Silent Lucidity
by Deirdre
February, 2006

Rodney's skin is creamy-pale in the wash of moonlight. From where Radek sits, on his haunches at Rodney's side, knees touching his bare hip, it looks soft and velvety, imminently touchable. Unable to resist, Radek allows his fingers to skim over one broad shoulder. He watches a skiff of goosebumps rise as his fingers trail down one shoulderblade, index finger slowly circling the little dark mole three fingers-width from Rodney's spine. Radek can see Rodney's profile clearly, can watch the emotions chase across his face; he shows so much, though he thinks himself inscrutable. It is a ticklish place he touches, and Rodney's wide, crooked mouth parts, but other than the quick intake of breath he makes no noise, and Radek feels his own mouth quirk upward at the continuing silence. It is only here, in this time, in this place, that Rodney is quiet.

Through the wide-open balcony doors, he can hear the shush of the waves, feel the whisper of a cool night-breeze as it fingers over them. The brisk salt of ocean does little to clear the room of the heavier scents of musk and sweat, the smells of man and sex. Rodney shivers, and Radek isn't sure if it is from the chill, or from the teasing skim of his fingertips down the hollow of Rodney's spine. His fingers trail lower, stopping at the small of Rodney's back to touch the thick black silk that wraps securely around his broad wrists. It feels slippery and cool against the heat of his skin, and Radek traces lightly over his tightly-clenched fists. Rodney's fingers flex, and the silk creaks softly, but has never given way, no matter how he struggled in the beginning. Though Rodney is a self-proclaimed lab rat, he is not weedy like the majority of them-he is a big man, with strong hands, powerful arms and shoulders, thick thighs, a physical match to the strength of his intellect. To have him like this, willingly submissive, kneeling on his bed with his thighs spread apart, open to Radek's desires, his hard, thick erection curving toward his stomach, is worth so very much.

Radek's hand slips lower, over the lush, smooth curve of buttock, and then down even further, fingertips sliding through the slick, circling lightly, and Rodney's breath hitches loudly, harshly; though Radek had not hurt him, he had not been gentle, earlier. Still, he says nothing, the silence startling from a man who catalogues his aches and pains with near obsession. He has finally learned that obedience gains him what he wishes, but speaking, complaining, begging for release before Radek is willing to grant it, brings the game to an abrupt halt. And though they never speak of it, Rodney likes the game, likes the giving over of his power, of his authority, to Radek. In these moments of bestowed touch and enforced quiet, he does not have to be the loud, vibrant Rodney McKay, self-proclaimed genius and savior of Atlantis; he can relax, give himself over into Radek's care, can sink into and savor sheer physical sensation without the constant, rapid spin of his thoughts. He can simply exist, all choice taken from him, can be receptive, reactive, at peace.

Rodney's feet are tucked up under his ass, the soles pale, vulnerable commas of flesh, and Radek strokes quickly over the left, leaving a glistening streak on his skin. Rodney's toes curl, but he doesn't twitch away, and Radek leans in and brushes his lips over his shoulder as a reward for obedience.

"Good," Radek whispers over his skin. "You please me, very much." He shifts around Rodney's body, moves closer to his solid, reassuring heat, sliding between Rodney's wide-spread thighs, pressing his bare chest closely enough he swears he can feel the beat of Rodney's heart against his own. Radek can feel his breath, hot and rapid and moist, fluttering over his cheek as Rodney's face turns blindly toward his own. So much warm, bare skin, smooth and fine-grained as any woman's, and in these moments, his to do with as he wishes. That is precious enough, but this utter faith, this complete trust, this closeness Rodney offers him and no other is far more intimate than the slip-slide of their bodies during sex.

It has not been easy getting to this point, but Radek knows well that things of such value are worth any effort.

"Beautiful," he says softly, because Rodney is, and no one ever stops to tell him such, to appreciate him beyond the ideas, the knowledge stored in his head. From the very first time he saw Rodney in Antarctica he thought him hard on the ear but pleasing to the eye, and the pleasure of looking has never dimmed. Rodney's mouth sets in a firm line; he does not believe Radek when he compliments him, but now, he can say nothing to mock or contradict him. Radek wraps his left hand around the nape of Rodney's neck, thumb rubbing lightly over the soft, tender skin just beneath his ear. The tails of the length of black silk tied over Rodney's eyes slip over his wrist and forearm, cool and tickling.

"Rodney," Radek murmurs into his ear, voice dropping low, and it is as much the possessive way Radek says his name as it is the softly sucking kiss upon his smooth neck, or the press of Rodney's hard, slick cock against the heat of Radek's belly that makes Rodney shudder hard. Radek hears the hungry, desperate sound rumble in Rodney's chest, but it catches low in his throat before it can escape as more than an explosive exhalation.

"Yes," Radek croons approvingly. Rodney's face turns more to him, and his mouth is close enough he can taste the candy-sweetness of his breath, close enough that when Rodney's tongue slips out and wets his lips, Radek can feel it tickle against his own. Radek slides his right hand over a firm pectoral, thumb brushing lightly over a nipple, and it beads up hard beneath his touch. Radek flicks it with a thumbnail, then pinches sharply, and Rodney's mouth parts in a gasp.

It is an invitation he cannot resist. Radek's fingers tighten on the nape of Rodney's neck, tipping him to the desired angle, and then Radek's mouth covers his. Hot, slick, dark, hungry, and Radek isn't certain if the sound that rises up between them is from Rodney, or himself. It does not matter. For a heartbeat, two, Rodney fights for dominance of the kiss, then remembers his place in the game and abruptly surrenders. The inner strength it takes for him to relinquish control makes Radek's head spin with a heady combination of respect and desire. He gives, and Rodney accepts, need an almost palpable thrum over his skin. Though he has already spent himself within Rodney, Radek feels the stir of renewed interest.

But these moments are not for him but rather a gift to Rodney, who has been so very patient. Radek pulls away, and their mouths part with a soft, wet sound, his teeth tugging gently on Rodney's lower lip. He tucks Rodney's face into the crook of his neck, slides his right hand down Rodney's belly, feeling the tremor beneath his touch. Rodney's cock is feverishly hot, swollen, heavy in his hand, the head slick against his thumb. He strokes down, his fingers finding the cockring pressing into tender skin, and he unsnaps it.

"Come, now," he murmurs.

And Rodney does. The sound that rips from him as he comes is raw and primal and visceral. His hips snap forward with the force of his release, and his cock pulses in Radek's fist. Hot wetness spurts over his fingers and spreads between them, slicking their bellies. Two more hard thrusts, and Rodney leans heavily into him, sweaty and boneless and spent. Radek holds him easily; he has always been strong enough for this. Rodney's shoulders heave, and if his harsh, gasping breaths sound like sobs, Radek says nothing. His firm grip on the back of Rodney's neck gentles into a caress, fingers stroking over soft wet hair as sleek as a seal's pelt.

When Rodney finally lifts his head, Radek brushes moisture from his cheeks before pushing up and off the black silk hiding his eyes. Rodney's thick lashes are spiky with wetness, and his eyes are hazy-dark, the brilliant blue irises nothing more than thin rings about the huge pupils. His fine, fair skin burns brightly with heat. His brittle sharpness is gone, exorcised away, and for the moment, Rodney looks at peace. It won't last long-it cannot-but while it does, it is precious.

"You were so good," Radek says softly. He kisses Rodney's forehead, his eyes, his cheeks, and finally, his mouth, tasting salt. It is slack beneath his for a second, but then moves gently beneath his in answer.

Rodney shifts, and when he straightens, when Radek doesn't think he'll pitch forward face-first onto the mattress, Radek moves behind him. A tug on the silk releases the knot, and Radek unwinds the material from his wrists. It flutters to the floor, dark and shimmering in the pale light. Rodney flexes his hands, his arms, and brings them back around to the front of his body, moving as slowly as if he were underwater. Radek presses closely against his broad back, slides his arms around Rodney's waist and smooths one hand over his sticky belly as the other settles over his chest, over his strongly-beating heart. For a moment he rests his cheek against the soft skin at the base of Rodney's neck before murmuring, "Sleep now, rest."

It is proof of how drained Rodney is that he doesn't argue, just slips out of Radek's arms and curls into the sheets. Radek runs a hand over his hip in a caress, then slips from the bed. In the bath, he wipes himself off quickly, then brings a warm cloth back to bed. At his gentle urging, Rodney uncurls enough for Radek to wipe him down-Rodney is very fussy about cleanliness, and Radek can give him this small kindness-then Radek takes the cloth back into the bath.

Radek picks up the pieces of silk, smoothes out the worst of the wrinkles, and drapes them over the back of Rodney's desk chair. They will disappear for three weeks, perhaps four, before the stress, the pressure grows too great to bear and Rodney brings them out again. On that night, as he did this one, he will find Rodney sitting quietly in the dark, pulling and pleating the silk between his fingers, and his body will be tense, tight as a clenched fist, unable to ask for what he wants, for what he needs. For what Radek can give him. Silence. Escape. Trust. A chance to just breathe. Radek will hold out his hand for the silk, will fold it and tie it around Rodney's eyes, and his taut body will relax, the tension draining from him like water from a broken pitcher. He will slide soundlessly to his knees before Radek, who will run his fingers over Rodney's bent neck, and the game will begin. Although the mix of pain and pleasure varies, always it is the gift of silence, a chance for Rodney to release everything and let Radek take care of him.

He knows what a rare gift it is that Rodney offers him, and does not-will not-ever take it lightly.

They are finished for the night, and so he picks up his boxers and shakes them out. He will dress, will press a kiss to Rodney's shoulder, and be gone, leaving Rodney to sleep. In the morning, Rodney will be as sarcastic, as arrogant as ever, but the sharp, sharp edges will be slightly blunted. Rodney is never easy, never soft, is difficult always, but this thing they share keeps him from cutting them to bloody pieces, keeps him from cutting himself even more, for as hard as Rodney is on them all, he is hardest on himself.

The sheets rustle as Rodney turns over in the bed. His eyes glitter in the low light, and Radek goes still in curiosity; by this time, Rodney usually is asleep, his breath slow and steady and reassuring. "Radek."

"Yes, Rodney?" Blinking, he holds his boxers loosely in his hands. He has no false modesty; Rodney has seen and touched and tasted every centimeter of his body. But he wishes for his clothing, as he grows cold from the breeze curling around his naked skin.

"You could. Stay." Rodney's voice is husky, hoarse from disuse, from that last throat-ripping cry as he came. "If you wanted. It's...late."

"It is always late when I leave," Radek says gently. This is different, and he is uncertain what to think. Rodney has never before asked him to stay, and when they go to Radek's room, Rodney always leaves. They have never spent an entire night together, whether they play the game or simply have sex. To have him ask is...most startling.

"Yeah. I'm just saying. Tonight, you don't have to go." Then, as if he realizes just how vulnerable he sounds, Rodney turns back over in the bed and pulls the covers up over his shoulders. "Or, go. Doesn't matter to me." His voice, though muffled, is distant and dismissive.

Radek thinks it matters a great deal. He gives his boxers a toss, and climbs into bed, sliding beneath the covers. They will both fit, if they spoon together and don't thrash about too much. Rodney's body is smooth and wonderfully warm, and Radek curls against his back, sliding an arm around his waist, tucking his thighs tightly behind Rodney's.

"If you snore to wake the entire city, I will give you sharp elbow in the kidneys," he says, voice muffled against Rodney's back.

Rodney's body had tensed, but now relaxes as Radek slips into their familiar patterns. He snorts, and only Rodney can make such an inelegant noise sound so haughty. "I don't snore. You, on the other hand, sound like an aerospace lab's wind tunnel."

"You are big fat liar," Radek replies cheekily, "and I can prove this with security tapes of the labs that show you sleeping on the keyboards. You snore and drool. Most unattractive and highly detrimental to valuable equipment." Rodney doesn't deign to reply, but his grunt sounds amused.

Satisfied that Rodney is all right, Radek settles in, warm and comfortable against Rodney's strong, solid back. As he drifts off, he feels Rodney's fingers wind through his own and squeeze gently.