sga drabble wip: furniture
Title: Furniture
Author: Cesare (almostnever)
Pairing: John/Rodney
Word count: 600
Ratings/Warnings: SFW. This story may be unsafe for people with triggers. ( skip) Implied slavery, dubcon, noncon.
Summary: The guy gestured grandly to himself. "I'm furniture."
*
As his father promised, John's new apartment was amazing. Floor to ceiling windows looked out over NYC from a height that disguised the ruins and the crowds below.
"What are you doing here?" a voice snapped.
Spinning around, John fired off, "This is my apartment. What're you doing here?"
"You were due tomorrow."
"I got away sooner than expected." John looked the guy over: John's age, big blue eyes, thin but broad-shouldered, lots of fine brown hair. "Who're you?"
"You rented a fully furnished apartment."
"Yeah. And...?"
The guy gestured grandly to himself. "I'm furniture."
-
"Okay, nobody told me that furniture meant..." John didn't know how to end that sentence. Back home they'd called them stewards, attendants, companions.
"Maybe you should've asked a few more questions before you rented this place."
"My... family arranged it."
The guy gave him a moment of eloquent, contemptuous silence before suddenly smiling brightly. "I'm Rodney," he said. "Please, sit down. Can I get you anything?"
Thrown by the sudden change of attitude, John settled onto the plush sofa. "Water would be good."
Rodney brought him a glass already beading with condensation and smiled again. "Welcome home, John."
-
"Sorry if I startled you," said Rodney, bringing out soylent crackers, cheese, and raisins. "At first I thought you might be one of us."
"Us?"
"Furniture." Rodney's gesture included himself and the room; John saw he was dressed to match the decor in shades of deep olive, plum, black and grey.
He assessed John frankly. "We're about the same, looks-wise."
"...Sure." John grew up slight, small, unnoticed. At seventeen he started sprouting to just over 6', height that disguised the short skinny nerd still inside.
Rodney slid onto the sofa, sitting close against him.
John gulped his water.
-
Once he finished drinking, John returned to the windows, looking down at the city.
He could feel Rodney hesitating behind him. He breathed out relief when Rodney didn't say anything; just the clink of plates as he tidied the food, humming softly to himself.
The sound faded. "I guess you might not like that," Rodney said. "The humming. Frank encouraged it. He said it made the place feel cozier."
"Frank?"
"Colonel Frank Simmons. The previous tenant."
"What was he like?"
"Older," Rodney answered. "Sophisticated."
"Oh," John said, feeling closer to 12 than 26.
"He was good to me," said Rodney.
-
"How was he good to you?" John asked. He'd never been personally in charge of an attendant before; he hoped the answer was something easy, so he could just... keep doing it.
"He didn't have to let me educate myself," said Rodney. "But he did."
"...That's all?"
"He also let me bathe in chocolate and bought me a pony." Rodney rolled his eyes. "He gave me access to texts. Time to study. Maybe it doesn't sound like much."
To you, John heard the unspoken accusation.
"So keep studying," said John. "I didn't expect anyone here. I don't really need-- furniture."
-
"You can always redecorate," Rodney said, his mouth going uneven. "Several tenants here like to trade."
"No. It's not that," John told him. "I don't need anyone. I mean..."
He subsided, unable to explain. He'd done everything his father wanted, fulfilled every expectation, all to get here. If the place were a toolshed, he wouldn't care; he just wanted his own space.
He should've known. No matter how wealthy and connected his father, no matter how hard John strived to satisfy him... in a city of 160,000,000 people, he'd never earn the unimaginable luxury of genuine solitude.
-
All Rodney's clothes hung in a wardrobe in the master bedroom. The bed was king-sized. With a mirror overhead.
John stared. "That has to go."
"It's on a swivel," Rodney said, hitting a button. The mirror flipped and retracted into the ceiling, blending with the tiles. "I never liked it either."
"So..."
"I can sleep in the guest room."
John knew he must seem like a weirdo-- sleeping alone was even more queer and perverse than sex with women. Men and women had sex and bore children despite the taboos. Almost no one slept alone.
"That's... yes. Thank you."
-
John changed into pajamas and got into bed alone.
He felt he'd been waiting his whole life for this. Even in their wealthy family, he'd slept in his parents' bed, then shared with his brother.
When he and Dave got their own rooms, they also got attendants. John had Mitch, and later Holland. Even though he hadn't wanted companions, he felt badly about leaving them behind.
The bed was enormous. Cold.
He'd get used to it, he told himself.
Two hours later, he wasn't used to it.
Rodney was awake, reading.
John asked awkwardly, "Could you...?"
Rodney stood. "Of course."
Author: Cesare (almostnever)
Pairing: John/Rodney
Word count: 600
Ratings/Warnings: SFW. This story may be unsafe for people with triggers. ( skip) Implied slavery, dubcon, noncon.
Summary: The guy gestured grandly to himself. "I'm furniture."
*
As his father promised, John's new apartment was amazing. Floor to ceiling windows looked out over NYC from a height that disguised the ruins and the crowds below.
"What are you doing here?" a voice snapped.
Spinning around, John fired off, "This is my apartment. What're you doing here?"
"You were due tomorrow."
"I got away sooner than expected." John looked the guy over: John's age, big blue eyes, thin but broad-shouldered, lots of fine brown hair. "Who're you?"
"You rented a fully furnished apartment."
"Yeah. And...?"
The guy gestured grandly to himself. "I'm furniture."
-
"Okay, nobody told me that furniture meant..." John didn't know how to end that sentence. Back home they'd called them stewards, attendants, companions.
"Maybe you should've asked a few more questions before you rented this place."
"My... family arranged it."
The guy gave him a moment of eloquent, contemptuous silence before suddenly smiling brightly. "I'm Rodney," he said. "Please, sit down. Can I get you anything?"
Thrown by the sudden change of attitude, John settled onto the plush sofa. "Water would be good."
Rodney brought him a glass already beading with condensation and smiled again. "Welcome home, John."
-
"Sorry if I startled you," said Rodney, bringing out soylent crackers, cheese, and raisins. "At first I thought you might be one of us."
"Us?"
"Furniture." Rodney's gesture included himself and the room; John saw he was dressed to match the decor in shades of deep olive, plum, black and grey.
He assessed John frankly. "We're about the same, looks-wise."
"...Sure." John grew up slight, small, unnoticed. At seventeen he started sprouting to just over 6', height that disguised the short skinny nerd still inside.
Rodney slid onto the sofa, sitting close against him.
John gulped his water.
-
Once he finished drinking, John returned to the windows, looking down at the city.
He could feel Rodney hesitating behind him. He breathed out relief when Rodney didn't say anything; just the clink of plates as he tidied the food, humming softly to himself.
The sound faded. "I guess you might not like that," Rodney said. "The humming. Frank encouraged it. He said it made the place feel cozier."
"Frank?"
"Colonel Frank Simmons. The previous tenant."
"What was he like?"
"Older," Rodney answered. "Sophisticated."
"Oh," John said, feeling closer to 12 than 26.
"He was good to me," said Rodney.
-
"How was he good to you?" John asked. He'd never been personally in charge of an attendant before; he hoped the answer was something easy, so he could just... keep doing it.
"He didn't have to let me educate myself," said Rodney. "But he did."
"...That's all?"
"He also let me bathe in chocolate and bought me a pony." Rodney rolled his eyes. "He gave me access to texts. Time to study. Maybe it doesn't sound like much."
To you, John heard the unspoken accusation.
"So keep studying," said John. "I didn't expect anyone here. I don't really need-- furniture."
-
"You can always redecorate," Rodney said, his mouth going uneven. "Several tenants here like to trade."
"No. It's not that," John told him. "I don't need anyone. I mean..."
He subsided, unable to explain. He'd done everything his father wanted, fulfilled every expectation, all to get here. If the place were a toolshed, he wouldn't care; he just wanted his own space.
He should've known. No matter how wealthy and connected his father, no matter how hard John strived to satisfy him... in a city of 160,000,000 people, he'd never earn the unimaginable luxury of genuine solitude.
-
All Rodney's clothes hung in a wardrobe in the master bedroom. The bed was king-sized. With a mirror overhead.
John stared. "That has to go."
"It's on a swivel," Rodney said, hitting a button. The mirror flipped and retracted into the ceiling, blending with the tiles. "I never liked it either."
"So..."
"I can sleep in the guest room."
John knew he must seem like a weirdo-- sleeping alone was even more queer and perverse than sex with women. Men and women had sex and bore children despite the taboos. Almost no one slept alone.
"That's... yes. Thank you."
-
John changed into pajamas and got into bed alone.
He felt he'd been waiting his whole life for this. Even in their wealthy family, he'd slept in his parents' bed, then shared with his brother.
When he and Dave got their own rooms, they also got attendants. John had Mitch, and later Holland. Even though he hadn't wanted companions, he felt badly about leaving them behind.
The bed was enormous. Cold.
He'd get used to it, he told himself.
Two hours later, he wasn't used to it.
Rodney was awake, reading.
John asked awkwardly, "Could you...?"
Rodney stood. "Of course."