Within Arm's Reach (This is not happening challenge)

Author: linaerys
Title: Within Arm's Reach
Rating: R for sex
Pairing: Sheppard/McKay
Word Count: ~3400
Summary: Humor and practical particle physics. For the “this is not happening” challenge.
Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me, nor to I derive any profit from them.
A/N: My beta, lilithilien, rocks my socks. All remaining mistakes are my own.
Spoilers: None
Feedback: Positive or negative, is always appreciated.


“This is so not happening.” John raised his right arm, which was now also Rodney's left. “How is this even possible?”

“Particle physics at work. The atoms of your arm are sharing the same space as the atoms of my arm, all because you said 'hey, let's touch this weird Ancient device' when we have no idea what it's for, or what it does,” suggested Rodney. Their predicament had not stopped him from gesturing in typical McKay fashion, and the movements pulled John off balance.

“How about you just talk with your right hand for now,” said John. “How am I going to take a shower?”

“How are we going to get dressed?”

“How are we going to sleep?”

“How are we going to . . . ?”

“Don't even think about it, Major. You can hold out for as long as it takes to get this figured out.”

“That wasn’t what I was going to say,” said John, which was not entirely a lie, since he had intended to let Rodney fill in the blanks. “God, dirty mind, much?”

“Elizabeth always says you two are joined at the hip, but dontcha think this is taking it a bit far?” said Carson when they walked into the infirmary. Figuring out how to walk together had taken some work—Rodney had a headlong, blundering gait that threw John off balance, and he swung his arms into everything.

“Ha ha,” said Rodney mirthlessly.

“Well, does it hurt?” Carson scratched his chin.

“No,” said John. “Except when we try to fight each other. Whoever has control of the arm can use it like it’s theirs.” John put their hand on Rodney’s chin for emphasis. Being this close to Rodney definitely had its benefits.

“Must you?” asked Rodney. To Carson, he pleaded, “Can you do something about this?”

“Well, I’d like to take an X-ray.”

“I’m not really sure that more particles in an already crowded space is a good idea.” Rodney sighed, and gestured, and this time John just braced himself.

“Particles?” asked Carson.

“Photons. We already have twice the usual number of protons, neutrons and electrons in here.” He raised the arm up and waved it around.

“And quarks,” added John, trying to needle Rodney into one of his annoyed physics dissertations. John found those much more endearing than anyone else on Atlantis did.

“Well, yes, of course quarks, everything is made of quarks,” said Rodney impatiently.

“Photons aren’t,” said John. Seeing Rodney’s lecturing this close up made his insides do a happy little dance.

“And electrons are leptons and not quarks. You’re right. Are you happy?” John grinned a little in answer. “But that’s not the point,” continued Rodney. “The point is, I’m not sure what an X-ray will do to this.”

John put his hands on his hips, elbowing Rodney in the stomach. “I think we should give it a try.”

“Fine, fine. It’s not like this can get much worse,” said Rodney. They put on lead shields and stood in front of the X-ray machine.

“I think it feels heavier,” said Rodney when Carson finished.

“Aren’t photons massless?” asked John.

“It’s an interesting question—theoretically photons must have a mass, otherwise it would violate the quantum theory of electrodynamics, but there isn’t any universally accepted experimental proof. I wonder if I could use this—it’s one of the great problems.”

“This is fascinating,” said Carson. He put the X-ray film up on a light-box. “It’s as if both of your bones are superimposed upon each other. As if—“

“As if they’re taking up the exact same space, yes we know that, Doctor,” said Rodney.

“How did it happen?” Carson asked.

“The Major found this black box, and asked me to take a look at it, and when we both touched it—poof.”

“Do you think maybe it’s something like the personal shield?” asked Carson. “Responds to intention?”

“You think I wanted to be like this?” Rodney raised their arm and waggled it around again. John avoided making eye contact with Carson. He had not been thinking about sticking them together quite like that when the machine did its work—but his thoughts had not been entirely pure either.

“I couldn’t say,” said Carson. He raised his eyebrows at Rodney. “Whatever the reason, I think this is your kind of problem more than mine. Is there a way to run that thing in the other direction?”

“Oh yes, the matter integrator has a rewind switch. Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Matter integrator? Is that what we’re calling it?” asked John. Rodney made a face.

“How is this even possible?” asked Carson.

“The Heisenberg Uncertainty principle, Doctor. Surely even in medical school they tell you about the Rutherford gold foil experiments?”

“There was rather a pretty blonde in my physics class . . .,” said Carson and trailed off.

“The principle states that the more precisely the position of a particle is determined, the less precisely the momentum is known in this instant, and vice versa. It has all kinds of implications for causality, but the main point here is that two atoms could occupy the other’s empty space. It is not impossible, merely extremely improbable.”

John rolled his eyes. “Tell that to the ten thousand year old civilization that built the Stargates. And this thing too.” John raised his arm to scratch his nose, realized it was the one he shared with Rodney, and dropped it again. “This is going to get old fast.”

It got even older when Rodney wouldn’t let him spar with Teyla or go for his evening run.

“I need to figure this out,” Rodney had said, and kept them confined to the lab. They had to share a stool, and John’s right butt cheek soon went numb.

“Well, I need to sleep. And shower. And you’re looking pretty tired too.” Rodney glared, but didn’t fight him too hard.

“Why would they even have something like this?” asked John, feeling glum. They sat on Rodney’s bed, taking turns removing holsters, shoes, socks, pants. Sitting was easier than standing, although it still required a lot more cooperation than John wanted to give.

“More efficient packing for interstellar travels? How should I know?” Rodney put his own hand up to his forehead. “I wonder what would happen if we went through the Stargate. Do you think it would figure out we are two discrete packages and un-integrate us?”

“Do you want to find out?”

“No, not yet. Anyway, I don’t think Elizabeth would let us. We’ll wait until this gets more desperate.”

“More desperate?” asked John. They had to use scissors to cut their shirts off, since they couldn’t be taken off over the arm they shared. John had entertained passing fantasies of some circumstance that required him to share a bed with Rodney, but not quite like this, although he did steal a glance at what he could see of Rodney’s torso. It was roundish, but not mushy, and had really perky nipples. John fought a blush rising in his cheeks at that thought, and more rising from lower down.

“I usually sleep with a shirt on, Major,” said Rodney.

“And I usually sleep in the nude, but we’re going to have to make some compromises,” said John, glancing down at his boxers. Rodney jumped at that, and looked carefully away.

They lay down in the narrow bed and stared at the ceiling. “I usually sleep on my stomach,” said Rodney.

“I sleep on my side, but that’s not going to work.”

“Huh, I guess not. You know, I always hated snuggling. I can’t sleep when there’s someone else touching me. But this is ten times worse.”

“Rodney,” John deadpanned. “I never knew you were such a romantic.”

“You’re telling me you like it?” Rodney paused then added, “Captain Kirk.”

“You think he was the snuggling type?” asked John. Rodney shrugged and hit John in the head with the shoulder they half shared. “You gotta not do that.”

“Sorry.”

“If you snore I’m going to beat you with your own arm,” said John idly, because it was a fun threat, and had never been more appropriate.

“Violence is the refuge of petty minds, Major,” said Rodney. “G’night.”

John slept surprisingly well, and woke in the morning a few minutes before his bedmate. He moved gingerly so as not to disturb Rodney, propped himself up on their shared elbow and looked over at him. Rodney face was slack and relaxed, and the lines on his forehead and around his mouth smoothed out.

John glanced around Rodney’s room as much as he could without moving. Rodney’s Ph. D. diploma from Northwestern hung in a place of prominence above the desk. John saw some other pictures: Rodney with Samantha Carter, him beaming, her with a smile that spoke of amused annoyance, a much younger and skinnier Rodney in torn jeans and stained T-shirt, posing with some esoteric piece of lab equipment.

Then Rodney woke up and glared at John, and the lines between his eyes came back. John resisted an urge to smooth them out with his fingers.

“Shower,” said John. “And you need to brush your teeth. Badly.”

“Your breath doesn’t exactly smell like roses, either,” said Rodney. They stood up together, and John became painfully aware that at least part of him was greeting the morning happily. Rodney had a similar problem and John studiously avoided looking when they stripped and got into the shower.

“Are you checking out my ass, Major?” asked Rodney, as John craned his head over their shared shoulder to do just that.

“I don’t have to,” said John. “I can feel it right now.” Rodney had taken control of their arm and was soaping himself down, but when he realized what he was doing, he put the soap in his left hand. John saw Rodney wasn’t getting any less erect, but since he wasn’t either, decided not to comment on it.

“If you wanted to . . . , I could just turn my head,” said Rodney in an embarrassed tone of voice.

“No good, I use my right hand,” said John. “You?”

“I use my left.”

“But you’re right-handed.”

“Not for this.”

“Oh.”

They had trouble turning around in the shower, but eventually figured out how to get most of everything clean, and as long as they traded off who got to use the arm, survived with no major mishaps.

“How much of my hair gel are you going to use, Major?” asked Rodney, as they stood in front of the mirror. “You know it’s a limited supply. Who exactly are you trying to look good for?” John glared sideways at him but didn’t say anything.

They put on their pants, jury rigged some hospital gowns to cover them from the waist up, and went down to Rodney’s lab. Rodney focused on merging various items with the matter integrator. He fused some paperclips, and some pens, and just for fun, a turkey sandwich and a brownie from an MRE.

“What does it taste like?” asked John.

“Kinda gross. You want some?”

“No,” John said. “These come apart, though, when you want them to. So we should be able to. Why don’t we try?”

“I just wanted to make sure that’s how it works. We don’t want to end up even more stuck together. This could be a lot worse.”

John reached out with their shared arm and touched the black cube. Rodney glanced at him, and took a deep breath. “Just think about how much I annoy you, Major,” said Rodney.

John tried, sort of, and their shoulders started to separate, but then an image of Rodney’s hair spiky and wet after the shower came into his mind, and their arms stayed linked together.

“Wait, that was working,” said Rodney. “What went wrong?”

“Maybe you like having me here,” suggested John.

Rodney snorted. “Maybe it’s because we’re living matter,” Rodney speculated. He fused two of Carson’s lab mice together by the tail and then asked one of the biologists to take sections of the fused area to look at in the Transmission Electron Microscope.

“If you’re done torturing animals, I have military things to do,” said John after a few hours. Rodney threw both of his arms up in the air.

“How are you going to do anything like this? Don’t you think getting us apart should be the first priority?”

“I have to give a briefing,” said John. “Since I can’t take a team off world myself.”

“And whose fault is that?”

The marines in the briefing wore carefully blank expressions as John and Rodney stood side by side, and Rodney tried to relax enough to give John full control of their shared arm. It wasn’t easy, especially after John pulled Rodney off balance a few times by trying to lounge on the table or lean against something.

After he was finished he sat down and adjusted himself under the table. He felt Rodney stiffen next to him, and then Rodney kicked him in the shin. “That’s my hand you’re groping yourself with,” he whispered, but not so quietly the marines didn’t hear, and snicker.

Then a medical situation cropped up on the mainland and they had to airlift a few Athosians back to Atlantis. With other teams off world while Rodney and John were grounded, and Carson needing to see to his patients, they spent the afternoon in the jumper, with John flying, and Rodney sitting on a crate next to him in the cockpit.

By evening, they were both exhausted. “I’ll solve it in the morning,” said Rodney as they lay down in bed together. He rubbed his eyes and then his temples. For some reason, John found it more difficult to sleep this night. He blamed it on the crowded bed and fought the urge to roll over on his side.

He must have fallen asleep, though, because the next thing he knew, he was in the middle of a familiar dream: Rodney in the shower. This time it was much more detailed—his subconscious finally had the visuals to go along with the sensation.

Rodney looks over his shoulder at John, and smiles invitingly. Even smiling, the edges of his mouth turn down, and John kisses the corners of his lips, puts his arm around his waist, and then moves his hands lower. In the dream, he never needs any lotion or soap on his hand, Rodney is already slick for him, and they kiss as John jerks him off.

This dream didn’t end as quickly as before, and Rodney didn’t turn into the controls of a jumper, or a Wraith, or Chaya, or any of the dream's usual permutations, and John gradually realized he was hovering somewhere on the edge of sleep and wakefulness. He was definitely lying in bed, feeling as though his body was both infinitely heavy and infinitely light, and like his arm . . . belonged to someone else.

Someone who was happily rubbing himself with a beatific smile and closed eyes. John shifted slightly, trying not to take back control of his arm, but he must have done something subconsciously, because Rodney stopped suddenly mid-stoke, and his eyes flew open. He tried to move his hand away, but now John had control of the arm and he left it where it was.

“Don’t let me stop you,” drawled John, but inwardly he sighed. This was when Rodney would freak out, or start stammering, or say something caustic and bruising, and John would say he was kidding, and then they’d both pretend to sleep, but instead Rodney turned sleep-lidded eyes toward him, and looked straight at him, as he finished the last few strokes, and came on their shared hand.

“Uh, your turn?” he said, in a very un-Rodney-like voice, heavy with sex, but hesitant too. Impulsively, Sheppard kissed the side of his mouth, just where it turned down, just like in his dream. A quick brush, no more than accidental, but Rodney leaned into it, and brought their mouths together. He tasted sour, like morning breath and a hint of stale coffee underneath, but that didn’t matter. John grasped himself, and felt, for the first time, the wondrous side of sharing a limb with Rodney, the shared sensations—the pins and needles still in Rodney’s part of his hand from coming hard. And his motions had a slightly different rhythm than usual, more sensual, and mixed with the undeniable excitement of someone else’s hands on him.

He tried to draw it out, to savor the sensation of Rodney’s tongue in his mouth, as Rodney’s other hand weaved through his hair, grabbed the back of his neck, traced along his jaw. He gave up as much control to Rodney as he could when their shared hand wrapped around him, to feel Rodney’s blunter fingers, in contrast to his own slender ones.

“Is that . . .?” whispered Rodney against John’s lips, volume barely above breathing.

“Yeah, like that,” said John as the sound of Rodney’s voice put him over the edge, harder and faster than he wanted, but welcome all the same.

“That was . . .” started Rodney.

“Nice,” said Sheppard. He frowned up at the ceiling. This hadn’t been part of The Plan. The Plan involved flirting with Rodney, and enjoying the fact he was too oblivious to notice. The Plan sometimes involved John torturing himself by watching Rodney a little too long, but that was supposed to be a way to pass the hours between missions, a way to feed his fantasies and make his alone time a little more rewarding.

“You were dreaming?” asked Rodney.

“For part of it,” said John, still looking at the ceiling.

“For the kissing part of it?”

“No, for that I was awake.”

“Oh,” said Rodney. He paused for a panic-inducing moment. “We really need to get our arms separated.”

“Yeah,” said John sadly.

“Not that this wasn’t fun, but I think we’ve reached the limit of what we can do with our arms stuck together. Unless you’re a lot more flexible than I think.”

John made a silent “O” with his mouth and looked over at Rodney, who wore what could only be described as a naughty grin.

Thirty seconds later they were running down the hall to Rodney’s lab with Rodney’s sheets wrapped around their waists. The black cube stood opaque and faintly menacing, on Rodney’s lab bench.

“You think it’ll work this time?” asked John, suddenly nervous.

“We have some good motivation now.”

John swallowed hard and reached out to touch the box. He closed his eyes and thought about being alone, about sleeping curled up on his side, about running laps over the bridges of Atlantis, about all the things he needed his solitude for. It was with a hint of sadness that he felt his muscle and bone skim against something other, and their arms sliding apart. He flexed his hand, now fully his own.

“I think you should put one of your big ‘don’t touch’ stickers on this,” said John, to fill the silence as Rodney stood and stared at the box with his head cocked to one side.

“Huh,” said Rodney. “This creates a field that somehow controls particle vibrations.” His expression was distant, now worlds away from John. Rodney put his thumb on his lip, and John could almost see the gears in Rodney’s mind turning. It shouldn’t have been so hot. “I didn’t see it before. This violates the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle,” he continued, growing more excited. “It has to precisely define both the location and momentum of a particle . . . unless . . . unless it constrains the DeBroglie wavelength within . . . I need to . . . this could be bigger than the discovery of the ZPM. Can you hand me those tongs?” He glanced at John expectantly.

“You want to work on this now?” asked John. He raised an eyebrow sardonically, and tried to keep the disappointment out of his voice.

Rodney looked torn for a half a second, but then grinned. “Hell, no. I make earth-shattering discoveries all the time. This? Is a little more unusual.”

“And you’re practically naked right now. You’ll at least need pants to make your next big discovery.”

Rodney smiled at John in that tantalizing way that tugged the right side of his mouth down. “Don’t be too sure of that,” he said.