Title: Downtime
Author: kbk
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: who owns these ones, anyway?
Notes: For the Left Behind challenge at lj-comm sga_flashfic. Vague sequel to Showtime.
Summary: Kate Heightmeyer has ethics and imagination, but only one vibrator.

Fingers trail down her neck and along her collarbone, and Kate remembers stepping through the stargate to Atlantis with a hickey hidden just below her collar, relic of her last night on Earth. That night had been possibly her last opportunity for a night of meaningless sex, because Kate takes her professional ethics very seriously, and every member of the Atlantis expedition had the potential to become a patient, and was thus off-limits.

The guy was fit but not handsome, and more concerned with his own pleasure than anything else, but he liked her breasts enough for extended foreplay. Kate cups her breasts in her hands, pushes up and in and massages the flesh, draws her fingers lightly over each nipple, watches them tighten and still doesn't really see the appeal of them. After he fucked her, she went back to her hotel and used her credit card for what might have been the last time to order porn, and watched it with a cheap vibrator tucked between her legs.

Kate really misses her Rabbit.

She pushes one hand inside her knickers, one finger onto her clit, and she knows it's going to be an effort tonight.

There's a box in a storage space just outside Colorado Springs which contains her collection of sex toys. It's not particularly extensive, and more geared towards personal pleasure than playing with other people. She's used to accessories, to porn and toys and scented oils, to long sensual baths and wandering naked through her apartment and half-hoping someone's peeping through her blinds.

She has a key-chain-sized vibe that she tucked away in a side pocket, but she only brought one spare pair of batteries and she really doesn't want to waste them. Of course, it's possible, now, to have things sent from Earth, but they all go through the SGC and the requisite three security checks and she can't help but feel it would be unprofessional to order anything that might hint at the existence of her libido.

All Kate has, then, is herself. Her own hands and her own imagination and her own mouth sucking on her own fingers. Her own memory, as well, replaying past moments of pleasure in a well-worn cycle, because she won't be adding to them any time soon.

There are people fucking all over the damn city, and she knows about it, because Ladies Poker Night is gossip central and the nurses' break room isn't far behind. And then, of course, there are her patients, people approaching her with relationship worries, like Dr Parrish (who is finally happy and longs to tell the world about it, but can't because of US military regulations, so he has to invoke doctor-patient confidentiality in order to talk about his boyfriend), or with aberrant sexual behaviour, like Nurse Jacobs (who is stringing along two Marines, getting fucked in supply closets and empty infirmary rooms, and it may be psychologically unhealthy but - Kate drags her nails along her inner thigh, raising faint red welts - it's pretty damn hot.)

And then, of course, there's Colonel Sheppard. It's such a shame Kate can't fuck him. Though from what he says, she's really not his type. She should probably stop him from telling his stories - the way he twists every question about his relationship with the unnamed but still identifiable man into a question about their sex life, and the excessive amount of detail he provides are evidence of his manipulating and controlling the sessions - it's terribly bad form, procedurally speaking. Sure, he tells her more than he realises, sometimes, and if she were to start applying the various psychosexual theories she'd have more material than she knew what to do with, but in all honesty, she lets him do it because it turns her on.

She lets him do it because even as she's sitting there, cool and collected and listening out for any interesting little pieces of information that may slip out, part of her brain is cataloguing the images he provides and saving them for moments like this.

Images of cocky flyboy Sheppard, naked and hard and spread out for the taking, his carefree mask faltering for once to show his eyes dark with need and his pouty mouth slack with pleasure. Kate's never seen him out of control for any reason; she's heard the odd story about missions, the quiet rumor that he's far too good at killing to be just a pilot, but she's never seen it, and she's certainly never seen this. But his stories are surprisingly detailed and highly evocative and she only has to think of the way he sprawls on the sofa in her office to be able to hear him.

"Sometimes I want to beg," he told her this afternoon. "I just have to push, a little, and then he knows." If Kate was as concerned about her ethics as she pretends, she should probably have stopped him there, but she didn't. She let him describe it, talk about going to his knees with his hands behind his back and his partner's hand resting on the nape of his neck, and she puts her hand behind her own neck and imagines it, pictures him kneeling there exposed and wanting, a litany of dirty talk tumbling over him and light, torturous touches stoking his arousal but not enough, not until he breaks down and pleads, a string of curses in a breathy groan that Kate has to imagine because in her office Sheppard's voice is always level.

And then that hand on his neck would push him down and hold him there while he gets fucked. Kate twists uncomfortably and pushes her spit-slick finger up inside her ass, and it's just there, doesn't feel particularly good but somehow it's ratcheting her arousal higher. John likes fingers inside him, doesn't care how slick they are, doesn't mind if they're not as gentle as Kate's being with herself, he likes to feel it, especially if he's getting sucked at the same time. Kate bites her lip and shudders at the picture.

She shouldn't be thinking like this, shouldn't be taking things told her in confidence and using them for her own amusement, but it's all inside her head. Fuck ethics, they have no place in her fantasy life.

But if she wants to work with Colonel Sheppard, who desperately needs her help, she can't keep thinking of him this way, so... Nurse Jacobs and one of her young men, laughing as they dash into the supply closet and he pushes her against the shelves, his biceps flexing impressively as he lifts her and she shimmies off her panties. And they fuck, still mostly clothed, and anyone could catch them at it... Anyone could.

So make it the other Marine who does, because - as far as Suzy, and therefore Kate, knows - they don't know about each other, and he would be shocked and angry but maybe also turned on, maybe he would join them, jam the door behind him so nobody can interrupt. And then the two of them could hold Suzy up between them and fuck her, if she'd go for ass play - and hey, maybe Kate should suggest this as a solution to Suzy's little dilemma, though she wouldn't go into detail about the mechanics of the threesome. Suzy would scream, probably, and they can't afford that, can't let anyone hear and come running to investigate, so she needs something to occupy her mouth, fingers or more...

Suddenly Kate's imagining three men and a woman, and the woman is a lot blonder than Suzy, and the men are unidentifiable. She pushes another finger into her ass, and grimaces at the friction, but it's working for her. She doesn't really like to fantasize about herself in a situation - it's partly a ridiculous problem with her self-image, partly the even more ridiculous fear that she might try to make it reality - so, a woman and three men, she muses, who could that be?

The answer is obvious. The first off-world team, the celebrities of Atlantis, and she knows people have wondered about them, fantasized about them singly or paired or collectively, and Jennifer Simpson still masturbates to thoughts of Ford because it's not like he's dead (though she does feel a bit weird about it), but there can't be a person in the city who hasn't given Ronon an appreciative once-over.

She could work up a scenario, or she could just work on the choreography of it, who goes where and how. Teyla in the middle puts someone on the bottom; it might as well be McKay, less athletic than the rest of them, but he has his appeal. Certainly, John seems to think so, and there's an idea, maybe John straddles Rodney's face. Then Teyla can lean forward and suck him while Rodney holds him in place and rims him, because John forgets how to breathe when someone's tongue is fucking his ass. At least, that's what he's told her.

So Ronon can feed John air, breathe into his mouth even as their tongues push against each other, and John's hands clutching at Ronon's shoulders but Ronon with one hand on the bed for balance and the other pushing slick fingers into Teyla's ass and feeling Rodney's cock inside her. And then everything stills for a few moments, anticipating - and Kate has two fingers in her ass and her thumb in her cunt and she's so wet now - before Ronon slowly, so slowly starts to fuck her.

He's probably got a big cock, Kate thinks. He's big all over, after all. And Kate's heard that Rodney's decently endowed, from Sheppard and from Cadman, and Teyla's so small next to them, like she's built to a different scale. She would feel like she was going to split open, she'd be so full, but she wouldn't be able to scream because she still has John's cock in her mouth.

And John would want to move, all of them would want to move but they have to move with each other, they have to wait and catch the rhythm, and Teyla would probably come again, in between them, shaking apart and loving it. And once they were moving together, it wouldn't take long for John to come, grabbing at Ronon for balance as he spasms, then falling to the side to recover.

Ronon pulls Teyla up, then - and Kate sits up in her bed, curled forward with her hands between her legs, her hair falling forward to tickle her breasts, and she must look ridiculous but oh, yes - with one arm tight around her waist, and he moves her, and Rodney watches, amazed, a hand on her breast and one on her lower belly, thumb stroking lower and lower to go to her clit. But maybe John gets a little jealous and kisses Rodney, claims his attention with mouth and sly hands caressing, down to twist at the base of Rodney's cock just the way he likes, just as Ronon pushes forward again, his cock rubbing against Rodney's through the thin wall of Teyla's flesh, and that would be it for Rodney.

Then the pair of them might lie together and watch Ronon fuck Teyla. He could lift her off the bed and carry her to the wall, or he could push her down, push her down and fuck her hard, and Teyla would come yet again, wailing at the pleasure of it - Kate's breath hitches and she lets out a tiny moan - and then she'd just be limp, moving with the force of Ronon's thrusts, each one driving a moan from her throat, until finally, finally Ronon comes with a roar, and...

Dammit, Kate can't get there. She's close, she's so close, but the more she works for it the further away it seems and she can't stop now, has to...

John, back from a mission, combat gear, sweaty and smelling of gunfire, and they should be heading to the infirmary but he finds them a private space and drops to his knees to suck Rodney off, Rodney's hands in John's hair and John's hands on Rodney's thighs and John's mouth on Rodney's cock, and Rodney holds John's head still and fucks his mouth because that's what John wants, what he needs, because they survived again, they did it, and one of these days their luck will run out but for now they're alive. And later, once they're cleared and showered and debriefed and fed, later John will lie back and Rodney will return the favor, suck him slow and deep and wet and dirty until John's cursing and thrashing and in desperate need of another shower. Or Rodney face-down, yelling into the pillow as John fucks him deep and slow and nothing like gentle, and maybe the next day he'll have bruises on his arms in the shape of John's hands. Or...

Kate's finger speeds on her clit, and she holds her breath and flashes through the images she's been working on, and oh, John on his knees with his pants open and his thigh-holster, Ronon standing over him in just those leather pants, and... ah!

Kate falls forward, shuddering. In a few moments, she'll move, wash her hands and put her pyjamas on, but for now, her heart's pounding so hard it feels like it's moving her, and she feels damn good. She pulls her blanket over herself, curls up with one hand squeezed between her thighs, and basks.

Who needs ethics, anyway?