World Cracked Open
By Deirdre
June, 2006

The door slides closed behind him, and Radek sighs. His quarters are cool and dim and quiet, a welcome relief from the shriek of power tools in his lab. He's tired, achy, and a headache thrums behind his eyes. Pushing up his glasses, he rubs at his eyes as he kicks off his shoes at the side of the door.

When he opens his eyes again, he jumps and lets out an embarrassing little squeak even as his hand goes to his ear comm to call for security.

"Oh, I don't think we need security, do you, Dr. Zelenka?" The lazy, husky drawl makes him blink in surprise, and slowly lower his hand. "Or maybe I should call you Radek, huh?"

The tall, lean figure materializes out of the dimness; little wonder he didn't spot him. In black, he's like a piece of shadow, and the low light limns the sharp line of jaw, and the sharper gleam of eyes. Rumor has it that he was once Black Ops, and as silently as he moves, the way he claims the dark for his own, Radek doesn't doubt it at all.

"Colonel Sheppard," he says, and his voice shakes more than he likes, but really, he has every right to be startled, finding him here in his darkened quarters.

Sheppard takes a gliding step forward, all silent menace, and Radek feels the hair at the nape of his neck lift. He takes a half-step back before he realizes he's done it, and makes himself stop; this is Colonel Sheppard, after all, and he has nothing to fear.

But that is the logical part of his brain speaking. The rest of him is not quite convinced.

"I think you can call me John," he says, and his voice is like the brush of velvet, like the stroke of a cat's tongue over his skin, smooth and rough at the same time.

The Colonel-Sheppard--John is suddenly close enough that Radek can feel the heat of his body, and Radek's not even sure he saw him move. Radek's breath catches in an involuntary gasp, and John's scent rolls over him, through him. He smells like cool shady woods and cold water and warm male musk.

He smells too good, and Radek takes another half-step back. He feels the door, cool and solid, against his back. John's arm comes up, his palm slaps against the door right beside Radek's head, and Radek jumps. John's other hand is a blur of movement, and Radek feels a tug at his ear. The comm goes flying over John's shoulder.

"You shouldn't be here," Radek says, and his voice is less steady than it was before. The quiet, the intensity, the predatory gleam, makes cold spangle down Radek's spine, the sharp, sparkling edge of fear.

"Oh, I think I should," John says, and the softness of his voice is more unnerving than any shouting could be.

Radek's hand inches toward the door control panel. John's head tips, a bare movement, and his greenish eyes unfocus for a heartbeat before Radek hears the thunkthunkthunk of engaging locks, locks that would take him a very long time to disable, even if he were able to do so.

John's free hand slaps the door on the other side of Radek's head, trapping him. His arms are strong and sleekly muscled. John's mouth curves into a smile that has little to do with humor. He has a beautiful mouth, full and soft-looking, and even through the nervousness Radek feels, he still cannot help but look at it. He's admired it for a very long time.

"Feeling cozy, Radek? I thought we might want to be alone. No interruptions. Just you …" John leans in close enough that Radek can feel his warm breath on his cheek, can smell spice cake and coffee. The homey scents should make him relax, comfort him, but they do not. "…and me. I like that. What about you?"

"I. I want. I don't…" Radek has never lacked for words, but his head is empty of them now, a vast echoing place without even the never-ending tumble of his thoughts.

John leans his weight on one arm and brings up his other hand, the motion so slow and smooth that Radek doesn't even flinch when long fingers skim along his jaw, rasping against the stubble there, curl around the nape of his neck, tangling in his unruly hair, and curve around his skull, strong yet surprisingly gentle.

"I. Oh," Radek says, and understanding skitters in his head, along with the heat that suddenly blooms in his chest. "Oh."

John's eyes glitter, and the mouth Radek has watched for so long smiles. "Yeah. Oh."

And John's mouth is as warm, as soft, as Radek expected. John's lips slick across his, perfect sweet pressure, and then John´s lips part, and Radek opens eagerly for him. The kiss is hot and wet, John's tongue sly and clever and knowing against his own, and Radek cannot stop the helpless sound that rises in the back of his throat. He cannot help how his hands seek John's heat, one sliding up and over John's shoulder, fingers digging into the strong muscle, the other at his waist, knotting in the snug black tee shirt, warm from contact with John's skin.

Heat spirals down Radek's body to pool low in his belly, and he's suddenly throbbing, painfully hard and heavy. He tries to press closer, to relieve the ache against a lean thigh or sharp hip, but John is like an eel, and slides away easily. Radek pulls at him, wanting to feel the realness, the solidity of John's body against his, the beat of his heart, the rise and fall of his chest, but John doesn't allow it. Their only points of contact are Radek's clutching hands upon him, John's hand clenched in his hair, soft lips and slick tongue against his own.

It isn't enough. He wants, fiercely, selfishly, and ultimately fruitlessly, and if he once thought this one time would be enough, he was so very, very wrong.

John's tongue slides against his, flicks against the edges of his teeth and then John breaks away. He sucks on Radek's lower lip, and then bites, sharp sweet pleasure-pain until Radek can feel the heat, feel the swelling bloom in tender flesh, can hear himself moan helplessly.

And then John's mouth is gone. He can feel John's breath mixing with his, hot and moist, and though Radek strains toward him for just one more taste, John's hands hold him in place, pinned against the doors.

John's eyes flick over him, cataloguing his hot face, his wide eyes, his swollen mouth, the rapid rise and fall of his chest, his grasping hands, and the insistent curve of erection. The curl of mouth is not so pleasant, but Radek cannot help the want want want that courses through him, especially when the tip of John's tongue slides over the wetness of his own lower lip.

"Never let it be said that I ever welshed on a bet," John says softly. His fingers untangle from Radek's hair, and slide along a cheek to the corner of his mouth before leaving him. "McKay said never to bet against a Czech in sports. Now I believe him."

The door locks disengage, and then John slides past him without touching. With a whoosh, the doors close behind him, leaving him alone in the cool dimness. Radek doesn't move, can't move for a moment, his body too heavy, thrumming with the weight and heat of desire.

One kiss as payment, one kiss he'd never get otherwise. One kiss he thought would be enough. One kiss that makes him yearn even more for what he cannot ever have.

...then I did the simplest thing in the world.
I leaned down... and kissed him.
And the world cracked open.
~ Agnes de Mille