was taking on the part of the male lead in this insane metaphor, well, then he really didn't plan on doing much in the way of talking either..

Besides, who REALLY wants a normal, run of the mill married life anyway? He was pretty sure that a life with Rodney would certainly be anything but boring... But really, he supposed that that was neither here nor there...

Even at the best of times, he still didn't exactly know what was going on in the mans head. As for all his earnest openness, and never ending babble, McKay talked about his feelings just often as he did...which was..well..hardly ever. But with Rodney, you rarely noticed because he was so goddamn mouthy, and constantly carrying on about anything everything under the sun, that people tended to notice it less.

_In essence, the man was hiding a lot of himself in plain sight. Much like him, if he was sticking with the trend of self honesty._

And it was because of this, that he didn't entirely know what to do...he didn't exactly know how Rodney felt about him..or what he wanted or wished for. Sometimes he got the impression that the man sensed it to...the spark, the possibility of something more. That..._thing.._between them. And, yet at the same time, sometimes such thoughts seemed light-years away from being possible.

He couldn't think anymore. He felt like it had been all he had been doing for years. Maybe even since the chair in Antarctica, where the man had stood out like a bright, neon orange beacon, grounding him while the universe opened in his mind....Or maybe it had been the moment he had bounced up to him, flashing him a massive, toothy grin, as the ancient shield on his chest glowed a muted green all around him, as the first words out of his mouth was gleeful demand that he shoot him.

Or perhaps it had been that determined, strong look that had flickered across his face later that day, solid strength shining through instead of his usual snarky grin. It hasn't just been the look of a brave man, or simply that of a hero. It had been much more then that...

It had been the look of a man that was as bone-chillingly-pants-wettingly-frightened as the rest of them, but who had the strength and the means to do what no one else could. _To save them all_. Knowing full well that it might not work, that it probably wouldn't work and that he might die in the process, but that he still did it, regardless of it all, he had still tried.

Refusing to back down, refusing to pause, refusing to accept that _this_ was the end, that for all of them that _this_ was truly the end of the road…. No. Rodney had refused fate to slow dance with the line with the devil and had coming out of it alive.. _The embodiment of a true 'Hail Mary'..._

But all this was just too much thinking. Too much analyzing. _Too much...and not enough of anything else!_

So, when it actually happened. He really wasn't that surprised. Well, that was a lie really...he wasn't surprised that he had actually done it.. But he was more surprised and stunned about **how** he had actually done it.

_He really didn't think about it. He couldn't. He just...acted_

So, instead of doing the normal thing, like delicately taking the man aside, and maybe suggesting a walk to the pier or a trip to the mess, where he could gradually and slowly explain to the man...in short, and hopefully concise words (he was kinda thinking that flash cards might be in order) and await the mans judgement, and see what happened.

_But instead he just sort of __**pounced**_...

Crossing the remaining space between them and seized him by the should, gripping his elbow, using it as a rudder as he steered the man towards the door, manhandling the scientist around the corner and out of sight, as a tension that he had not even noticed before then, suddenly loosened in the muscles of his shoulders as the wide eyes and growingly appreciative whispers were suddenly cut off, now unable to see the snarky Canadian man and those god damn leather pants...

…At long last having the man...and _the pants_, entirely and utterly to himself.

_And damn, did it feel good._

_**A/N: As always tell me what you think. I am not sure HOW this chapter got a little 'plotty'...it kinda just happened...**_


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I don't own Stargate Atlantis or any of its characters. Do you THINK I would be here if I did?! So I do not, in any way shape or form own any of the plot or the characters. They belong to whoever owns 'em. I just took the general idea for a test jaunt. So, don't sue me...not that it would be beneficial, as I am a poor university student, yadda yadda yadda.

**Warnings:** This is a McKay and Sheppard slash story, boys and girls. Thus, here be smut and man-on-man goodness. If that's not your style, well then, toodles! (And yes, there will eventually be smut...at some point...traditionally it takes awhile for me to get there).

**Authors Note:** Please read and review. I am excited to see what you all think. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism. I totally blame this story rabid plot bunnies. I have NO idea where this story came from. _Really. (Actually I totally do but it is embarrassing like-whoa! Ha!)_

*I had originally thought this was going to be a one shot, or at the very most a two-parter. Alas my sadistically cruel muse has deemed otherwise! I hope you enjoy the insanity!

**Dedication:** Many thanks once again to _**Late for the Sky's**_ quick little beta job!

_**Why Astrophysicists shouldn't wear Leather Pants – Part Five**_

_**What they don't tell you in the handbook for wooing your Astrophysicist...**_

He realized a few things in rapid succession within the first few moments of dragging Rodney down the hall: one, he had never realized or had time to fully appreciate the fact that Rodney actually had impressively developed biceps. It was the kind of muscle that was deceptive right up until the moment you found yourself sprawled out flat on your ass, wondering when the hell the room had started spinning.

And secondly, that apparently Rodney's concept of personal space was absolutely non-existent. Because instead of acting like a **normal** person, who, when grabbed by the scuff of the collar would actually make an attempt to pull _away_ or at least struggle a bit in their attacker's grip, Rodney just sort of _melted_ back against him.

_Melted. _There was no other word to describe it. The man leaned into him with barely a pause in their increasingly one-sided conversation, as if he regularly spent the majority of his time using him as his own personal lazy-boy. The man had even _wriggled_ a bit to get comfortable, shifting slightly until he felt the soft, yet still masculine brush of the man's skin against his own.

_It felt like sex._ Something that before he had met Rodney he hadn't thought was actually possible outside of well, you know, actually _having_ sex.

Not that this was a feat that was particularly unique to the occasion of course, for instance, he had seen Rodney eat everything from double chocolate cream cake to a particularly delicious rack of not-quite-pork-ribs they had gotten from the Mainland like it had been a sexual act. Moaning and appreciative porn noises included. He remembered having limped out of that dinner half convinced he might have actually pulled a muscle in his dick from the force it had took not to cum in his pants like a fifteen year old, right in the middle of the crowded mess hall.

_If he didn't know any better he was almost certain that Rodney did these things on purpose!_

And as if fate hadn't _already _screwed around with him enough today, he nearly tripped over his own feet as the man leaned back into him impossibly further, the span of the man's back sliding across his chest and belly as the back of the man's ass shifted, now virtually riding his thighs every time he took at step.

It was like porn...except it was _actually happening_. Of course, the fact that Rodney didn't even **realize** that the situation was even remotely porn-oriented didn't help matters... Sometimes having an over active imagination blew.

He couldn't get it through his brain, all he could register was the smell of the man, the heat of his body sliding and slipping along his, the solid weight of him along his legs and front, the course sounds his BDU's made as they rubbed across the new leather...

He struggled for air, his mouth suddenly chokingly dry. Trying his best to even out his breathing but failing spectacularly as he somehow managed to duck just in time as one of the man's excitedly gesturing hands came dangerously close to clipping him in the nose.

But the man didn't even seem to notice...because he was _STILL. FREAKIN'. TALKING. _

The man hadn't even missed a beat of whatever the hell he was saying. He made a few indignant noises at the man-handling as they passed a group of jogging marines, the pants making a few of them fall out of step as they peered wide-eyed over their shoulders. But mostly Rodney just continued on with his litany of techno babble, only every once and a while punctuating the wordy blur of mechanic ratios and ground stability variables to voice a few uninterested demands as to where they were going, and why John had his fist wrapped around the collar of his shirt.

_Because you know, apparently that wasn't a big deal or anything..._

He found it somewhat amusing that the man never actually waited for answer on that either, just continuing to plough back on with what seemed like a virtual play-by-play of his trip to the mainland, making no move to twist out of his grip as he looked back to eye him a few times as he spoke, his eyes flashing a bright navy blue in his barely contained excitement, apparently perfectly content, or utterly unaware about the fact that his ass was currently riding his thigh like some sort of porn star.

Apparently Rodney was so used to being man handled by either him or Ronon while they were out in the field that he had become unfazed by it. He wasn't exactly sure about how he felt about _that_ either_._

He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other, his carefully made plans crashing and burning spectacularly as the scent of the man rose in his nostrils, the natural Rodney-like scent of him combating the unique smell of the leather, combining and mingling in the air until the mere scent of it sent shudders zipping down his spine.

His eyes were level with a freckled strip of skin on the man's neck, the piece where the collar of his shirt met the back of his hairline. He was so close that all he would have to do would be to lean forward just the slightest of bits, and his lips would have brushed across it..._Almost.._

He nearly toppled over when the man shifted under his arm, his ass suddenly brushing across the cradle of his groin and hips...coming to rest squarely on top of his very interested dick.

_Oh!..Well, that was just...OH..._

Oblivious or not, there was no possible way McKay would have missed **that**.

And of course, since fate was a nefarious, pmsing, old bitch, Rodney chose **that** very moment to actually start paying attention. The man's rear thudded gently across the span of his groin, pressing deliciously against his burgeoning erection, desperately trying to suppress a strangled groan as the man abruptly froze in mid step, inadvertently slamming back into him again as he went utterly still, his words cutting off mid sentence.

"Jeeze Colonel, how the hell can you be THAT bony! Did you even have a ounce of fat on you? What **is** that anyway!?... I- oh..oh! That's...um....._OH._" The man trailed off suddenly as he fully realized just what 'it' was.

He couldn't really think of anything intelligent to say to that, personally he was too busy chanting an increasingly impressive litany of curses under his breath, while at the same time forcing himself not to press back against uncharacteristically silent man.

But yet despite the silence, the other man hadn't moved away...He hadn't recoiled..or even confronted him about it... He hardly dared to hope... afraid that if he did Rodney would suddenly be scrambling away from him, his eyes wide and accusing.

But he didn't. He just stood there, still half leaning across him, his rear still riding the length of his dick, standing stock still and unconsciously quivering. He could practically hear the gears grinding in the man's head as he processed what had happened, his genius brain crunching variables and possibilities faster than Hermoid could calculate long division after a sugar bender...or whatever it was that little pantsless teenage Asguard did in their rebellious adolescent years.

And then slowly, ever so slowly, so slowly that he thought he might stroke out right then and there from the stress of it all, the man pivoted on his heel, turning in his grip, and deliberately grinding his way across the span of his hip and thigh as he turned to face him.

_The motion made him grind his teeth as he forced himself not to let loose another groan as the man's eyes met his own.. _

Rodney's eyes were wide and startled, but they reflected back something far different then what he had feared he would see.

The man was flushed, but not in embarrassment or anger. **No**; it was a full body blush, rising up from his neck to trail across his chin and cheeks, it was a blush that was as heated as the look that was now simmering in the man's dark blue eyes, making the colour brighter and somehow..bolder.

His mouth was still half open, his wind-chapped lips vaguely forming what could have been words.. but yet no sound was making it out. _As if even in his shock, on some level, his brain was still humming, insistently motoring along despite his vocal cords being struck dumb and useless._

And if this had been any other time he might have relished in the uniqueness of the moment, of having finally rendered the man entirely speechless...But really, there was a time and place for that. And it was certainly _not_ now.

Because then, quite without warning, the man's hand suddenly fell squarely on his chest, halting right there above his thudding heart like a wordless question as the roaring in his ears _deafened_ him to all else._ Blinding_ him too...until all he could see was that large palm that spanned the length of his thin black t-shirt, until all he could _smell_ was the man's unique scent, all he could _hear _was the man's heavy, harshly drawn in breaths as his own body jumped between coiling itself up like a tightly wound spring and threatening to stop his very heart.

That single hand seared into his skin like a brand, spanning the length of his chest with the kind of welcoming weight that made it feel like it belonged there. He could feel every inch of that hand... He could feel the slight crookedness of the the pinky finger, and the thick callouses on the thumb and index fingers. He could even feel the thickness of the palm, and the occasional bump of the upraised scars that pebbled across it's surface, testaments of a life spent working with his hands...

All he could think, all he could breathe...was Rodney. The wriggling, leather-smelling, warm, slightly-damp-with-perspiration, and still moving enigma that was purely, and deliciously _Rodney..._

_His brain screamed at him to say something...anything...while his body demanded that he act...demanded that he move...And not for the first time since the snarky Canadian had stepped off that platform, he was caught in the middle, uncertain...and muddled indecision._

It was only the sound of footsteps echoing through the corridor that suddenly broke them from the moment, limbs and brains responding far too slowly as their minds and bodies conflicted between pulling away and pushing closer.

They stood there, still pressed together...frozen, as his mind raced..._What now...What now...What now!?_

But Atlantis must have been reading his mind again because suddenly up ahead, a small innocuous door slid open, the hallway echoing with a strange, pleased sounding chime that he had never heard before; the retreating door flashing a sultry, inviting blue as it disappeared into the wall.

He didn't even think, he just acted, yanking Rodney through the door and into the room, the muscles in his arm going taunt as the man snapped through the door after him like a bungee cord under tension.

The door sliding swiftly shut behind them with a muted, but victorious chime just as group of Air Force grunts came barrelling around the corner, mock chasing a squealing gaggle of visiting Asothesian children, their parents trailing more sedately behind, indulgent smiles on their faces as they watched the gentle rough-housing, their laughter echoing throughout the hallway, covering the tell-tale noises of a door closing and locking..

_**A/N: As always tell me what you think. HOLY CRAP ATTACK. I almost killed myself trying to write this. My mind kept giving me these LOVELY/TERRIBLE mental images. Really not conductive to paying attention in class let me tell you. I need someone to make me a 'MCSHEP' broke my brain icon. Actually I would settle for a Mcshep leather pants background thingie. Seriously, not even joking. The person that does this gets 30 minutes in a Puddle Jumper with the hunk or 'hunkess'... of their choice. No cameras ladies and gentleman...*waggles eyebrows* (Am I bad? Darn tootin')**_


	6. Chapter 6

_**Disclaimer: I don't own Stargate Atlantis or any of its characters. Do you THINK I would be here if I did?! So I do not, in any way shape or form own any of the plot or the characters. They belong to whoever owns 'em. I just took the general idea for a test jaunt. So, don't sue me...not that it would be beneficial, as I am a poor university student, yadda yadda yadda.**_

**Warnings:** This is a Mckay and Sheppard slash story, boys and girls. Thus, here be smut and man-on-man goodness. If that's not your style, well then, toodles! (And yes, there will eventually be smut...at some point...traditionally it takes awhile for me to get there).

**Authors Note:** Please read and review. I am excited to see what you all think. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism. I totally blame this story rabid plot bunnies. I have NO idea where this story came from. _Really. (Actually I totally do but it is embarrassing like-whoa! Ha!)_

**Dedication:** Once again a thank you to **Late for the Sky** she puts up with my abominations of grammar and never complains!

_**Why Astrophysicists shouldn't wear Leather Pants – Part Six**_

_**Why a genius in leather pants is a force to be reckoned with..**_

He had been planning to turn around and...well say _something._ Something meaningful, something that would do justice for the years of silence, of wanting, the years of desire...and yes, as corny as it sounded, even years of love. Hell, he was sure Rodney would be breathing down his neck in a few seconds, demanding an explanation...insisting on answers.. Atlantis certainly had it's quirks, but still, it wasn't everyday that your best friend drags you into a previously unexplored linen closet..

So, he knew he wasn't one for insightful speeches, and tender moments, hell he often went out of his way to avoid them if he could...but this time, he knew he had to try..

_And that mindset, as well meant and stoic as it had sounded in his brain, lasted for about 45 seconds flat..._

Instead he turned around and found himself tackling the man _into_ the wall. _How...romantic?_

_Smooth Sheppard, real smooth....What's next? Attempt to propose a moonlight stroll to the North pier and then turn around and hit him with a Wraith stunner?!_

Somewhere between the five steps it had taken to get from the hallway to the small room he had just yanked McKay into, he was pretty sure his brain had just kamikazed on him, crashing through his skull in a blazing fireball of want, need, and sensation...The whole thing sounded like some sort of damn chick-flick, like the kind they generally show at the weekly hen party, where no one with even a hint of testosterone ventures unless dragged there by their significant other. But yet it was scarily accurate to what he was feeling. _And in that way, he hadn't yet figured out of that was a good thing..or a bad thing._

The weak little cautionary voice in the back of his head chirped in alarm, back peddling like a crab on the coals, squealing like a stuck pig, because at this point, even the most gung-ho portion of his brain was pretty damn sure that **THIS** hadn't been part of the original plan.

_Talking: yes, tackling: NO..with a whole shit load of exclamation points._

But he couldn't stop himself. Self control was a pipe dream that had died the moment those tight leather pants had walked off jumper ramp along with the rest of him. Truth be told he had never really had much self control around Rodney anyways, even from the beginning.

But to hell with it all!! He had never been one for pre-planning anyway...

He had about ten seconds after slamming them both into the wall in which to simply stare. Taking in the man in front of him, letting his eyes trail down from that impossibly wind ruffled hair, and sun kissed skin to examine that strange, half-shocked, half heated expression that stood out across the mans face like an exclamation point.

_And he relished every millimetre, every soft, nearly untraceable line down to the lightest freckle. Suddenly reminded all over again, how utterly unmarked the man's skin was. _However he knew that past the shoulders it was an entirely different story. Throughout their time on Atlantis Rodney had earned his fare share of scars and marks. He knew the mans forearms were peppered with tiny smooth patches, remnants of small electric burns garnered when time had been short and there had been no time for the proper gear or precautions and the mans had simply dived hands first into computer modules or wall wiring. His hands themselves were the twin maps to an active life, spider webbed by thin healed slices, one of his fingers still slightly crooked from a break that didn't heal straight, even his palms were unnaturally smooth in places, the surface shiny from one too many times near a scorch outlet, or a burning electrical fire.

He even knew that somewhere on that mans impossibly shapely, and absurdly magnificent ass was at least one mar, a small, thin mark that had gone far too deep, where that damn arrow had caught him. It had been ridiculous, and terrible at the same time, even Rodney had stared it in disbelief, not because he had actually gotten shot, but that he actually had an arrow sticking out of his butt cheek. _Even years later it was still enough to send the entire Science department into uncontained giggles and hysterics. _And yet seconds after it had happened, the man had still had the breath to bitch about it. And strangely, knowing that the mark was there just made it all the more tantalizing..

Their faces were mere inches apart, bodies pressed tight against each other. One of his fists was still clenched around the collar of Rodney's uncommonly thin black shirt in a death grip, forcing the mans chin to tip up, causing the tiny room's muted blue lights to glance off his high cheekbones, making them glow a pale sky blue.

Their breaths seemed deafeningly loud in the confined space..with each gust of the mans warm breath causing shivers to zing through his skin until his very nerves seemed to quake, going down so deep that he swore his could feel the ripples of sensation down to his very bones.

_The inches between them suddenly melted into millimetres as he pressed closer, still hesitant, still unsure, but unable to halt that slow, inexorable pull...unconsciously responding to the need to be closer._

And then, the unpredictable happened, Rodney happened. A man who practically had the sole monopoly on doing the unexpected, on acting out the unpredictable, on accomplishing the undoable. And before he could steel himself to take that final, half a centimetre move closer, Rodney moved...

He had the same look in his eyes that was usually reserved for those growingly frequent _'Hail Mary'_ moments. It was the kind of look that started off grim with determination, hesitant, yet firm, and ended with such a bold streak of confidence that he was sure it would have intimidated a lesser man then him.

It was the kind of look that always sent a thrill of terror down his spine, a fear that it might be the time that their luck ran out.. Yet at the same time, it was always a look that he took reassurance from, knowing without asking that it was going to be alright, that despite their situation, despite whatever monster or threat of the week they were currently facing, that it was alright, alright because he was there. _It was alright._

_Closer..he was closer...he was right there..oh god..right..there..._

And for a moment he thought the world had just stopped, or maybe that his heart had finally given up and goat and flat-lined on him, because suddenly, so electrifyingly, unbelievable suddenly, Rodney's lips brushed across his own..

_**A/N: Sorry this chapter is so small. I am at a weird point in the story where this part doesn't mesh with the other part. And also, I am trying to figure out if people are still following this story and want another chapter. Let me know! Happy New Year!**_


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I don't own Stargate Atlantis or any of its characters. Do you THINK I would be here if I did?! So I do not, in any way shape or form own any of the plot or the characters. They belong to whoever owns 'em. I just took the general idea for a test jaunt. So, don't sue me...not that it would be beneficial, as I am a poor university student, yadda yadda yadda.

**Warnings:** This is a McKay and Sheppard slash story, boys and girls. Thus, here be smut and man-on-man goodness. If that's not your style, well then, toodles! (And yes, there will eventually be smut...at some point...traditionally it takes awhile for me to get there).

**Authors Note:** Please read and review. I am excited to see what you all think. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism. I totally blame this story rabid plot bunnies. I have NO idea where this story came from. _Really. (Actually I totally do but it is embarrassing like-whoa! Ha!)_

**Dedication:** Another shout out to my looooooooovely beta _**Late for the Sky**_. She is always so speedy, I love it! Thanks again chicklet!

_**Why Astrophysicists shouldn't wear Leather Pants – Part Seven**_

_**He kisses like a wet tongue to an electrical socket**_

Kissing Rodney was a lot like what he imagined playing football in the middle of a hurricane would be like. All he could do was hang on and try to keep up. He was left with just enough brain power to allow him to vaguely wonder when exactly the whole _'him-kissing-Rodney'_ thing had turned into _'Rodney-devastating-him-with-the-power-of-his-lips.'_ However he had a sneaking suspicion it might have started the moment that he had grabbed the Canadian by the scruff of the neck and had dragged him into the closet.

_Either way he wasn't telling._

Years later, with many long nights of pillow talk under their belts, as well as more grey in their hair then either would readily admit to, they would often banter about who had actually kissed who first. They would each insist that they had been the one to do so, playfully arguing until unsurprisingly, the discussion would often dissolve into a short, yet vigorous wrestling match, only ending when gravity and the narrow Atlantis beds called a time out, splaying them out across the floor, their limbs tangled together and the breath knocked out of them.

And while he would always hotly contest that it had been him, he knew that by a slight technicality, it had actually been Rodney. Because while he had done the majority of the... manhandling it had been Rodney, not him that had finally found his balls and done something about it. It had been Rodney that had taken the last step..right into his lips, pitching into him like a new ship sliding down from the mooring docks towards its first taste of the sea.

While he had often contemplated on just how the man might kiss, on what it might be like to finally have him, to have Rodney, the reality of it all blew even the most risqué' versions of his imagination entirely out of the water.

_And oh, hello... Tongue!_

And after _that_ major development he had to update his theory... Kissing Rodney with _tongue_ was a lot like sticking a wet fork in between your teeth and directly into a juiced electrical socket. It was hot, intense, and when he had had a moment to draw in a gasping breath, his brain was still trying to figure out what the hell had just happened.

_His brain seemed to be doing a lot of that today.._

It was entirely possible that he had NEVER been kissed this way before. In fact he knew he hadn't. It had never been like this. _Never_. And he knew from that very moment, despite what might end up happening, that whatever the outcome of this moment might be, he was utterly, and entirely ruined for anyone else. Even the mere idea of someone else's lips on his, someone else's skin under his nails and scent in his nostrils was unfathomable. _This was it. This was what he wanted, he finally knew what he needed, what he wanted._

_Rodney never did do anything in halves.._

Rodney didn't just kiss him. He DESTROYED him. Because like with everything Rodney divested attention into, he went _all out_.

He used his entire body like it was an extension his lips, legs, hands, hips, mouth, and fingers...it was dizzying, electrifying, confusing, and so god damn hot that for a long moment he didn't even know where to put his hands. They flailed for a moment at the man's hips, travelling up the sides of the man's ribs until his hands finally captured the man's broad shoulders, digging his fingers into that religiously thin black t-shirt and holding on for dear life, while the other wrapped around the nape of the man's neck, trying to press him impossibly closer.

But it wasn't just him that as doing it, Rodney was just as demanding, just as eager.

It felt like Rodney was either trying to climb into him through his lips, or have sex with him standing up. He wasn't sure which. Maybe it was both. And either way, he was VERY okay with that.

One thing for sure was that it wasn't just slow passionate kisses, because within the space of about thirty seconds the resistant...tentative kisses turned heated, graduating into subtle nibbles before skipping straight to small bites, with Rodney worrying his bottom lip with his tongue and teeth as he gripped at the man for purchase his hands running along the man's solid torso and broad shoulders, eliciting a few strangled noises as he went, exploiting them as he found them, craving the pointed nips he got in response.

_It was hot, dirty, and messy. And it was perfect._

And what totally killed him was that they couldn't do anything here. Hidden door or no, they lived on a base staffed by the best and brightest of Earth's scientific progeny's, and protected by men and women specifically trained to note even the more infinitesimal detail. Between the two someone was bound to notice that there was suddenly a door where he was pretty damn sure there had never been a door before.

He knew it was going to take every shred of self-discipline he possessed to eventually pull away and whisper fast and heated in Rodney's ear, trying to convince mostly himself why getting naked with only a tiny little door separating them from one of the busiest hallways on Atlantis was a bad idea, to convince himself that separating for the time it would take them to make a quick but measured retreat to the nearest of their bedrooms was in order. _Damnit._

Oxygen was fast becoming a major issue, and he knew somewhere in the back of his mind that he might have to actually take a fresh breath soon, but for the moment he couldn't bring himself to care much, because he was drowning already, drowning in the heat, the smell, the touch, the feel of him. He couldn't taste anything else on his tongue. _He didn't want to._

He wasn't sure who broke the kiss first, but he staggered back, lungs jumping and twitching as he sucked in the first fresh breath since...since what felt like forever, and he momentarily wished he hadn't had to, meeting the man's heated stare despite the blue-glowing gloom.

He had once heard Elizabeth say that the eyes were the windows to the soul...but until now, he had never truly understood the phrase. Despite Rodney's attempts to hide it, to veil his true thoughts under that ragged blanket of belligerent intelligence and self righteous smuggery, his eyes had now laid him bare. _Naked._

There was desire, a desperate sort of want and longing that only came from the kind of emotion that had been as partially buried as his own, simmering just under the surface, banked like the glowing coals of a fire...waiting, and growing as the years had slid onwards. But there was also confusion, and what looked like something close to fright.

_And yet, in spite of it all, there was something else. Something John had never expected to see, but really should have known._

The man looked entirely too smug for his own good.

Because now he was suddenly staring back at him, lips twitching with a smile that could almost be called confident, pleased...knowing. He heard more then saw as Rodney's entire body suddenly shifted, moving until it wasn't **him** pressing the man into the wall, but now it was Rodney..._Oh._

The man **was **_smug! _

_Smug!_ Like this whole thing had been his idea from the start!

...._**Wait a minute.**_...

_No. Freakin'. Way._

_**A/N:**_ **A HUGE thank you to all my reviewers. Here I was worried about people having lost interest, and BAM, two days of a full inbox! Thanks guys, you are truly awesome! And to all my anonymous reviewers, there are a few out there, thanks so much for the reviews! They always meant a lot! Like brain candy (or maybe ego candy?) for the writer's soul! Ha!**

**A/N #2:** **Again with the relatively small chapter. My bad. I wrote a few sections of the next chapter, intended to include them in this one, but there was to clear of a natural chapter break between them to ignore! But don't worry, lots more smut to come!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Stargate Atlantis or any of its characters. Do you THINK I would be here if I did?! So I do not, in any way shape or form own any of the plot or the characters. They belong to whoever owns 'em. I just took the general idea for a test jaunt. So, don't sue me...not that it would be beneficial, as I am a poor university student, yadda yadda yadda.

**Warnings:** This is a Mckay and Sheppard slash story, boys and girls. Thus, here be smut and man-on-man goodness. If that's not your style, well then, toodles! (And yes, there will eventually be smut...at some point...traditionally it takes awhile for me to get there).

**Authors Note:** Please read and review. I am excited to see what you all think. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism.

_--I am sorry for the TERRIBLY long gap into between updates, a massively redonkulous dose of real life caught up with me. (Which fyi I dislike a lot I kinda wanna finish this story up!)_

**Dedication:** To **Late for the Sky** because she is not feel so hot. (Throws Kav at her) She is my little vat of viral plague and I adore her. Keep in mind my beta reader is thus out for the count so all mistakes are my own.

_**Why Astrophysicists shouldn't wear Leather Pants – Part Eight**_

_**He was like a neon 'All you can eat' sign..**_

They took the corridors at a cringingly suspicious pace, both too far gone to even _attempt_ to stagger their paces, or to make it seem as though it was just mere coincidence that they were walking the same corridor, each walking awkwardly, each going just a little bit too fast to be deemed as causal.

_And each pitching tents in their respective trousers that were damn close to rivalling the freakin' Eiffel_ _Tower. But of course that was besides the point....So to speak._

He could hear Rodney's long strides behind him; he could literally _hear _the subtle creak and swish of the leather brushing across the man thighs, the leather shifting with each goddamned footstep. And he swore, _swore_ the he could even smell it, smell the scent of the leather on the air, and taste it on the flat of his tongue, sticking to the roof of his mouth and staying there.._thick, musty, and sensual in the only way fresh, real leather could be._

_It was enough to make a nun swear! _

He knew too, even without looking that the man's collar was still yanked slightly to the right, the edges rumpled and stretched from the brief scuffle that had occurred right before they had both dragged themselves to the closet door. He just hadn't been able to help himself and had pinned the man to the frame, his hands digging into those oh so..._grippable_ hips as he captured the man's lips, purposely letting his body rub up against the mans, figuring it was well deserved if this whole.._hot pants_ thing _had_ been the Mckay's idea in the first place.

_Something which he was totally NOT buying by the way... The man MIGHT be a genius, but he had seen the state of the man's wardrobe! If the man was moonlighting as a Porn Star he was pretty damn sure he would know about it!_

He was sure they were attracting attention, the man behind him was to put it simply, a hot mess. Ruffled hair, kiss reddened lips, skin flushed, and still in those _fricken'_ leather pants... In fact, minus the leather pants, he looked almost identical to that time he had narrowly escaped from an impromptu group orgy on the planet that they had both privately nicknamed _'The planet of the __admittedly sexy, yet entirely bat shit insane people with the almost-kilt things', _with Rodney having eventually crawled out from under his own respective gaggle of enthusiastic and very..._grabby_ men and women, until he had sprawled unceremoniously off the dais and practically fell into his own lap, having just escaped from his own private rave-orgy-thing..or whatever it was that they called it on _that_ planet.

_Seriously..I mean who wears kilt-skirt thingies in the middle of a virtual, god honest, ICE AGE anyway?_

However, grabby handed natives and midnight orgies aside, even without the Rodney's deliciously rumpled appearance, all by themselves Rodney's pants stood out like a neon 'All you can eat' sign, and for some reason, his mind was running paranoid that those ..._pants _by themselves told everyone exactly what they were up to..what they were going to do...what they had done..

He nearly smacked right into his own door, stopping so suddenly that Rodney collided into him from behind, wriggling into the curve of his spine like a racing horse pawing at the starting gate. And he was totally on to him, because their was no way he _hadn't_ done that on _purpose. _However, regardless of who was to blame, he _might_ have made an entirely undignified whimper as the man thudded into his back at his abrupt stop, fingers spidering out briefly to skate down the length of his sides, all in the guise of regaining his _balance_ he was _sure. Bastard._

But it wasn't until the man moved, slipping over to stand at his side, sliding far more flesh over his own then could ever be properly deemed as anything even close to casual, a hurried, almost rough quality slipping into his voice as he whispered "_come on_.._in in in in..."_ over and over again, that he remembered that he needed to _actually_ push the button for the door to open.

_Smooth._

Before the door had fully closed Rodney was all over him, literally. The man almost body-checked him across the room in his exuberance, using his strong shoulders like a sprinting football player as he man-handled him into the wall. And in his shock and admittedly piked pleasure, he just..kinda _let_ him, his brain half convinced that even if he had _wanted_ to, that in this state the bigger man would have certainly made him work for the upper hand.

"Privacy lock Sheppard-04!" He gasped in between kisses, his voice sounding far too strangled and rough for any form of voice identification that he could think of, but Atlantis must have been listening because she dinged out a short, but affectionate chime of affirmation, cutting the lights down to a dimly glowing blue, and for a second he was half convinced that she had done that on purpose.. half convinced that is until Rodney's blunt nails raked across his side and his brain just sorta.. _hiccupped_, the sensation drawing a shivering gasp out of him as he surged forward, his momentum sending them sloppily into the side of his dresser, swallowing Rodney's muted noise of protest before it left his lips as he captured them once again, teeth nipping at the mans ridiculously full lips until all he could hear was the rumble of his breath and the increasingly high pitch of the mans moans.

_Which, incidentally, was doing insanely good things to his ego.._

He was vaguely aware of things rattling and thudding to the floor around them, but he couldn't bring himself to care much, even when he heard something that sounded suspiciously like his Johnny Cash poster fluttering dangerously along his shoulders before the man yanked him forward and away from the wall again.

And he pretty sure that they _REALLY_ need to get horizontal sometime soon before they both killed themselves, but then there was no time for that because Rodney's hands were everywhere at once again and logical thought was a mere fleeting memory..._again._

Seconds, minutes, maybe an hour later for all he really knew, the world shifted again and for a brief second he had the vague feeling of weightlessness before gravity rudely wrenched them both sideways as scientist over corrected the direction of their combined weight, slamming them both back into the wall with a strained grunt.

And he really figured that if the situation hadn't be so mind scorchingly hot he might have decided that he was getting far more intimate with his quarters walls then he had any real right to be, but for now with the cold press of the not-steel behind his back and the barely there hum of Atlantis vibrating up his spine, reverberating through his skin from the wall, he realized that he was very...very okay with it.

...Especially if Rodney kept doing that _thing_ with his hips.._Oh, yeah... that thing_.

His head thudded abruptly against the wall with the force of the shove, the impact sending a dull ringing throughout his brain that was almost immediately swallowed by the roaring of his blood as the mans lips suddenly discovered the soft juncture of where his neck met his shoulder, a lot like how he figured Columbus had discovered Latin America, he landed...and sunk his teeth in...

And maybe later he might have the spare moment to be embarrassed by the strangled hybrid of a deep, moan-like yowl that Rodney's teeth and lips drew out of him. _Maybe._


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I don't own Stargate Atlantis or any of its characters. Do you THINK I would be here if I did?! So I do not, in any way shape or form own any of the plot or the characters. They belong to whoever owns 'em. I just took the general idea for a test jaunt. So, don't sue me...not that it would be beneficial, as I am a poor university student, yadda yadda yadda.

**Warnings:** This is a Mckay and Sheppard slash story, boys and girls. Thus, here be smut and man-on-man goodness. If that's not your style, well then, toodles! (And yes, there will eventually be smut...at some point...traditionally it takes awhile for me to get there).

**Authors Note:** Please read and review. I am excited to see what you all think. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism.

_*I started writing this chapter with a bunch of realllllly good intentions about 3 seconds after I officially finished the last one. I am trying to stay on a roll now as the end of this story appears to be FINALLY approaching! Hopefully the wait wasn't as bad as the last one!_

Okay...so don't shoot me..buttttt....I KNOW I maybe, kinda, possibly PROMISED that there would be a whole lack of pants in this chapter...but apparently my muse is out to give everyone (including JOHN) a stroke. Next chapter. Promise! ( **ducks flying objects ) **I made this chapter longer then usual so I wouldn't have a revolt on my hands. So play nice children.

_**Why Astrophysicists shouldn't wear Leather Pants – Part Nine**_

_**Like a bright neon orange, finger-snapping spark hovering over him...**_

The world abruptly tilted for what _had _to be the third or fourth time that night as Rodney's big, absurdly dexterous hands curled around the underside of his shoulders using his bulk and bigger bones to shove him backwards _again_, the heat from the other mans hips seeping right into his skin despite their joined layers of clothing.

_And really, just when had Rodney turned into the Venus fly trap of hotness and raging testosterone anyway?_

It was ridiculous. They had made it out of the Ancient closet...or whatever the hell that place had been, and here they were, two grown men _still_ making out like a couple of teenagers, demolishing his quarters to boot. It reminded him so much of high school that if his lips hadn't been otherwise engaged he might have spared up a second and laughed.

_Apparently there was some shit that you NEVER got too old for._

The impact was jarring and almost brutal, sending him reeling across the blue-tinged wall, his limbs limp, unable to regain his footing, a situation not helped by the fact that somewhere in between the destruction of what he seriously hoped had _not_ been his Johnny Cash poster and their third impact with various bits of furniture Rodney had tangled his legs in between his, creating such a sudden thrill of delicious friction that he almost forgot to care that the majority of his weight was now actually being suspended in mid-air in between the wall and Rodney's surprisingly strong grip.

_Because apparently, Rodney's thighs were Superman strong for an ACTUAL reason. And well... wasn't **that** just a mental image..._

But he didn't even have a chance to even think about sliding down the wall because suddenly, and entirely without warning, Rodney had enveloped him again, his big arms simply scooping him into the curve of his body and pitching them forwards. Because _apparently_, just because Rodney _rarely used _his built-for-football shoulders, and had all subtlety of a rampaging herd of very pissed off rhino's on crack, didn't necessarily mean that he wouldn't actually use both those things to his full advantage every once and while.

_Which by the way, was something that as a highly trained military man, with years of combat training under his belt, and who was in no way used to being repeatedly yanked and yarded around like he was some sort of twelve year old princess, really had no right to be as hot as it actually was..._

But before he could even attempt to think about salvaging his slightly bruised, _manly_ dignity, his world abruptly did this roaring, tunnel vision sort of thing, and after a long moment of weightlessness he crashed to a stop, ass over tea kettle, hanging half off, and yet somehow at the same time, entirely sideways across his own bed, with Rodney mere seconds behind, flopping unceremoniously on top of him, pushing whatever breath he still had left in his lungs whooshing out in a loud grunt as the bigger mans weight settled atop him.

_And in hindsight, he really should have figured that Rodney would be as big of a boss in the bedroom as he was everywhere else in life._

He had about fifteen seconds to just enjoy the view, staring up into what he figured was probably a mirror image of his own facial expression. Rodney looked one quarter sexually wrecked, all flushed, love-bitten, and blown pupils, with another quarter stuck somewhere in between disbelief and shock, as if he still couldn't quite believe what he was seeing, that they were actually here, that after _years_ of fast friendship and thinly veiled mutual attraction they were finally.._finally_ doing this.

The barely contained look of shock and surprise on the face hovering above him would have been almost comical if it had been any other time or situation, because now those emotions stood out stark across Rodney's face, still unsure, still barely believing it all...despite having made out in what was likely the Ancients version of a linen closet for the past half an hour like a couple of lusty, hormone driven teenagers.

There was more there, more emotions teeming across that all too familiar face, it was a literal whirlwind of ever changing expression. But for those first few seconds, he could literally see everything as it came to the man mind, seeing everything he was feeling, every emotion laid bare across his face.

It was frightening, and intimate, and even more soul-quivering uncertain now because he _knew_ he could no longer stop the same from being shown upon his own face. It was as if the years he had spent carefully guarding, and holding in his own emotions and feelings counted for jack in the end. Counting for nothing now as he was so easily broken by a man that only a few years ago had merely been one bright neon spark looming above him, his wide fingers snapping in the air above him as an entire universe had opened up in his mind, and he had watched an entire galaxy orbit above him, for him..._because_ of him, his blood singing, and his heart thudding in his throat.

There was confusion there, he saw it lying half hidden in the furrows that now marred the normally smooth section between the mans nose and eyebrows. Uncertainty was thinly slathered over the corners of his all too expressive lips, tweaking at the muscles of his cheeks until the curve of his face seemed to slant the slightest bit downward.

But here was also desire, _oh lord was there desire.._ boldly tumbling from the heightened blue of his eyes, flushing down and twitching his full kiss-bitten lips. It was expressed there in so many degrees that he felt drunk with it, dizzy, and stupid.

There was naked want, a need that went so deep that it surpassed the more instinctive, primal instincts that screamed to just rut against a willing stretch of flesh, but instead _this...this feeling _left them both shuddering, and almost whimpering with it, as if something unequivocally monumentous was occurring between them and there was no real way to express it.

And maybe there was...because he had never felt this way before, _before Rodney._..it had never been like this, it had never been this real, there had never been this intense burst of..of...whatever the hell it was that was making him feel the same high he had only ever got when he was in the cockpit, pulling just a few more G's then was technically advisable, yelling and whooping like all kinds of an asshole as the trainee in the backseat was torn between crapping himself and painting the back of the cockpit with his partially digested lunch. It was dangerous, the kind of dangerous that had you biting a hole through your own tongue, half expecting to hit a rouge gust and swing off course, imploding into splinters of metal, bone, and flesh before you had half a second to even realize you were fucked, and yet at the same time it was just _that_ kind of .._alive.._ that made everything else in life matter, it sent thrills through him that went _bone deep_ and made you want to just throw back your head and yell for the sheer insane joy of it all.

But what was almost even better, better then the lust, and desire...was that he saw the hope for something more flash across that snarky mans face, snapping across his features like a released elastic band, before it was protectively stowed away, hidden behind the last shreds of that mask..

And he had to wonder...what this _finally_ what _love_ really was? Was _this.._this thing he felt beating inside him like a second heart, singing through his brain and blood, and thrumming through his mind, and trickling through his very skin, love? Could it be?..It had to be, he doubted he had ever..._felt_ this much in all his life. In fact he felt so much right now he was pretty sure there was going to be a heart attack in his near future, and yet he could care less, as long as he could feel this, feel this _thing_ for even one more minute longer..

_He did..He loved Rodney._ He loved that sarcastic, irritable, fast-talking, genius son of a bitch so much that it hurt.

And it was with that last little soul baring emotion that he tried to give Rodney that assurance, tried to let him know in a way that surpassed words that _this,_ that what they had right here, right now, looking up at each other right this second was far more then just a lusty, leather educed romp in a slightly musty, 10,000 year old version of an Ancient laundry hamper.

So he threw caution and hesitancy out the metaphorical window, jerking and twisting under the other man until in one, not so swift movement, where there was some serious limb-tangling, and possibly a knee or elbow inserted into places where a knee and elbow should _never, ever_ go, he somehow managed _not_ to send them tumbling off the bed completely as he abruptly flipped them over until they thudded to an ungraceful halt and he was splayed, spread out like a human star fish over the other man, feet hooked under the mattress and arm muscles quivering with the sheer effort of it all.

Now **he **was the one straddling the shell-shocked scientist, looking down at him from his perch over the mans own hips, the press of his flesh deliciously new from his new position above him, feeling that familiar fission lower in his belly, his breath coming out in a surprised hiss as their erections rubbed against each other, the other man bucking up unconsciously beneath him, seeking more friction, his own breaths taking on a new, needy quality that thrummed through this his brain. _Demanding, wanting, needing._.

His fingers dug into the firm mattress on either side of the man's wide shoulders, the tips of his fingers burning as he dug them in, ignoring the harsh roughness against the sensitive nerve endings, relishing in the not-quite-there hints of pain, marvelling at how he let him regain the straggling remains of his focus..

And when he gripped the man by the scruff of the neck and knocked his lips against his he figured that he must have done something right as the man let out a desperate little sound that was somewhere between a growl and a squeak that he didn't even know was _possible_ for a human throat to actually make.

And then he was kissing him. Kissing him roughly, desperately, like it was a last chance, a last breath. Like nothing else in the whole two known galaxies could ever, and would ever matter.

And as Rodney's lips conceded to his, the edge of his chapped lips rubbing roughly across his overly wet lower ones, he felt a lot like he had just finally come home...

And right then, he was half tempted to double check, if maybe his heart hadn't stopped a little bit.


End file.
