quasar273 | Fic: The Gay-TA Gene

Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Title: The Gay-TA Gene
Author: Quasar
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: McShep
Length: ~3800 words
Summary: It's all Carson's fault.
Author's note: An exercise in writing porn. Humor, borderline crack-fic -- or as close to it as I ever get.

Rodney first noticed it when they'd been in Atlantis about a week. He was telling one of the Athosians -- a charming young woman with an almost Asian cast of face -- about how he had faced down the shadow creature. She seemed both fascinated and impressed, and she shifted closer to him as she listened. He was about to suggest moving their conversation to someplace more comfortable when he caught a whiff of her breath: sour with an undertone of something even more unpleasant, like rotting seaweed.

He wouldn't have let that stop him -- because, hey! pretty young woman -- but Radek called for help with a device that had turned on and was scrolling warnings in Ancient text which no one could read quickly enough, and by the time that was resolved the young woman was gone. He never did find the chance to track her down again, and when he thought about it he just assumed that life without modern dentistry had its drawbacks.

A few days later, Elizabeth was having trouble with her laptop. As Rodney squeezed in beside her to work on it he noticed the same dead-seaweed odor and looked at her in surprise. He tried asking her if she'd been eating some of the native foods or something, but since he couldn't explain why he was asking, she just seemed confused.

So he dropped the subject. Maybe after a while here they would all smell the same, and then he wouldn't notice it anymore. He'd never been sensitive to body odor before, so he would probably get over it soon.

The next day he and several others with the ATA gene -- both natural and artificial -- were getting an introduction to the puddlejumper controls. Rodney was in the pilot's seat, and Sheppard reached past him to point at something on the console just as Rodney was turning his head to ask a question. He got a faceful of Sheppard's armpit, and it didn't smell rotten at all. It was some kind of exotic, sensuous musk, and he went hard in an instant. He had trouble paying attention to what Sheppard was saying and making up an excuse so he could get out of there quickly. He'd never found a man's scent at all arousing before, and he hadn't been so embarrassed by his own body's reactions since he was a teenager.

He wanted to ask Beckett about the problem, but he wasn't sure how. Eventually he decided that a casual conversation over lunch would be best, but unfortunately that day the mess hall was quite crowded. Rodney sat next to Beckett and tried asking him about diet and its effects on the body, but Beckett kept talking about vitamins and health. Rodney moved closer as he framed his question about body odor, and that was when he noticed it: Beckett had the same musk as Sheppard, only more subtle. It was just a hint, teasing at the sinuses, but Rodney recognized it at once. He gaped.

" . . . sure we're getting enough niacin . . . Rodney? What's wrong?"

"Oh my god, it's the ATA gene, isn't it? Why didn't you tell me about this before you gave me the therapy!"

"What on Earth are you talking about?"

"You made me gay!" Rodney hissed at him, but not quietly enough; heads turned around the room. "You injected me with that voodoo potion, and now I'm -- oh god . . . " He ran from the room.

He almost ran over Major Sheppard in the corridor. The pilot caught him by the arms. "Whoa, McKay, where's the fire?" He frowned. "There isn't really a fire, is there?"

Beckett came up panting behind. "Rodney . . ."

Rodney pointed at the doctor. "He made me gay!" he told Sheppard. "He injected me with his gene therapy, and now I'm turning into a flaming queen! Pretty soon I'll start talking with a lisp, and listening to Barbra Streisand, and waxing my chest hair, and --"

"Rodney, I think we should talk about this," said Beckett. He exchanged glances with Sheppard, and the two of them herded Rodney into an empty room just down the corridor. "Now, what is it exactly that makes you think you're becoming gay?"

"You!" Rodney wailed. "You smell good -- interesting and, and sexy! So does he, and women don't! Even that Athosian woman I had my eye on since the first day -- not Teyla," he told Sheppard quickly, not particularly wanting a black eye.

"You think you're gay because of BO?" Sheppard said incredulously.

"Rodney, that could be anything. It could be --" Beckett began.

"Yes yes, I thought of diet and differences in basic chemistry. But it isn't just the Athosian, it's Eli-- Earth women, too! They smell horrible, like something that washed up on the beach. And men smell great," he said woefully, beginning to wane from angry into sad. "And you even look --" Well, of course Sheppard looked hot. He looked like the kind of guy who expected everyone to think he was hot, whether they were normally attracted to men or not. Rodney inched a little closer to Sheppard and sniffed surreptitiously. Then he had to shift his weight around, and shove his hands in his pockets to straighten things out. "I'm gay," he concluded mournfully, and sank onto a chair.

"You're making a mountain out of a molehill, McKay," said Sheppard. "Tell him, Doc! I mean, there's no way gene therapy could . . . do that, could it?"

"You said it would change some chemicals in my skin," Rodney remembered. Now he sniffed at himself, but he couldn't pick up anything.

Beckett screwed up his face doubtfully. "Well, it has been theorized that homosexuality might be partly genetic."

Rodney groaned and covered his face with both hands.

"Not helping here, Doc!" Sheppard hissed.

"I just don't know!" Beckett protested. "Sometimes retroviral therapy does alter other genes besides the one targeted. None of the mice showed any such effect, but then . . . I have to get back to my lab and do some tests. I'll speak to the others who've received the gene therapy this week. Rodney," he begged, "please don't tell anyone else about this until I've had a chance to check it out, alright? Ye could well be straining at gnats here."

Sheppard patted Rodney's shoulder. "I'll take care of this," he told Beckett.

Rodney snorted as Beckett left. "Going to beat me until I turn straight, Major? Make me watch Girls Gone Wild to get the testosterone flowing again?"

"No, that would be more my father's line." Sheppard sat next to Rodney and leaned forward.

He groaned again as his body reacted to the proximity. "Oh god, I'm gay. What am I going to do?"

"Take it easy, Rodney, it's not that bad. Think of it this way -- with the male-female ratio on this expedition, anyone who likes men has a lot more to choose from."

"Oh, you would think that's the most important thing. Talk to me when you've had a sexual identity crisis of your own!"

"Does twenty years ago count?"

Rodney lifted his head and stared. "You're . . ."

"Yep."

"You are not gay. There's no way you can be gay!"

Sheppard shrugged. "I guess most people would call it bi. I just think of myself as an opportunist. Spend enough time on bases with a ninety-five-percent male population, and you learn the grass is green on both sides of the fence."

Rodney shook his head. "And . . . your father . . .?"

Sheppard winced and looked away. "I was hoping you didn't catch that. He, uh, found me kissing the captain of the boys' track team on the living room couch one day. Pitched a fit that lasted for weeks." He turned back with a diverting, boyish grin. "He calmed down once he realized I was as mesmerized by Bo Derek's cleavage as any other red-blooded teenage boy. And when I joined the Air Force, he figured I was cured. I guess I thought so, too."

"But?"

"A couple years later a cute guy smiled at me, and I found out it hadn't gone away, just went underground. Look, Rodney -- that's part of what I'm saying. If you're gay, it's not some tragedy or anything. But there's a lot more to it than just thinking guys smell good and girls don't."

"Like what?" With Sheppard so close, Rodney couldn't imagine anything more arousing than the scent teasing his nostrils.

"Well . . . do you think men look sexy? Are they sexy when you're alone with your eyes closed?"

Rodney gulped. There had been a moment this morning, when he was having some private time with his right hand. He had caught a whiff of something -- he didn't even know what it was -- that reminded him of Sheppard, and had suddenly pictured the man in all his glory, and that had been the end of that morning session. He had conveniently managed to forget about the incident, but now it came back and his head sank again. He really was gay!

"Does a muscular ass seem as interesting as a pair of perky tits?"

Rodney moaned into his hands at the thought of Sheppard's ass.

"Okay, I guess that answers that question."

Rodney peeked. Yes, Sheppard was looking at his crotch. Was the air in here getting thinner?

"We could try the standard test of chemical compatibility," Sheppard said in a thoughtful tone.

"What's that?" Rodney asked.

"Kissing." Sheppard leaned into Rodney's personal space, grabbed his head, and sealed their mouths together.

Rodney tried to say something, but it turned into a moan as Sheppard's tongue filled his mouth. If Sheppard smelled good, it turned out he tasted fantastic. Rodney would have paid big bucks at a five-star restaurant for anything that could even approach this flavor. Sweet-spicy-smooth and very, very sexy all at the same time. It completely made up for the rasping stubble and the hard jaw and the lack of soft breasts to press against. Rodney moaned again and shoved his own tongue forward, seeking more of that wonderful taste at the source.

Then Rodney's mouth was bereft, and he was watching in confusion as Sheppard licked thoughtfully at his red, shining lips. "Guess we passed that test."

Rodney pulled himself together. "Well, duh! Smell is connected to taste." If his voice was a little shaky, he hoped Sheppard wouldn't notice. He leaned over for another kiss, but Sheppard was standing up.

"All right, then. We might as well get the tough part over with."

"What's the tough --" Rodney began, then ended on a gulp as Sheppard slid gracefully from his chair to the floor, insinuating himself between Rodney's knees as if there had never been any question that he belonged there.

The door to the room slid shut and the sensor glowed briefly yellow to show that it was locked.

"One of the cool things about sex with a guy," Sheppard said in a matter-of-fact tone as he opened Rodney's pants too damned expertly, "is that everything's bigger. Bigger hands . . ." His long, warm fingers delved knowingly into Rodney's boxers, but they didn't have far to look since something was peeking out to meet them. "Bigger mouth, bigger all around." His mouth descended, and Rodney only managed a noise like a startled mouse.

"Yeah, there we go." Sheppard lifted his head again, having thoroughly moistened the area of interest. He licked his palms and took Rodney in a slick, firm grip.

This time the noise Rodney made was more like a sow giving birth, or at least what he imagined one would sound like.

"Another cool thing is that a guy knows how it feels. How hard to pull --" Like he was pulling on a bungee cord. "-- How tight to squeeze --" Oh god that was tight. "And just when it's time to go fast." He ducked his head to swipe a pink tongue across his palm one last time, then moved his hand in a blur.

Rodney made a noise like bagpipes warming up, with a few consonants mixed in for good measure. Then, when he thought the top of his head was about to blow off, Sheppard bent down and sucked hard with his big, generous mouth and his wicked, clever tongue. Rodney gave him what he was asking for. And again. And, oh god, again. And one last time -- what was a few more dead brain cells, after all?

Panting, Rodney slumped back in the chair, aware of Sheppard's hands catching at his ribs but not caring if he slipped to the floor. It wouldn't hurt anyway, since his bones had all dissolved to jelly. He watched the sparkly whorls dance around the ceiling while Sheppard tucked him away and straightened his clothes. He had just blinked his vision clear when Sheppard stood up into his line of sight and smirked down at him, licking his lips.

"That was . . . the tough part?" Rodney managed weakly.

Sheppard shrugged. "Well, if you freak out in the next twenty-four hours, that's the tough part."

"Twenty-eight," Rodney gasped. "Longer day here."

"Right," Sheppard conceded. "And if you don't freak out -- well, you know where my quarters are. We can go on to the next test." Sheppard winked and turned for the door just as the sensor glowed blue.

"Wait!" Rodney got his feet under him and pushed. "Let's do it now. I've got the afternoon free." And then he'd be working most of the night; he might as well take the opportunity when it came.

Sheppard gave him a long considering look, then produced another mischievous grin. "My place or yours?"

"Better be your place, since you're the one introducing me to the joy of gay sex." Rodney cocked his head as the door slid open. "Do you get a toaster for that or something?"

Not long after, Rodney concluded that Sheppard's naked body was just about the sexiest thing he'd ever smelled, or seen, or touched. Okay, the body hair had put him off a little at first, but who would have guessed the slide of lean muscles under skin could be so erotic? And those long-fingered hands seemed to know secrets about his body that he'd never even discovered for himself.

Then there was the arcane magic of prostate massage, though it took a little effort to learn its mysteries. A girlfriend had once offered to use a dildo on him, but based on his experience of medical exams, Rodney wasn't interested. When Sheppard first got into him it was only a little more exciting than a doctor's touch, and that was mostly because of naked skin and the aphrodisiac wafting in with every breath. The mechanics themselves were not so joyful. Rodney winced a little and grunted into the pillow.

"Hang on." Sheppard shifted around, but it didn't seem to help much. "Not getting the right angle. Here, turn over." He pulled free and sat back on his haunches.

"I thought you said face-to-face was harder."

"Well, it is kinda rough on the hips, especially for your first time. But I just can't get the angle right from behind. My, uh --" He waved down at himself "-- equipment isn't built that way."

Rodney contemplated Sheppard's erection and the way it curled tight against his body instead of jutting forward as Rodney's did. "Your spring constant is too high."

Sheppard blinked. "Right. So let's try face-to-face and let Hooke do the hooking for us."

Rodney groaned at the pun, but rolled on his back and spread his legs. The Major had been right about everything else so far. Sheppard fussed around, positioning Rodney's hips at the edge of the bed and lifting his knees up high, and then he pushed in again. It was much easier this time, and --

"Oh!" Rodney said.

Sheppard grinned. "Yeah, that's more like it. Time for a visit from Mr. Lazarus, eh?" He smiled at the renewed evidence of Rodney's enjoyment.

Sheppard's arms were supporting both him and Rodney's bent legs, but there was plenty of room for Rodney to reach down to himself. Meanwhile the Major kept up a steady pistoning rhythm that nailed Rodney's magic button with every stroke. It felt like Sheppard was driving straight through Rodney's body and up into his cock. He could almost feel it puffing up larger with every thrust.

He made a noise like a pipe organ when he came, and Sheppard bellowed in harmony.

"Oh my god," Rodney said a while later, when he was capable of speech again. "If I'd known it was that good, I would have turned gay years ago."

Sheppard lifted his face -- striped by a fold in the sheet -- and grinned at him. "Think they'll send my toaster to the Pegasus Galaxy?"

That evening, Rodney was in the lab reviewing results from the simulation that had been running during the afternoon while he was otherwise occupied. He'd found sitting to be a little uncomfortable, but he covered by claiming that the chairs weren't ergonomically matched to the height of the lab tables. Better just to stand.

"Ah, Rodney, there y'are," came Beckett's voice from behind him.

Rodney turned his head far enough to acknowledge the doctor's presence, without taking his eyes from the screen.

Beckett glanced around at the other late-night workers in the lab. "About that, er, business ye asked me about at lunch?"

"Hmm? Oh, that." Rodney leaned closer to the screen as he felt his face heating. "I, uh, may have overreacted a little. Sorry about that. It's not really a problem."

"Well, I'm glad to hear you've stopped fashin' yourself over it. But the fact is, Rodney, ye were partly right."

"Mm-hmm, yes, I usually am." Rodney squinted more closely at the output.

Beckett leaned on the lab table, tilting his head close to Rodney's as he lowered his voice. "I called in some of the others who've had the gene therapy this past week and did a few experiments. It turns out there is a change in pheromones and pheromone receptors associated with the gene therapy."

Rodney caught a hint of the musk-scent that reminded him of Sheppard, and he was glad to be standing so it only needed a slight shift of weight to conceal the evidence. He murmured some absent-minded response as he inched away.

"But it isn't gender-specific," Beckett continued. "If ye try it for yourself I think you'll find you're attracted to anyone with the ATA gene, male or female."

It took a moment, then Rodney's head whipped around. "What?"

Beckett nudged him. "Go on over and give Dr. Kusanagi a sniff, you'll see."

"So I'm not --" Rodney swallowed.

"Not gay, no. Perhaps a little more bisexual than ye used to be, but only for those with the gene. Fortunately, it doesn't seem to matter if they've got the gene naturally or artificially."

But Major Sheppard's super-ATA gene was the sweetest-smelling of them all. Of course, it would be. And with so many people getting the gene therapy, Sheppard would have them lined up on his doorstep -- those who weren't already smitten with his cocky flyboy smile.

Beckett was burbling on. "It makes sense, really, as we know the Ancients had quite a low birthrate -- they probably wanted to encourage the propagation of the race. And I don't mind telling ye, it's a bit of a relief to me personally. Y'know, I just thought my previous girlfriends had rather odd taste in colognes. Since this afternoon I've learnt differently, and, well --" He ducked his head shyly. "I'll be having dinner with Dr. Dumais tomorrow evening."

"Oh," said Rodney belatedly. Not gay after all. That was . . . a relief. Sort of. Wasn't it? He looked at Dr. Kusanagi, who was bent over an Ancient device like an oscilloscope in a corner of the lab.

"I wonder if Dr. Weir would care to try the retroviral therapy?" Beckett mused.

Rodney made a non-committal sound, still watching Kusanagi. Then he straightened firmly (and winced, shoved his hands into his pockets, and made a few adjustments). Who cared what she smelled like? She wasn't Sheppard. And if people were soon going to be lined up at his door, Rodney would just have to make sure he was at the head of the line.

He turned to his computer, fingers flying as he set up a new simulation. "Sorry, Carson, can't talk now. I have to, um, go do something." He started the program running and hurried out of the lab without bothering to check his underlings' work.

You know where my quarters are, Sheppard had said, and that was where Rodney headed. He triggered the door chime (it had taken him nearly two days to figure that out) and jittered impatiently. What if Sheppard wasn't there? What if he was in someone else's room?

The door slid open, and Sheppard stood there with sweatpants hanging low on his hips and his hair even wilder than usual. His eyes were heavy-lidded, and a perfume of warm, sleepy ATA-musk breathed from his bare chest. "McKay?" he said in a husky voice.

Rodney swallowed hard. "Care to try for the microwave?" he offered, and stepped through the door.