Fic: Close Encounters, SGA, NC-17, McKay/Sheppard, DVD COMMENTARY
Title: Close Encounters
The title is almost *always* the last thing I come up with. It's just not how my writing brain works. I get an idea or an image or a scene first. The title just sort of hangs over my head while I write the damned thing. Imagine that albatross when your fic is turning out to be a 25,000 word epic that just won't end? Usually the title game starts when the fic gets sent off to beta.
Author: amireal
Rating: NC-17
Length: Approx 4500 words.
Notes: Well this was... wish fulfillment for me, it's crack like, but not fully crack. Thanks to seperis for the beta and the bitchslaps. Also thanks to fairestcat who went over it and found the four apparently *glaring* errors that were hoarding other people's enjoyment for themselves.
Archive: My LJ, my site, Area52 and wraithbait
Summary: "It's just a goddamned crush!"
I've started taking lines directly from the story for summaries. Not sure why, but at least this way I can concretely say that it's related to the fic. I try to give the readers something that really does give you a sense of what the story is about. Unfortunately you might not realize that until AFTER you've read the whole thing.
Why this fic is in present tense. I was trying to trick Seperis into writing this with me because I was feeling creatively lazy and plotting a story out by myself is a lot more work than bouncing off someone. But that's the subject of a longer more belly button lint examining post later.
Apparently Seperis is not allowed to write in the past tense. Bad Things Happen. Things involving blood and terror and world ending. I know, I ask myself if that's a bad thing too. But as I wanted a relatively happy ending, I went with present tense.
Sadly, she did not fall for my cunning ways.
But I kept it present tense because converting to another tense is a bitch and it helps add to the immediacy of the whole situation. And I thought that was actually a better tone for the whole thing anyway. Also, I write smut better in present tense, and for a while there I thought this might be a smut mobile
Rodney's gasp of air is loud in his ear, deep and sharp as his chest hitches roughly against John's. They're pressed together from shoulder to hip between two pieces of architecture. The cobblestone wall is digging into John's back, and Rodney won't stop squirming, pushing one jagged edge further between his shoulder blades.
Again, this was an image that came to me first. It wasn't the impetus for the story itself, but it was very clear in my mind. It was important to show intimacy but not really. They're running for their lives and in a semi public place, but they're still very much in each other's personal space. And since neither of them strikes me as regular NYC subway riders, it's going to be doubly awkward even without my Plot Device which shows up in just a couple of lines.
"Rodney," John whispers harshly, pushing his hands down onto Rodney's shoulders, his elbows and forearms digging into the other man's chest. "Stop fidgeting." He forces his knee into Rodney's thigh in an effort to pin him. Except Rodney's legs spread to adjust his stance and John finds himself pressed more intimately against Rodney than he'd ever quite considered. It reminds him of Tina Groober from 12th grade; even in his fantasies, he'd never quite made it to home plate with her, so when he was in the backseat of his father's car nervously rolling on a condom, the entire thing seemed surreal. Except that Tina -- unless the rumors were incredibly wrong and a vast conspiracy, the likes of which even the Nixon White House had never seen, had been organized in his own high school -- didn't have a dick. Considering the poorly kept secret affair between the Algebra and History teachers, John highly doubts it.
Oh my god. The Paragraph That Wouldn't Die. Really this one was reworked a number of times. It took a while for what I wanted to say to actually be reflected in the words. And it still needed editing after that. It was supposed to reflect the feelings one gets when they go past the terminal point they have in their mind for a given situation. I.E. You imagine getting to Disney World from the moment you book your plane tickets, but in your head you've never gotten past the gate. So when you actually do, the fantasy abruptly ends and you're left with… well I don't know what, but it's an interesting feeling. Sort of offputting.
Rodney meanwhile, continues to breath harshly, head turned away into the dark recesses of their poorly hidden cover.
The moment, the tableau feels oddly familiar, like he's seen this play out a million times, he's just never been on this side of things before. "I think they're almost gone." John whispers, going for the 'erection, what erection?' strategy. One he often wishes women would use on him.
Right here is where I make a subtle and entirely unneeded meta comment about the utter mundanity of formulaic romantic comedy. Everyone stare in awe at my intellectual might.
Rodney nods his head jerkily, still looking off into the dirty corner to their right. "That's--" his voice is deep and rough and cracks just a bit right at the end of the word. He swallows harshly. "Good. That's good." The words come out a little clearer but husky all the same.
Once I went to a dance with some boy I was too young to realize I was crushing on. And we slow danced and at the time I thought his belt buckle was digging into me. Now I think what an innocent fool I was. What does that have to do with the previous paragraph? Very little other than me vague knowledge that being pressed together with someone you're attracted to can make you pop a boner.
They wait in oppressive silence, and John has never wanted to talk about the weather more in his life. However, being stuck weaponless in what amounts to Victorian England with the Gestapo on their asses, means he's got to concentrate on other things, and not focus on the utterly strange feeling of McKay pressed into his inner thigh, hot and hard and foreign.
Begin John repression. Not that he wasn't repressing before, but his instinct to completely change the subject is the first nail in the coffin for him. Also, the use of the words Victorian England and Gestapo are not a coincidence. Mostly it's my once again, unsubtle authorial hand bringing to mind more images of repressive societies and rules and structure.
So he's trapped for the moment, breathing hard, adrenaline pumping through him. John's eyes finally adjust to the darkness and when he looks at McKay, he can see a low flush high on his cheeks. "Can you run?" he blurts out before he can stop himself.
Rodney's head snaps back, eyes dilated , to stare at John in shock. "What?"
"Well," John makes the mistake of trying to gesture, succeeding in only wedging them together further. Rodney sucks in a sharp breath, eyes closing abruptly. John watches his throat swallow rapidly before continuing. "I think it's sort of self explanatory now."
"It's just a goddamned crush," Rodney whispers, more to himself than to John. "It's stupid and expected and really I should know better, two more weeks and this wouldn't have been a problem."
Right here and right now, in this very scene, Rodney sincerely believes it's a crush. Originally there were more Rodney lines about it. About how John keeps saving his life and doing amazing things requiring skill and talent and mathematical ability of COURSE he has a crush on John.
"A crush?" John asks, a little confused; it seems so utterly mundane considering that they're wedged like sardines inside a small wall crevice and that he's seriously contemplating if the brick to the right of Rodney's head is loose enough to be pried away just so he'd have *some* sort of weapon.
Rodney opens his eyes again, this time looking just a bit annoyed over his layer of humiliation. "Don't let it get to your head Colonel. It's basic chemistry. Our relationship is full of adrenaline and trust and all that other crap that makes the body stand up and take notice."
I wanted Rodney pissed at himself. I wanted to show that he's far more put out by this than John is. Or at least, he believes. Rodney of all the characters on SGA would have come up with this scenario as soon as he realized he had a crush. He is the doomsayer and nothing is doomier than personal humiliation.
He can't help the eye drift down then up. Though John feels really bad about the look that it puts on Rodney's face. "So, that running thing we were talking about earlier?"
"One gunshot," Rodney mutters, "there won't be a problem."
John nods. Okay then, the plan, which is running like hell as soon as it's clear has not been prematurely shot down. Back to contemplating the hard-on pushing into his thigh; he can feel Rodney's legs tense around his, holding himself unnaturally still. John has one completely insane moment where he wants to tell Rodney to just go for it, because he feels a little bad about it, always has when someone he's never had a single romantic thought about falls at his feet. There's also something warm and twisting in his stomach, the fluttering making him a little nauseated; then again, he's never really been in this position, not with as close a friend as Rodney.
And now we have the repression starting to crack. I didn't want the cracks to be huge, it's still the first scene and the information is still like a 2x4 to the head for John. But John is *such* a helper and a nice guy that I imagine some rather insane impulses go through his head sometimes. Also I start to pull in some canon characterization. The hints that John just doesn't get that people will fall for him even if he's just rolled out of bed, has morning breath and weird pillow creases in his face. In fact, that's sort of appealing, but I digress. Later there's a throw away line that points back to this. No, not the one everyone quoted in feedback. But the one that no one quoted and of course I was especially proud of.
Rodney's looking grim, the line of his mouth flat and thin.
"Hey," John says, keeping his voice soft. "It's cool. Really." He shrugs shallowly, keeping himself as still as possible. "I just never see this coming."
This would be the one everyone quotes. And it's a fabulous line and sadly I cannot take credit for it. But here I used it as sort of apology from John. He doesn't usually say what he means most of the time. He's a crap communicator like that so I hardly ever write his dialogue without some weird double meaning thing going on. Also, again, John's a pretty cool guy, once he gets past his own weird factor I really do believe he'd attempt to make everyone else cool too.
"Seriously?" Rodney looks at him like he's just rewritten some obscure law of physics, half in awe and half in disbelief. "Have you looked in a mirror lately?"
John feels a hot blush crawl across his face. "Ah, thank you?"
Okay I lied, two throw away lines. This being one where John is just totally thrown by such a blatant positive comment about his looks even though he's pretty aware, at least on an abstract level, that an unusual number of people find him attractive. Doesn't mean he actually *gets* it though.
"Oh god." Rodney's head drops to John's shoulder. "Yes, I'm utterly shallow, I think by now we've established this."
More canon! Really. I don't think anything more needs to be said.
Heat blazes off Rodney's neck as it brushes against John's, making the little hairs on the back stand on end. "So, a crush?"
This paragraph gives one of many examples I have of John being extra conscious of Rodney's body and it's movements. It's really nothing spectacular, right now it's not unusual, mostly it's there for foundation.
Rodney's head snaps up. "We're not talking about this. Ever."
That's fine with John, it's just about time to run anyway.
Rodney's reactions here where meant to show someone just really embarrassed and more than happy to pretend it never happened. I know, obvious right? Right now he doesn't know any more than the readers. Later the word 'stoic' could possibly apply. I noticed it was used a lot in the feedback and to a point I agree though I don't know if that's what I intended when I was originally writing this story.
******
About a month later, it's a low lying bench in the back of a barn like structure, thankfully unused. The smell of manure has always turned John's stomach.
The time jumps. Possibly I picked this story telling device because damnit I was not writing another 25,000 word story. Actually, it just made the compare and contrast that much more stark And the shifts in emotion are kinda subtle, at least, they were supposed to be, so I thought anything extraneous between the incidents would have been distracting enough to take away from the important scenes themselves.
Rodney squirms in first, laying on his side, back pressing tightly against the far wall. John scuttles in after him, and they have a scant few seconds to get hidden before they have to freeze. They're plastered tightly against each other, front to front, John bracing a hand on the floor near Rodney's shoulder and the underside of the bench in an effort to keep himself as concealed as possible, muscles holding tight.
OMG, Body position. They killed me. I just kept reading the prose and I had no idea where I was unclear. I had to have my poor decrepit headachy beta point it out to me. And risk my wrath because I suck at arguing over my own stories.
Breathing as silently as possible, he listens as the footsteps get louder, the harsh voices echoing around them. John can feel the tremors in his frame the longer he holds and soon he'll have no choice but to move. As the sharp pain runs along his shoulders for the second time, he carefully rests some of his weight on Rodney. Eventually, the voices fade away, and John relaxes his hold, slumping further into Rodney without intending to.
The sharp gasp of breath reaches his ears just as Rodney's tense frame registers under his. Heat coalesces hotly at his hip, and John can feel the blush spread across his own face in record time.
I really like the idea of him blushing. It just… it's such an involuntary physical reaction and therefore probably one of the truest bits of body language not trained out of us by society at large. I had John blush because he, as a private person himself, is embarrassed FOR Rodney.
Rodney's hips do an involuntary stuttering movement, hard heat pressing into John before retreating as completely as possible. Reflexively John rolls away as well until he realizes his arm is now out in the open, he returns to his previous position, careful to leave some space between them.
I wanted to up the ante here. Start the slow move towards John thinking of Rodney in a sexual manner, I also needed the freakout to start at the same time. Because as John starts to see Rodney as a sexual being, he starts to *see* Rodney as sexual being and is therefore stepping out of his usual boundries and into no man's land. A place he's never been to and hadn't intended on going. In fact, up till now no man's land was like Cleveland. He's heard about it, but it wasn't on his list of vacations spots. Ever.
They stare at each other in the dim light until Rodney closes his eyes. Turning his head is not an option, but he scrunches up into himself as much as possible.
"Crush hanging on there?" John asks to lighten the mood, trying to be sympathetic; he remembers just wanting to get over something and his brain not cooperating.
"I thought we weren't talking about this," Rodney says tightly.
"Sorry," John says, mostly contrite, "but you said two weeks and a guy can't help but feel a bit flattered."
More like puzzled. Very. Very. Puzzled. This is John's subconscious asking for more data.
"This is hardly a precise science," Rodney snaps, but the usual bite is gone; he just looks weary. "Don't worry, the pitchforks alone will give me incentive to run."
This is Rodney going "Oh god stop talking you idiot!" By now, Rodney's figured out a few more things and knows what a crap liar he is. So he really just wants to avoid the whole thing.
John watches Rodney's eyes slit open, pupils wide and dark and warm looking; he can feel the line of tension under where his hand lies on Rodney's arm, an entire body holding itself back, curling in on itself, holding up in possibly the most awkward position possible. "Relax," John says quietly, "really, flattering."
More John noting Rodney's body. And more John's subconscious buzzing around for information. Also, still being the nice guy putting Rodney's comfort before his own.
"There's flattering," Rodney mutters, "and then there's humping your best friend's leg when he's trying to help you not die."
Again, the urge to just push in a few inches, roll forward and jut his leg out a bit; it wouldn't take much to give Rodney what he needs. He's done that group porn thing once or twice, and living on a military base meant that even if you weren't into it, you usually found it once or twice. How different could this be? But Rodney is looking intensely uncomfortable, and they'll have difficulty looking each other in the eye after this incident as it is, and John knows he's been called a tease behind his back ever since the braces were taken out and the acne cleared up. Following his completely unfounded impulse would only strengthen the argument.
Here's the line no one commented on. The one about the braces and the acne. It's my own personal pet theory as to why someone as unnaturally hot as John keeps getting surprised by the people throwing themselves at his feet. Because things trained into you in early adolescence have an eerie way of sticking around for YEARS AND YEARS down the road.
"Is there anything I can..." John trails off, not really sure what he's asking.
Now the subconscious starts to give way to the conscious. He actively considers the action and rationalizes it. Next step John? Recognizing that higher power baby.
"That not talking about it thing was really working well for me," Rodney sighs. "Not to ruin my already established habits and life preserving tendencies, but is it time to run yet?"
More of Rodney going "deflect! Deflect! No talky about my super sekrit luv crush on you ever!" This is around where we start in on Rodney's stoic-fu. He's just starting to suffer in silence and get the idea that this thing, whatever it is, is not going away so easily.
John listens carefully and shakes his head. "Not yet, it's almost dark, better cover."
"Right," Rodney says tightly, "not too long a wait then."
"Relax," John squeezes the arm tucked under his fingers. Rodney looks at him like he's insane, but some part of him gives and his stomach starts to feel itchy as Rodney's erection slides a few inches to the left when he bends his leg to rest comfortably on John's. "Right," he swallows, "like that."
"You don't look very flattered." Rodney snaps.
"Yeah, well, I've never been this close and personal to another man's--"
"Oh god," Rodney says in horror. "You're kidding me, oh this just completes the abject humiliation!"
Confirmation for the readers of what I'm sure most of them already suspect. It actually seems sort of odd to put that in there, right where it is. It almost seems like Rodney assumes John isn't all that straight. But I kept it because it's not Rodney's pov and I don't need to share with you what was going through his head. And I needed that firm confirmation before the story went much further. Here in the commentary I can say that it didn't fit earlier, too many other reveals and Rodney? Rodney is actually caught up in the 'never' part of the sentence. As in 'never ever' Because even Hopelessly Straight Boys ™ can have had a once. Why did I make it like that? Because OMGSOHOT. That's why.
Automatically John raises a hand to cover Rodney's mouth, attempting to remind him that they need to *not* be found for a little while. Rodney freezes, mouth open, tongue just touching the center of John's palm. A small choked noise is muffled into John's hand, and Rodney wrenches away nearly knocking violently into the one of the bench's legs. John's hand tingles from the quick flick of tongue and he finds himself cradling the back of Rodney's head, saving him from a concussion and John from listening to the lingering worries about one over the next several hours.
Now I was stuck with making it more intimate. Because it was time and this story is all about steps in small tiny progressions. Of course they key word is still 'unintentionally'. How do you 'unintentionally' get more intimate than someone's boner jammed into your thigh? Easy, get the mouth involved. And now they both have physical reactions. Actually I'd been giving John small reactions from the start, mostly in the stomach area. Come on, butterflies and arousal can SO be nausea!
Rodney feels pliant and inviting and warm, and suddenly, he's breathing hard and thinks it would be very easy to brush their lips together. He shifts slightly, the urge to release Rodney's head suddenly overwhelming, the unexpected and unusual nature of the thought startling him badly.
Instincts kicking in before the brain has fully processed. Ain't that always the thing? I needed John's brain to take the next step as well. So instead of just noticing Rodney's body in relation to his own, he now notices Rodney's body in terms of sensations and feelings and urges. At least, more than he was.
The movement pushes their legs together.
"Stop," Rodney says, head dropping down, "just stop."
"Go ahead," John says, staring at Rodney's neck, the flush that darkened before his eyes. He's not sure why he offers, it's not pity, other than the most basic of pity for a man stuck with an ill timed hormonal surge. He remembers that small surge of electricity and he feels reckless.
Rodney stiffens against to him. "Excuse me?"
"Well," John reasons, "we're stuck here for a little while, which can't possibly be comfortable for you." He swallows hard, not really thinking about what he's saying, because if he does, he might just scream and run or something. "And maybe," he waffles, "maybe it'll help with the," he shrugs helplessly, "you know, thing."
Rodney's mouth opens and closes a few times, blue eyes blinking rapidly up at John in utter disbelief. "And you thought this would make me *less* uncomfortable?"
The man does have a point.
He goes so far to actually offer this time. Still rationalizing. In crack fic, this is possibly where the hothot completely irrational, really tactically stupid sex would have happened. I didn't want that. I have this realism kink, in case you haven't noticed. I like seeing all of this playing out to what I feel is a conclusion that could happen in real life. Other than the 37 year old straight man suddenly wanting to jump his best friend. I freely admit that is total and pure fantasy.
John lets it go for a few minutes, hyperaware of the other body pressing into him. Warm, soft heat flush against the front of his body and despite the *one* really obvious difference, it's unnervingly the same in all the ways it counts. The beginnings of an evening breeze brush his back, making the temperature difference that much more apparent.
The urge to snuggle hits him full force in the back of the head, and he bites back a gasp.
"Sorry," Rodney mutters, not looking at him.
John taps his fingers a few times, hopefully indicating it wasn't a big deal, but he's too caught up in being freaked out to really formulate sentences that won't dig them both into deeper holes.
Jesus, snuggling, he hates doing that with *women*. It's got deeply symbolic meanings and stuff that get translated into relationship conversations John never ever wants to have.
This is me interpreting what I feel is John's commitment issues. I just wanted the juxtaposition of him never wanting something before and suddenly wanting it so bad he can taste it. Heavy handed metaphor anyone?
Next to him Rodney breathes deeply, pushing further into him for a brief second. It's good in ways John is afraid to think about, fear, stark and violent, trickles down his spine.
Fuck it, it's dark enough.
And he runs. He runs even though it might not be safe. Oooh more heavy handed metaphor. You guys sure you don't have concussions? Seriously it's about the fear here, how something so diametrically opposed to what has always felt physically good, is suddenly better than the original.
******
Five weeks later, they're stuck in a small, dark, very cold room. They rest, lying on the cold hard floor because there's nothing else *to* do, and sitting against the wall just makes his ass numb. Also John has no idea when their chance will come, and he'd like to not be hallucinating from exhaustion when it happens. From three feet away, John can hear Rodney's teeth chattering in the darkness. Neither of them will do anything but waste energy like this.
This setting I chose very carefully. I needed their situations to be a bit more reliant on their own decisions. They had to (or at least John has to) make a conscious choice about it. Consider it the next step if you will.
"Rodney," he says, already moving over, "it's too cold too--"
"I'd already figured that out," Rodney snaps.
Rodney *knows*. Of anyone he's already thinking about hypothermia and gangrene. Oh boy does he *know* what's coming. Also, by now he's pretty much resigned to it not being a crush, so he's sort of pissed at the universe.
"Right, what are you waiting for, an engraved invitation?" John throws back, too cold to really put his heart into the argument.
They shuffle together, and John finds his arms wrapping snugly around Rodney's torso and pulling tight, already feeling the small shivers before they even touch. Rodney is slow in turning, but eventually hands like icicles slide up John's back 'and warm puffs of wet air drift near John's cheek, telling him that Rodney is making himself comfortable. "This way," John indicates, inching Rodney into a wall, hoping to create a warm pocket for themselves. Their jackets zip together snugly, helping conserve even more warmth. Their arms rest easily around each other, moving distractedly, hoping to incite circulation. John is suddenly struck by such a huge sense of the familiar that it distracts from realizing that Rodney is tense next to him and utterly silent.
"What?" John asks, shifting his hands between them, moving so that his elbow isn't pressed against the floor. He shifts his legs so that the parts of them not benefiting from the innovative warmth of their -- oh. "Oh." This is starting to be a habit, the universe is run by a cruel, cruel being.
Now John is starting to feel paranoid too.
Rodney doesn't say a word, just managing to find the extra few millimeters of space in their cocoon of warm, moist air to separate them.
"Um," John says blinking rapidly, his stomach queasy. Rodney is the best source of warmth in the room and the biting chill is already seeping into his bones. One of them is going to have to say something before extremities start to frost over. Slowly, John pulls one of his arms back, not that it has far to go, and presses his open palm to Rodney's chest. He can feel a rapid heartbeat under his hand and a sharp breath near his ear. "This is some crush," John says tentatively.
Oh John. Gotta watch that subconscious. Again he's polling for data. But now he's physically searching as well, his movement was specifically written like that on purpose. Open hand over the heart. Yeah I know, go to writing school already why don't I? Also, John's question is the beginnings of his own process. Slow on the uptake that he is, he won't get that it's no longer a crush for another couple of scenes.
"Don't think I don't know that," Rodney says between clenched teeth, "and what the hell are you doing?"
"We need to be warm and we need sleep." John answers in what he hopes is a reasonable voice. He moves his hand in a slow circle, "You're my friend and friends help out in times of need."
"Stop." Rodney's voice is stony. "The problem's gone now."
"It's not--"
The last 4 paragraphs are probably the most dense in the entire story in terms of things not being said. John is still rationalizing, a lot. Almost irrationally so. Poor confused John. Feel for him. This is tough. Take my word for it.
When Rodney says stop, the problem's gone. It really does mean that John's offer has completely killed any and all arousal just about instantly. It's not the offer itself that does it but that reasoning he offers. To Rodney it's akin to pity because it's no longer a crush but something pretty deep and pretty scary on his side as well. And it's just been minimalized and trivialized and ouch.
On rereads John's line seems to imply that the erection is not gone, and I sort of left it that way. Really the whole sentence was "It's not what you think--" John is far more caught up in his own issues than Rodney's at the moment.
"We're not talking about this." Rodney says again before pushing John flat to the ground, appropriating John's shoulder and going still.
Sleep it is.
I just really liked the idea of using sleep to end a conversation. It's such a married person moment. Also Rodney goes ahead and violated John's personal space just a bit in retaliation for what he feels is a slight.
******
Three weeks later John jumps in front of a bullet aimed at Rodney's chest.
And the pattern breaks. Totally and completely on purpose do I shatter the preconceived notions the reader should have about the way this story unfolds.
I did it on purpose. I wanted the bullet thing to come as a complete and utter shock so that you can identify a bit with Rodney. Also because I just love really good plot twists.
******
He wakes in the infirmary. It's dark and his head is cottony. The whole world feels like it's been glossed in Vaseline, with the lights extra fuzzy and the cup on the nearby table looking like something out of an impressionist painting.
It takes time for him to be interested in his surroundings, with the current concoction of drugs in his system. Watching his toes move under the blankets is pretty darned entertaining.
I must have written this man waking up in the infirmary like a hundred times by now. One day I will run out of creative ways to talk about being drugged up. Let's hope that day is FAR away.
Eventually though, his neck wants a stretch, and he slowly moves it from side to side. To the left is a long row of empty beds and the duty nurse bent low over a desk doing paperwork.
To his right...
To his right is Rodney, curled up in a chair, back painfully bent forward, arms crossed over his chest and brow furrowed deeply, even in sleep.
"Rodney," John rasps, reaching a hand out, "go lay down."
Rodney jumps, nearly toppling his chair over, his arms and legs do a good bit of flailing as well before he settles back down and glares at John. "There are enough of this team in the infirmary already, don't you think?"
"Looked painful," John says, making a lazy gesture at the chair with his finger.
Rubbing his back, Rodney arches, long enough for a loud popping sound to emerge. "Looks aren't deceiving in this case," he grimaces.
"Why're you here?" John asks, blinking slowly.
Rodney's face transforms from minorly annoyed and half awake to completely angry and very pained. "To tell you never to do that again."
John blinks some more. "Why?"
"Because--" Rodney slumps suddenly and dramatically, "Because," he says before abruptly standing up and walking out.
"Huh," John says before closing his eyes and letting sleep pull him back in.
The point of this scene? To hit John with a clue by four. Mostly that's about it. Also to give us the image of Rodney glued to John's hospital bed. Forgoing his *prescription* mattress for twu wuv. Seriously, what more proof is needed. Also, I made Rodney uncharacteristically laconic here. Mostly because if it was really important, he wouldn't talk about it anyway, rather suffer in silence like my Jewish grandmother.
******
Later, when John's more awake and Beckett is changing his bandages, it occurs to John that 'crush' is probably the wrong word for it. Probably has been for weeks, possibly months, maybe even since just after the first incident.
Ding ding ding! Congratulations John!
Rodney visits him a few more times -- once while he's still in Beckett's illustrious bed and breakfast and two or three more while he's confined to quarters unable to really contemplate more than going to and from the bathroom -- each time bearing gifts and long blustery diatribes about the comings and goings of Atlantis and the level of stupidity each one rated.
Each time John thinks really hard about bringing it up, but Rodney does something so normal and Rodney-like that the thought slips away into the air.
I really wanted to drive home the point that by now (and possibly always) whatever the thing between them was, it was so a part of normal life as to almost be dismissed. Normalcy doesn't mean you have to know about it. In fact, a whole lot of normalcy is buried in things you *don't* think about. Habits really.
He falls asleep in the middle of Troy. They're watching it because Rodney said sometimes science fiction loses it's shine when your everyday life trumps most of the plots. It's a good movie, but John is still tiring easily and he possibly walked more than Beckett had suggested that afternoon.
Point of clarification. I'm not writing from my pov. Therefore any likes, dislikes or preferences expressed are not mine. I truly think John would appreciate Troy on a number of levels. Personally though? I think it wasn't HORRIBLE. And it was at least mostly engrossing considering it's length.
John wakes to quiet music, the volume on the laptop obviously turned down at some point. Rodney is asleep on the chair next to him, head tilting back, mouth half open. He looks tired even in sleep, and John suddenly wonders how much sleep Rodney has actually been getting.
His head begins to slowly slide forward, and John can see it quickly approaching the point where it'll snap down and wake Rodney abruptly. He reaches out, fingers creeping over the damp skin on Rodney's neck, thumb accidentally brushing along the stubble line on his jaw. "Rodney," he calls softly.
"Wha?" His eyelids flutters softly, and he leans into John's touch for a brief moment before the fog clears and he shakes his head roughly, dislodging John's hand.
It's an instantaneous understanding, that Rodney is Rodney and that whatever this is he has for John is part of him, and he's bound and determined not to let it change them. So John lets go and settles back into bed. "Looks like we were both tired."
Normalcy! *Points the big neon signs around this paragraph* Also John respecting the other person's boundries. A lot because John is really okay with not dealing with it himself yet.
"Yeah," Rodney stretches, back arching and popping loudly, neck titling left and right before he absently closes the laptop. When he's done, he stands up, looking anywhere but at John. "I've got things to do, so you can go back to being the convalescent and I'll go back to being useful."
Speaking of normalcy, there hasn't been a good insult in this story in *pages* It really needed it.
When he's alone, John buries himself under the covers and thinks very hard.
I just like this line. I like the imagery and the feeling it leaves me with. I wanted John to be thinky. Very thinky. But in an angsty alone sort of way.
******
Five weeks later Rodney pushes John into a wall, knocking his chin into a jagged edge, the sharp edge of pain blurring his vision.
When it finally clears, Rodney is pinned to the ground. A long, thin stalactite is sticking up from his torso, a slowly expanding pool of blood coming from underneath him.
We're back to formula. Even more so than before. A time jump and a radical injury incurred while saving their woobie. We're just about in cliché land now. But I couldn't see John getting over that last hurdle without some large and scary to make him jump.
*****
John kneels in the blood, presses his hands to Rodney's chest and neck, counting heart beats, feeling his lungs move air. He yells for a stretcher, hands framing Rodney's face.
"Colonel?" Rodney coughs, but not wetly, no blood or foam coming from his lips. John is horribly relieved.
"I'm here Rodney," John says, "and when you're better, I'm going to kill you."
"...you're welcome?" Rodney says, hands feeling for the wound.
Because I cannot see them get into a tense situation without humor. Because… well have you watched the show? Really?
John grabs them in his own, holding them tightly. "Don't touch that, it's the only thing keeping the blood in."
Look Ma! All that time watching ER paid off!
"Not doing a very good job."
He looks at his knees and his hands and Rodney's shirt and jacket and agrees. "No, no it's not." Where's the damn stretcher? Rodney clutches at John, fingers spasmodically opening and closing; obligingly, John shifts them so that their fingers twine. He frees one hand, his left going back to Rodney's neck to monitor his pulse. "You idiot," he chokes.
Aside from a few moments that can be dismissed as nothing more than touching to get attention, mostly, this is the first initiative John takes. Notice the catalyst? Yes I think we all do. If you read my other fics you'll notice I have a hand holding fetish. Not just that, but a twining fingers thing. It's just so symbolic and makes me all gooshy.
"You insult me while I'm bleeding to death? It's time I reexamine this relationship." Rodney mutters.
"Yeah," John agrees. "Maybe." Of course, he has no idea what he's saying, he just knows that Rodney is bleeding all over him and John has this hard knot in his chest and strange impulses to lean in and-- "Get better," John demands, brushing his lips over Rodney's forehead, "because this freak-out I feel coming? Will work better with two people."
Houston we have acknowledgement. Sort of. Mostly we have confirmation that yes, John knows what's going on. In crack fic, smut would have followed as soon as Rodney wasn't bleeding internally anymore. Here we have John giving fair warning that this thing is making him freak but possibly he can work through it. Maybe. With some really good blow jobs. Notice how it's lips to forehead here? Another sign of impending freakoutingness.
******
Freak-out is really a very descriptive word for hiding in his room, throwing up once, and then running around Atlantis until his legs feel like rubber.
I honestly get tripped up in every story that starts out with hopelesslystraight!Character and then doesn't have him do something .like the above paragraph. I just never see the decision as being easy once it's done and I want to see that wavering back and forth in the decision making. It makes the final product/sex scene that much sweeter.
Ronon runs with him. Teyla takes one look at him and drags him to the mess, watching him eat half a meal before letting him go.
Wait, you mean there are other characters in SGA? Right ahem. This is what I'm worst at. Remembering that there's this whole huge ensemble to play off of. Though in this case it worked to my advantage because it was so deeply about them and their interpersonal issues. Of course once it leaks out all over the place, people are gonna step up and help.
He showers again and wonders if he can check in on Rodney without his stomach tying up in knots and his hands shaking. He tries, he really does, but he can't do it, he can't sit there and stare at Rodney's unconscious form and wait and wonder and think and visualize and imagine and torture himself.
So he doesn't.
Once again, John's wavering. Alone and without impetus it seems almost insurmountable. He tries because by now he's not fooling himself nearly as much. Just the regular amount of guy blindness is at work. This is more of the stuff I love, not that he's being an ass about being obtuse, but that he is genuinely trying and failing.
******
Two weeks later. Two weeks of sleepless nights and vague dreams and very public visits, Rodney limps slowly into John's room.
This is as much trying as John can do. He doesn't realize it yet but he's got to be met halfway. I wanted it to be less time, but my brain wouldn't let Rodney recover any faster.
"Should you be up?" John asks, already bringing a chair over for Rodney to sit in.
Rodney waves it away. "You know, I've never broken up with someone I'm not seeing before, but with you, I'm willing to make an exception."
Humor masking pain. No, I don't channel that man at all. *cough*McKay-Sue*cough*. Rodney's done with the not talking about it thing, as it apparently doesn't work very well when not everyone gets with the program.
"I--" John starts, but finds himself being poked in the chest before he can continue.
"That was cruel," Rodney says, "what you did, that was cruel and I thought better of you."
I like this line because it's an incredibly cutting thing to say to someone like John. At least in combination. John jokes and teases and mocks but he's not cruel for cruel's sake. And then telling him that you think better of him is like twisting the knife on a guy who always tries to do the honorable thing.
I had Rodney say it because as most people with what they feel is a hopelessly one sided unrequited thing it doesn't occur to him that it's possibly not so unrequited. His instinct is to protect and with Rodney's that translates to attack. With words.
It's really Rodney's worst fear come to life here. His own personal feelings used against him.
"I wasn’t--"
"No, you weren't," Rodney interrupts again, "and I'd kindly appreciate it if you don’t ever do that again."
"Rodney!" John snaps, gratified when the other man finally looks like he's stopping. "I wasn't," he doesn't have the words, he barely has the thought, but he knows that this is the moment he needs to express something, so he reaches out, fingertips against skin on Rodney's neck. "No cruelty intended."
John's not there yet, but he wants Rodney to know he's not in that other place, where he was just using Rodney's feelings against him.
Rodney makes a choked off sound in the back of his throat. "Oh god, I'm going to have to *train* you, assuming you don't just breakdown halfway through and--"
Possibly my most favorite line in the story. Because Rodney would totally skip over everything else and move onto his own possibly pain. Really. Also, it's funny.
John's fingers find their way to Rodney's lips, halting their litany, mostly because he can't really listen to any more of it without it feeling all too real. He lets them rest there long enough for Rodney to get the hint before letting them slide around, the tingle of stubble rough against his palm, and then finally soft hair and the nape of a neck. One step forward has them touching, pressing against each other carefully. Mindful of Rodney's still healing injury, John carefully puts his lips to Rodney's.
Another deep noise, harsh and sharp from Rodney. John swallows it, tasting Rodney, slowly kissing him, lips gliding and catching and moving gently. It's devastatingly soft and sweet and Rodney's lips cling to his perfectly. It's the best kiss John has ever had.
The first kiss. I was… unsure how to write this. Because well. I was damnit. I wanted it to be a jumble of unfamiliar sensations surrounding something that was familiar. Emotions and feelings versus stubble and muscle.
Rodney's hands are like steel on John's arms, holding tightly, halfway between pushing him away and drawing him closer. They end the kiss softly. Rodney looks tired and flushed and weary and just a little bit elated.
Here's where we start to get an inkling of Rodney's internal process. I wanted to show his own reservations and fears.
It's the most natural thing in the world to gather Rodney up into his arms, to let his hands slide around his waist slowly, feeling deliberately what he had been ignoring before. Rodney rests his forehead on John's, shaking his head mutely.
"Not cruel," John says again, because it's the closest he can get to what he means.
Here is where I've turned 'Not Cruel' into 'Might love you' or something similar. It was on purpose. These guys will never just out and out say it. It's not how they operate. They're crap communicators (why are they on a first contact team again?) and more often than not they do or say one thing to show and express another. It's less scary to call someone an idiot than to tell them you appreciate them.
"Yeah," Rodney says, "I'm getting that." He punctuates it with a yawn.
John leads Rodney to his bed, swallows heavily as Rodney settles in but he's so happy that Rodney is there, alive and breathing and crumpling his covers that the panic recedes almost instantly. They sleep, propped together on John's bed, Rodney on his back and John draped carefully over his healthy side.
In crack fic world there would have been a handjob or something. In Trying Not to Freak Out World, just getting used to someone sleeping next to you can be a trial. Also I wanted to show a bit of clinging. Something along the lines of "oh thank god you're not dead" and give John another baby step to take.
Originally this is where the fic stopped when it was sent off to beta. It knew this wasn't going to be the *actual* ending. But it was the end of the structured story as I had it planned. Also, it needed some tough poking in some places (mostly with body placement and stuff) and I wanted to make sure that was well on its way while I thought. I'm good a multitasking I tell you, really I am.
******
The surprise comes when John realizes that nothing changes. They don't stare at each other across their pudding, well they do, but the googoo eyes have apparently always been there because no one's commenting or looking at them strangely. That alone is just a little disturbing.
Again the reference back to normalcy. Here's I guess where I sum it up and frame it with a neon sign. Also, the last line of that paragraph was very important. It reads like a throwaway but it wasn’t' supposed to. It's just another moment of John getting hit over the head with the fact that this was going on before he ever had any clue.
They hang out and complain about each other, to each other, with each other. They watch movies and get into trouble and harass Elizabeth for permission to do stupid things like trying to fly a jumper under water.
Only now Rodney follows John into his room or vice versa and John gets to fly without leaving the ground. Rodney's hands make him instantly hard with a touch to his chest or waist, his lips are perfect and soft and make the best noises. They lie in bed pressing against each other, all soft sounds and gentle motions, and John gets the distinct feeling that Rodney is teaching him all sorts of things he won't appreciate until later. Later, when he finally gets over the shivery feeling of another man's cock pressed into his thigh, or his hands running over a flat chest. Or the distinctly masculine moans that Rodney makes when John finds that wonderfully sensitive spot on the side of his neck.
He still freaks out; just about every day there's a moment where he asks himself what he's doing; a moment when the thought of wrapping his hand around another guy's cock just makes him want to scream out loud and lock himself in his room.
Again with the decision wavering. I wanted it this late in the game. I wanted to remind the readers that it's not all hunky dorey for John now. It's still fucked up and scary and every day he's reminded of why and how etc.
Rodney takes it all in stride, rolling his eyes, pushing him around and then sinking to his knees in front of John. John finds Rodney's mouth was made for his cock, warm and wet and sweet, sweet suction that makes him lose brain cells. Then he sees it; Rodney looks up, uncertainty in his eyes as his cheeks puff and hollow, checking and looking for John's enjoyment.
There needed to be some gay smut. I felt John had to be shown to have gotten at least this far. Otherwise the story would have felt incomplete. Despite the fact that him receiving a blow job from Rodney might seem passive it's a much larger step than any of the other's he's taken. Because he's watching and he's aware and it turns him on and makes him a little bit crazy.
They're both afraid and that's probably the most reassuring thing yet.
The ending line almost seemed too pat to me. Too much like a moral to the story. But I think it worked because it sort of… outlined the whole issue. It's almost like a minimap for a relationship. It's nice and openended and let's the reader know that all the scary shit is far from over. And I like that in an ending.
THE END
I didn't directly deal with Don't Ask Don't Tell because I thought that John's fear pretty much encompassed all that. I'm a DADT junky and usually I'd have mentioned it in some manner. But it tends to take over a story and while I don't say it, I figured it could be assumed that it's all part and parcel of the bigger picture.
The title is almost *always* the last thing I come up with. It's just not how my writing brain works. I get an idea or an image or a scene first. The title just sort of hangs over my head while I write the damned thing. Imagine that albatross when your fic is turning out to be a 25,000 word epic that just won't end? Usually the title game starts when the fic gets sent off to beta.
Author: amireal
Rating: NC-17
Length: Approx 4500 words.
Notes: Well this was... wish fulfillment for me, it's crack like, but not fully crack. Thanks to seperis for the beta and the bitchslaps. Also thanks to fairestcat who went over it and found the four apparently *glaring* errors that were hoarding other people's enjoyment for themselves.
Archive: My LJ, my site, Area52 and wraithbait
Summary: "It's just a goddamned crush!"
I've started taking lines directly from the story for summaries. Not sure why, but at least this way I can concretely say that it's related to the fic. I try to give the readers something that really does give you a sense of what the story is about. Unfortunately you might not realize that until AFTER you've read the whole thing.
Why this fic is in present tense. I was trying to trick Seperis into writing this with me because I was feeling creatively lazy and plotting a story out by myself is a lot more work than bouncing off someone. But that's the subject of a longer more belly button lint examining post later.
Apparently Seperis is not allowed to write in the past tense. Bad Things Happen. Things involving blood and terror and world ending. I know, I ask myself if that's a bad thing too. But as I wanted a relatively happy ending, I went with present tense.
Sadly, she did not fall for my cunning ways.
But I kept it present tense because converting to another tense is a bitch and it helps add to the immediacy of the whole situation. And I thought that was actually a better tone for the whole thing anyway. Also, I write smut better in present tense, and for a while there I thought this might be a smut mobile
Rodney's gasp of air is loud in his ear, deep and sharp as his chest hitches roughly against John's. They're pressed together from shoulder to hip between two pieces of architecture. The cobblestone wall is digging into John's back, and Rodney won't stop squirming, pushing one jagged edge further between his shoulder blades.
Again, this was an image that came to me first. It wasn't the impetus for the story itself, but it was very clear in my mind. It was important to show intimacy but not really. They're running for their lives and in a semi public place, but they're still very much in each other's personal space. And since neither of them strikes me as regular NYC subway riders, it's going to be doubly awkward even without my Plot Device which shows up in just a couple of lines.
"Rodney," John whispers harshly, pushing his hands down onto Rodney's shoulders, his elbows and forearms digging into the other man's chest. "Stop fidgeting." He forces his knee into Rodney's thigh in an effort to pin him. Except Rodney's legs spread to adjust his stance and John finds himself pressed more intimately against Rodney than he'd ever quite considered. It reminds him of Tina Groober from 12th grade; even in his fantasies, he'd never quite made it to home plate with her, so when he was in the backseat of his father's car nervously rolling on a condom, the entire thing seemed surreal. Except that Tina -- unless the rumors were incredibly wrong and a vast conspiracy, the likes of which even the Nixon White House had never seen, had been organized in his own high school -- didn't have a dick. Considering the poorly kept secret affair between the Algebra and History teachers, John highly doubts it.
Oh my god. The Paragraph That Wouldn't Die. Really this one was reworked a number of times. It took a while for what I wanted to say to actually be reflected in the words. And it still needed editing after that. It was supposed to reflect the feelings one gets when they go past the terminal point they have in their mind for a given situation. I.E. You imagine getting to Disney World from the moment you book your plane tickets, but in your head you've never gotten past the gate. So when you actually do, the fantasy abruptly ends and you're left with… well I don't know what, but it's an interesting feeling. Sort of offputting.
Rodney meanwhile, continues to breath harshly, head turned away into the dark recesses of their poorly hidden cover.
The moment, the tableau feels oddly familiar, like he's seen this play out a million times, he's just never been on this side of things before. "I think they're almost gone." John whispers, going for the 'erection, what erection?' strategy. One he often wishes women would use on him.
Right here is where I make a subtle and entirely unneeded meta comment about the utter mundanity of formulaic romantic comedy. Everyone stare in awe at my intellectual might.
Rodney nods his head jerkily, still looking off into the dirty corner to their right. "That's--" his voice is deep and rough and cracks just a bit right at the end of the word. He swallows harshly. "Good. That's good." The words come out a little clearer but husky all the same.
Once I went to a dance with some boy I was too young to realize I was crushing on. And we slow danced and at the time I thought his belt buckle was digging into me. Now I think what an innocent fool I was. What does that have to do with the previous paragraph? Very little other than me vague knowledge that being pressed together with someone you're attracted to can make you pop a boner.
They wait in oppressive silence, and John has never wanted to talk about the weather more in his life. However, being stuck weaponless in what amounts to Victorian England with the Gestapo on their asses, means he's got to concentrate on other things, and not focus on the utterly strange feeling of McKay pressed into his inner thigh, hot and hard and foreign.
Begin John repression. Not that he wasn't repressing before, but his instinct to completely change the subject is the first nail in the coffin for him. Also, the use of the words Victorian England and Gestapo are not a coincidence. Mostly it's my once again, unsubtle authorial hand bringing to mind more images of repressive societies and rules and structure.
So he's trapped for the moment, breathing hard, adrenaline pumping through him. John's eyes finally adjust to the darkness and when he looks at McKay, he can see a low flush high on his cheeks. "Can you run?" he blurts out before he can stop himself.
Rodney's head snaps back, eyes dilated , to stare at John in shock. "What?"
"Well," John makes the mistake of trying to gesture, succeeding in only wedging them together further. Rodney sucks in a sharp breath, eyes closing abruptly. John watches his throat swallow rapidly before continuing. "I think it's sort of self explanatory now."
"It's just a goddamned crush," Rodney whispers, more to himself than to John. "It's stupid and expected and really I should know better, two more weeks and this wouldn't have been a problem."
Right here and right now, in this very scene, Rodney sincerely believes it's a crush. Originally there were more Rodney lines about it. About how John keeps saving his life and doing amazing things requiring skill and talent and mathematical ability of COURSE he has a crush on John.
"A crush?" John asks, a little confused; it seems so utterly mundane considering that they're wedged like sardines inside a small wall crevice and that he's seriously contemplating if the brick to the right of Rodney's head is loose enough to be pried away just so he'd have *some* sort of weapon.
Rodney opens his eyes again, this time looking just a bit annoyed over his layer of humiliation. "Don't let it get to your head Colonel. It's basic chemistry. Our relationship is full of adrenaline and trust and all that other crap that makes the body stand up and take notice."
I wanted Rodney pissed at himself. I wanted to show that he's far more put out by this than John is. Or at least, he believes. Rodney of all the characters on SGA would have come up with this scenario as soon as he realized he had a crush. He is the doomsayer and nothing is doomier than personal humiliation.
He can't help the eye drift down then up. Though John feels really bad about the look that it puts on Rodney's face. "So, that running thing we were talking about earlier?"
"One gunshot," Rodney mutters, "there won't be a problem."
John nods. Okay then, the plan, which is running like hell as soon as it's clear has not been prematurely shot down. Back to contemplating the hard-on pushing into his thigh; he can feel Rodney's legs tense around his, holding himself unnaturally still. John has one completely insane moment where he wants to tell Rodney to just go for it, because he feels a little bad about it, always has when someone he's never had a single romantic thought about falls at his feet. There's also something warm and twisting in his stomach, the fluttering making him a little nauseated; then again, he's never really been in this position, not with as close a friend as Rodney.
And now we have the repression starting to crack. I didn't want the cracks to be huge, it's still the first scene and the information is still like a 2x4 to the head for John. But John is *such* a helper and a nice guy that I imagine some rather insane impulses go through his head sometimes. Also I start to pull in some canon characterization. The hints that John just doesn't get that people will fall for him even if he's just rolled out of bed, has morning breath and weird pillow creases in his face. In fact, that's sort of appealing, but I digress. Later there's a throw away line that points back to this. No, not the one everyone quoted in feedback. But the one that no one quoted and of course I was especially proud of.
Rodney's looking grim, the line of his mouth flat and thin.
"Hey," John says, keeping his voice soft. "It's cool. Really." He shrugs shallowly, keeping himself as still as possible. "I just never see this coming."
This would be the one everyone quotes. And it's a fabulous line and sadly I cannot take credit for it. But here I used it as sort of apology from John. He doesn't usually say what he means most of the time. He's a crap communicator like that so I hardly ever write his dialogue without some weird double meaning thing going on. Also, again, John's a pretty cool guy, once he gets past his own weird factor I really do believe he'd attempt to make everyone else cool too.
"Seriously?" Rodney looks at him like he's just rewritten some obscure law of physics, half in awe and half in disbelief. "Have you looked in a mirror lately?"
John feels a hot blush crawl across his face. "Ah, thank you?"
Okay I lied, two throw away lines. This being one where John is just totally thrown by such a blatant positive comment about his looks even though he's pretty aware, at least on an abstract level, that an unusual number of people find him attractive. Doesn't mean he actually *gets* it though.
"Oh god." Rodney's head drops to John's shoulder. "Yes, I'm utterly shallow, I think by now we've established this."
More canon! Really. I don't think anything more needs to be said.
Heat blazes off Rodney's neck as it brushes against John's, making the little hairs on the back stand on end. "So, a crush?"
This paragraph gives one of many examples I have of John being extra conscious of Rodney's body and it's movements. It's really nothing spectacular, right now it's not unusual, mostly it's there for foundation.
Rodney's head snaps up. "We're not talking about this. Ever."
That's fine with John, it's just about time to run anyway.
Rodney's reactions here where meant to show someone just really embarrassed and more than happy to pretend it never happened. I know, obvious right? Right now he doesn't know any more than the readers. Later the word 'stoic' could possibly apply. I noticed it was used a lot in the feedback and to a point I agree though I don't know if that's what I intended when I was originally writing this story.
******
About a month later, it's a low lying bench in the back of a barn like structure, thankfully unused. The smell of manure has always turned John's stomach.
The time jumps. Possibly I picked this story telling device because damnit I was not writing another 25,000 word story. Actually, it just made the compare and contrast that much more stark And the shifts in emotion are kinda subtle, at least, they were supposed to be, so I thought anything extraneous between the incidents would have been distracting enough to take away from the important scenes themselves.
Rodney squirms in first, laying on his side, back pressing tightly against the far wall. John scuttles in after him, and they have a scant few seconds to get hidden before they have to freeze. They're plastered tightly against each other, front to front, John bracing a hand on the floor near Rodney's shoulder and the underside of the bench in an effort to keep himself as concealed as possible, muscles holding tight.
OMG, Body position. They killed me. I just kept reading the prose and I had no idea where I was unclear. I had to have my poor decrepit headachy beta point it out to me. And risk my wrath because I suck at arguing over my own stories.
Breathing as silently as possible, he listens as the footsteps get louder, the harsh voices echoing around them. John can feel the tremors in his frame the longer he holds and soon he'll have no choice but to move. As the sharp pain runs along his shoulders for the second time, he carefully rests some of his weight on Rodney. Eventually, the voices fade away, and John relaxes his hold, slumping further into Rodney without intending to.
The sharp gasp of breath reaches his ears just as Rodney's tense frame registers under his. Heat coalesces hotly at his hip, and John can feel the blush spread across his own face in record time.
I really like the idea of him blushing. It just… it's such an involuntary physical reaction and therefore probably one of the truest bits of body language not trained out of us by society at large. I had John blush because he, as a private person himself, is embarrassed FOR Rodney.
Rodney's hips do an involuntary stuttering movement, hard heat pressing into John before retreating as completely as possible. Reflexively John rolls away as well until he realizes his arm is now out in the open, he returns to his previous position, careful to leave some space between them.
I wanted to up the ante here. Start the slow move towards John thinking of Rodney in a sexual manner, I also needed the freakout to start at the same time. Because as John starts to see Rodney as a sexual being, he starts to *see* Rodney as sexual being and is therefore stepping out of his usual boundries and into no man's land. A place he's never been to and hadn't intended on going. In fact, up till now no man's land was like Cleveland. He's heard about it, but it wasn't on his list of vacations spots. Ever.
They stare at each other in the dim light until Rodney closes his eyes. Turning his head is not an option, but he scrunches up into himself as much as possible.
"Crush hanging on there?" John asks to lighten the mood, trying to be sympathetic; he remembers just wanting to get over something and his brain not cooperating.
"I thought we weren't talking about this," Rodney says tightly.
"Sorry," John says, mostly contrite, "but you said two weeks and a guy can't help but feel a bit flattered."
More like puzzled. Very. Very. Puzzled. This is John's subconscious asking for more data.
"This is hardly a precise science," Rodney snaps, but the usual bite is gone; he just looks weary. "Don't worry, the pitchforks alone will give me incentive to run."
This is Rodney going "Oh god stop talking you idiot!" By now, Rodney's figured out a few more things and knows what a crap liar he is. So he really just wants to avoid the whole thing.
John watches Rodney's eyes slit open, pupils wide and dark and warm looking; he can feel the line of tension under where his hand lies on Rodney's arm, an entire body holding itself back, curling in on itself, holding up in possibly the most awkward position possible. "Relax," John says quietly, "really, flattering."
More John noting Rodney's body. And more John's subconscious buzzing around for information. Also, still being the nice guy putting Rodney's comfort before his own.
"There's flattering," Rodney mutters, "and then there's humping your best friend's leg when he's trying to help you not die."
Again, the urge to just push in a few inches, roll forward and jut his leg out a bit; it wouldn't take much to give Rodney what he needs. He's done that group porn thing once or twice, and living on a military base meant that even if you weren't into it, you usually found it once or twice. How different could this be? But Rodney is looking intensely uncomfortable, and they'll have difficulty looking each other in the eye after this incident as it is, and John knows he's been called a tease behind his back ever since the braces were taken out and the acne cleared up. Following his completely unfounded impulse would only strengthen the argument.
Here's the line no one commented on. The one about the braces and the acne. It's my own personal pet theory as to why someone as unnaturally hot as John keeps getting surprised by the people throwing themselves at his feet. Because things trained into you in early adolescence have an eerie way of sticking around for YEARS AND YEARS down the road.
"Is there anything I can..." John trails off, not really sure what he's asking.
Now the subconscious starts to give way to the conscious. He actively considers the action and rationalizes it. Next step John? Recognizing that higher power baby.
"That not talking about it thing was really working well for me," Rodney sighs. "Not to ruin my already established habits and life preserving tendencies, but is it time to run yet?"
More of Rodney going "deflect! Deflect! No talky about my super sekrit luv crush on you ever!" This is around where we start in on Rodney's stoic-fu. He's just starting to suffer in silence and get the idea that this thing, whatever it is, is not going away so easily.
John listens carefully and shakes his head. "Not yet, it's almost dark, better cover."
"Right," Rodney says tightly, "not too long a wait then."
"Relax," John squeezes the arm tucked under his fingers. Rodney looks at him like he's insane, but some part of him gives and his stomach starts to feel itchy as Rodney's erection slides a few inches to the left when he bends his leg to rest comfortably on John's. "Right," he swallows, "like that."
"You don't look very flattered." Rodney snaps.
"Yeah, well, I've never been this close and personal to another man's--"
"Oh god," Rodney says in horror. "You're kidding me, oh this just completes the abject humiliation!"
Confirmation for the readers of what I'm sure most of them already suspect. It actually seems sort of odd to put that in there, right where it is. It almost seems like Rodney assumes John isn't all that straight. But I kept it because it's not Rodney's pov and I don't need to share with you what was going through his head. And I needed that firm confirmation before the story went much further. Here in the commentary I can say that it didn't fit earlier, too many other reveals and Rodney? Rodney is actually caught up in the 'never' part of the sentence. As in 'never ever' Because even Hopelessly Straight Boys ™ can have had a once. Why did I make it like that? Because OMGSOHOT. That's why.
Automatically John raises a hand to cover Rodney's mouth, attempting to remind him that they need to *not* be found for a little while. Rodney freezes, mouth open, tongue just touching the center of John's palm. A small choked noise is muffled into John's hand, and Rodney wrenches away nearly knocking violently into the one of the bench's legs. John's hand tingles from the quick flick of tongue and he finds himself cradling the back of Rodney's head, saving him from a concussion and John from listening to the lingering worries about one over the next several hours.
Now I was stuck with making it more intimate. Because it was time and this story is all about steps in small tiny progressions. Of course they key word is still 'unintentionally'. How do you 'unintentionally' get more intimate than someone's boner jammed into your thigh? Easy, get the mouth involved. And now they both have physical reactions. Actually I'd been giving John small reactions from the start, mostly in the stomach area. Come on, butterflies and arousal can SO be nausea!
Rodney feels pliant and inviting and warm, and suddenly, he's breathing hard and thinks it would be very easy to brush their lips together. He shifts slightly, the urge to release Rodney's head suddenly overwhelming, the unexpected and unusual nature of the thought startling him badly.
Instincts kicking in before the brain has fully processed. Ain't that always the thing? I needed John's brain to take the next step as well. So instead of just noticing Rodney's body in relation to his own, he now notices Rodney's body in terms of sensations and feelings and urges. At least, more than he was.
The movement pushes their legs together.
"Stop," Rodney says, head dropping down, "just stop."
"Go ahead," John says, staring at Rodney's neck, the flush that darkened before his eyes. He's not sure why he offers, it's not pity, other than the most basic of pity for a man stuck with an ill timed hormonal surge. He remembers that small surge of electricity and he feels reckless.
Rodney stiffens against to him. "Excuse me?"
"Well," John reasons, "we're stuck here for a little while, which can't possibly be comfortable for you." He swallows hard, not really thinking about what he's saying, because if he does, he might just scream and run or something. "And maybe," he waffles, "maybe it'll help with the," he shrugs helplessly, "you know, thing."
Rodney's mouth opens and closes a few times, blue eyes blinking rapidly up at John in utter disbelief. "And you thought this would make me *less* uncomfortable?"
The man does have a point.
He goes so far to actually offer this time. Still rationalizing. In crack fic, this is possibly where the hothot completely irrational, really tactically stupid sex would have happened. I didn't want that. I have this realism kink, in case you haven't noticed. I like seeing all of this playing out to what I feel is a conclusion that could happen in real life. Other than the 37 year old straight man suddenly wanting to jump his best friend. I freely admit that is total and pure fantasy.
John lets it go for a few minutes, hyperaware of the other body pressing into him. Warm, soft heat flush against the front of his body and despite the *one* really obvious difference, it's unnervingly the same in all the ways it counts. The beginnings of an evening breeze brush his back, making the temperature difference that much more apparent.
The urge to snuggle hits him full force in the back of the head, and he bites back a gasp.
"Sorry," Rodney mutters, not looking at him.
John taps his fingers a few times, hopefully indicating it wasn't a big deal, but he's too caught up in being freaked out to really formulate sentences that won't dig them both into deeper holes.
Jesus, snuggling, he hates doing that with *women*. It's got deeply symbolic meanings and stuff that get translated into relationship conversations John never ever wants to have.
This is me interpreting what I feel is John's commitment issues. I just wanted the juxtaposition of him never wanting something before and suddenly wanting it so bad he can taste it. Heavy handed metaphor anyone?
Next to him Rodney breathes deeply, pushing further into him for a brief second. It's good in ways John is afraid to think about, fear, stark and violent, trickles down his spine.
Fuck it, it's dark enough.
And he runs. He runs even though it might not be safe. Oooh more heavy handed metaphor. You guys sure you don't have concussions? Seriously it's about the fear here, how something so diametrically opposed to what has always felt physically good, is suddenly better than the original.
******
Five weeks later, they're stuck in a small, dark, very cold room. They rest, lying on the cold hard floor because there's nothing else *to* do, and sitting against the wall just makes his ass numb. Also John has no idea when their chance will come, and he'd like to not be hallucinating from exhaustion when it happens. From three feet away, John can hear Rodney's teeth chattering in the darkness. Neither of them will do anything but waste energy like this.
This setting I chose very carefully. I needed their situations to be a bit more reliant on their own decisions. They had to (or at least John has to) make a conscious choice about it. Consider it the next step if you will.
"Rodney," he says, already moving over, "it's too cold too--"
"I'd already figured that out," Rodney snaps.
Rodney *knows*. Of anyone he's already thinking about hypothermia and gangrene. Oh boy does he *know* what's coming. Also, by now he's pretty much resigned to it not being a crush, so he's sort of pissed at the universe.
"Right, what are you waiting for, an engraved invitation?" John throws back, too cold to really put his heart into the argument.
They shuffle together, and John finds his arms wrapping snugly around Rodney's torso and pulling tight, already feeling the small shivers before they even touch. Rodney is slow in turning, but eventually hands like icicles slide up John's back 'and warm puffs of wet air drift near John's cheek, telling him that Rodney is making himself comfortable. "This way," John indicates, inching Rodney into a wall, hoping to create a warm pocket for themselves. Their jackets zip together snugly, helping conserve even more warmth. Their arms rest easily around each other, moving distractedly, hoping to incite circulation. John is suddenly struck by such a huge sense of the familiar that it distracts from realizing that Rodney is tense next to him and utterly silent.
"What?" John asks, shifting his hands between them, moving so that his elbow isn't pressed against the floor. He shifts his legs so that the parts of them not benefiting from the innovative warmth of their -- oh. "Oh." This is starting to be a habit, the universe is run by a cruel, cruel being.
Now John is starting to feel paranoid too.
Rodney doesn't say a word, just managing to find the extra few millimeters of space in their cocoon of warm, moist air to separate them.
"Um," John says blinking rapidly, his stomach queasy. Rodney is the best source of warmth in the room and the biting chill is already seeping into his bones. One of them is going to have to say something before extremities start to frost over. Slowly, John pulls one of his arms back, not that it has far to go, and presses his open palm to Rodney's chest. He can feel a rapid heartbeat under his hand and a sharp breath near his ear. "This is some crush," John says tentatively.
Oh John. Gotta watch that subconscious. Again he's polling for data. But now he's physically searching as well, his movement was specifically written like that on purpose. Open hand over the heart. Yeah I know, go to writing school already why don't I? Also, John's question is the beginnings of his own process. Slow on the uptake that he is, he won't get that it's no longer a crush for another couple of scenes.
"Don't think I don't know that," Rodney says between clenched teeth, "and what the hell are you doing?"
"We need to be warm and we need sleep." John answers in what he hopes is a reasonable voice. He moves his hand in a slow circle, "You're my friend and friends help out in times of need."
"Stop." Rodney's voice is stony. "The problem's gone now."
"It's not--"
The last 4 paragraphs are probably the most dense in the entire story in terms of things not being said. John is still rationalizing, a lot. Almost irrationally so. Poor confused John. Feel for him. This is tough. Take my word for it.
When Rodney says stop, the problem's gone. It really does mean that John's offer has completely killed any and all arousal just about instantly. It's not the offer itself that does it but that reasoning he offers. To Rodney it's akin to pity because it's no longer a crush but something pretty deep and pretty scary on his side as well. And it's just been minimalized and trivialized and ouch.
On rereads John's line seems to imply that the erection is not gone, and I sort of left it that way. Really the whole sentence was "It's not what you think--" John is far more caught up in his own issues than Rodney's at the moment.
"We're not talking about this." Rodney says again before pushing John flat to the ground, appropriating John's shoulder and going still.
Sleep it is.
I just really liked the idea of using sleep to end a conversation. It's such a married person moment. Also Rodney goes ahead and violated John's personal space just a bit in retaliation for what he feels is a slight.
******
Three weeks later John jumps in front of a bullet aimed at Rodney's chest.
And the pattern breaks. Totally and completely on purpose do I shatter the preconceived notions the reader should have about the way this story unfolds.
I did it on purpose. I wanted the bullet thing to come as a complete and utter shock so that you can identify a bit with Rodney. Also because I just love really good plot twists.
******
He wakes in the infirmary. It's dark and his head is cottony. The whole world feels like it's been glossed in Vaseline, with the lights extra fuzzy and the cup on the nearby table looking like something out of an impressionist painting.
It takes time for him to be interested in his surroundings, with the current concoction of drugs in his system. Watching his toes move under the blankets is pretty darned entertaining.
I must have written this man waking up in the infirmary like a hundred times by now. One day I will run out of creative ways to talk about being drugged up. Let's hope that day is FAR away.
Eventually though, his neck wants a stretch, and he slowly moves it from side to side. To the left is a long row of empty beds and the duty nurse bent low over a desk doing paperwork.
To his right...
To his right is Rodney, curled up in a chair, back painfully bent forward, arms crossed over his chest and brow furrowed deeply, even in sleep.
"Rodney," John rasps, reaching a hand out, "go lay down."
Rodney jumps, nearly toppling his chair over, his arms and legs do a good bit of flailing as well before he settles back down and glares at John. "There are enough of this team in the infirmary already, don't you think?"
"Looked painful," John says, making a lazy gesture at the chair with his finger.
Rubbing his back, Rodney arches, long enough for a loud popping sound to emerge. "Looks aren't deceiving in this case," he grimaces.
"Why're you here?" John asks, blinking slowly.
Rodney's face transforms from minorly annoyed and half awake to completely angry and very pained. "To tell you never to do that again."
John blinks some more. "Why?"
"Because--" Rodney slumps suddenly and dramatically, "Because," he says before abruptly standing up and walking out.
"Huh," John says before closing his eyes and letting sleep pull him back in.
The point of this scene? To hit John with a clue by four. Mostly that's about it. Also to give us the image of Rodney glued to John's hospital bed. Forgoing his *prescription* mattress for twu wuv. Seriously, what more proof is needed. Also, I made Rodney uncharacteristically laconic here. Mostly because if it was really important, he wouldn't talk about it anyway, rather suffer in silence like my Jewish grandmother.
******
Later, when John's more awake and Beckett is changing his bandages, it occurs to John that 'crush' is probably the wrong word for it. Probably has been for weeks, possibly months, maybe even since just after the first incident.
Ding ding ding! Congratulations John!
Rodney visits him a few more times -- once while he's still in Beckett's illustrious bed and breakfast and two or three more while he's confined to quarters unable to really contemplate more than going to and from the bathroom -- each time bearing gifts and long blustery diatribes about the comings and goings of Atlantis and the level of stupidity each one rated.
Each time John thinks really hard about bringing it up, but Rodney does something so normal and Rodney-like that the thought slips away into the air.
I really wanted to drive home the point that by now (and possibly always) whatever the thing between them was, it was so a part of normal life as to almost be dismissed. Normalcy doesn't mean you have to know about it. In fact, a whole lot of normalcy is buried in things you *don't* think about. Habits really.
He falls asleep in the middle of Troy. They're watching it because Rodney said sometimes science fiction loses it's shine when your everyday life trumps most of the plots. It's a good movie, but John is still tiring easily and he possibly walked more than Beckett had suggested that afternoon.
Point of clarification. I'm not writing from my pov. Therefore any likes, dislikes or preferences expressed are not mine. I truly think John would appreciate Troy on a number of levels. Personally though? I think it wasn't HORRIBLE. And it was at least mostly engrossing considering it's length.
John wakes to quiet music, the volume on the laptop obviously turned down at some point. Rodney is asleep on the chair next to him, head tilting back, mouth half open. He looks tired even in sleep, and John suddenly wonders how much sleep Rodney has actually been getting.
His head begins to slowly slide forward, and John can see it quickly approaching the point where it'll snap down and wake Rodney abruptly. He reaches out, fingers creeping over the damp skin on Rodney's neck, thumb accidentally brushing along the stubble line on his jaw. "Rodney," he calls softly.
"Wha?" His eyelids flutters softly, and he leans into John's touch for a brief moment before the fog clears and he shakes his head roughly, dislodging John's hand.
It's an instantaneous understanding, that Rodney is Rodney and that whatever this is he has for John is part of him, and he's bound and determined not to let it change them. So John lets go and settles back into bed. "Looks like we were both tired."
Normalcy! *Points the big neon signs around this paragraph* Also John respecting the other person's boundries. A lot because John is really okay with not dealing with it himself yet.
"Yeah," Rodney stretches, back arching and popping loudly, neck titling left and right before he absently closes the laptop. When he's done, he stands up, looking anywhere but at John. "I've got things to do, so you can go back to being the convalescent and I'll go back to being useful."
Speaking of normalcy, there hasn't been a good insult in this story in *pages* It really needed it.
When he's alone, John buries himself under the covers and thinks very hard.
I just like this line. I like the imagery and the feeling it leaves me with. I wanted John to be thinky. Very thinky. But in an angsty alone sort of way.
******
Five weeks later Rodney pushes John into a wall, knocking his chin into a jagged edge, the sharp edge of pain blurring his vision.
When it finally clears, Rodney is pinned to the ground. A long, thin stalactite is sticking up from his torso, a slowly expanding pool of blood coming from underneath him.
We're back to formula. Even more so than before. A time jump and a radical injury incurred while saving their woobie. We're just about in cliché land now. But I couldn't see John getting over that last hurdle without some large and scary to make him jump.
*****
John kneels in the blood, presses his hands to Rodney's chest and neck, counting heart beats, feeling his lungs move air. He yells for a stretcher, hands framing Rodney's face.
"Colonel?" Rodney coughs, but not wetly, no blood or foam coming from his lips. John is horribly relieved.
"I'm here Rodney," John says, "and when you're better, I'm going to kill you."
"...you're welcome?" Rodney says, hands feeling for the wound.
Because I cannot see them get into a tense situation without humor. Because… well have you watched the show? Really?
John grabs them in his own, holding them tightly. "Don't touch that, it's the only thing keeping the blood in."
Look Ma! All that time watching ER paid off!
"Not doing a very good job."
He looks at his knees and his hands and Rodney's shirt and jacket and agrees. "No, no it's not." Where's the damn stretcher? Rodney clutches at John, fingers spasmodically opening and closing; obligingly, John shifts them so that their fingers twine. He frees one hand, his left going back to Rodney's neck to monitor his pulse. "You idiot," he chokes.
Aside from a few moments that can be dismissed as nothing more than touching to get attention, mostly, this is the first initiative John takes. Notice the catalyst? Yes I think we all do. If you read my other fics you'll notice I have a hand holding fetish. Not just that, but a twining fingers thing. It's just so symbolic and makes me all gooshy.
"You insult me while I'm bleeding to death? It's time I reexamine this relationship." Rodney mutters.
"Yeah," John agrees. "Maybe." Of course, he has no idea what he's saying, he just knows that Rodney is bleeding all over him and John has this hard knot in his chest and strange impulses to lean in and-- "Get better," John demands, brushing his lips over Rodney's forehead, "because this freak-out I feel coming? Will work better with two people."
Houston we have acknowledgement. Sort of. Mostly we have confirmation that yes, John knows what's going on. In crack fic, smut would have followed as soon as Rodney wasn't bleeding internally anymore. Here we have John giving fair warning that this thing is making him freak but possibly he can work through it. Maybe. With some really good blow jobs. Notice how it's lips to forehead here? Another sign of impending freakoutingness.
******
Freak-out is really a very descriptive word for hiding in his room, throwing up once, and then running around Atlantis until his legs feel like rubber.
I honestly get tripped up in every story that starts out with hopelesslystraight!Character and then doesn't have him do something .like the above paragraph. I just never see the decision as being easy once it's done and I want to see that wavering back and forth in the decision making. It makes the final product/sex scene that much sweeter.
Ronon runs with him. Teyla takes one look at him and drags him to the mess, watching him eat half a meal before letting him go.
Wait, you mean there are other characters in SGA? Right ahem. This is what I'm worst at. Remembering that there's this whole huge ensemble to play off of. Though in this case it worked to my advantage because it was so deeply about them and their interpersonal issues. Of course once it leaks out all over the place, people are gonna step up and help.
He showers again and wonders if he can check in on Rodney without his stomach tying up in knots and his hands shaking. He tries, he really does, but he can't do it, he can't sit there and stare at Rodney's unconscious form and wait and wonder and think and visualize and imagine and torture himself.
So he doesn't.
Once again, John's wavering. Alone and without impetus it seems almost insurmountable. He tries because by now he's not fooling himself nearly as much. Just the regular amount of guy blindness is at work. This is more of the stuff I love, not that he's being an ass about being obtuse, but that he is genuinely trying and failing.
******
Two weeks later. Two weeks of sleepless nights and vague dreams and very public visits, Rodney limps slowly into John's room.
This is as much trying as John can do. He doesn't realize it yet but he's got to be met halfway. I wanted it to be less time, but my brain wouldn't let Rodney recover any faster.
"Should you be up?" John asks, already bringing a chair over for Rodney to sit in.
Rodney waves it away. "You know, I've never broken up with someone I'm not seeing before, but with you, I'm willing to make an exception."
Humor masking pain. No, I don't channel that man at all. *cough*McKay-Sue*cough*. Rodney's done with the not talking about it thing, as it apparently doesn't work very well when not everyone gets with the program.
"I--" John starts, but finds himself being poked in the chest before he can continue.
"That was cruel," Rodney says, "what you did, that was cruel and I thought better of you."
I like this line because it's an incredibly cutting thing to say to someone like John. At least in combination. John jokes and teases and mocks but he's not cruel for cruel's sake. And then telling him that you think better of him is like twisting the knife on a guy who always tries to do the honorable thing.
I had Rodney say it because as most people with what they feel is a hopelessly one sided unrequited thing it doesn't occur to him that it's possibly not so unrequited. His instinct is to protect and with Rodney's that translates to attack. With words.
It's really Rodney's worst fear come to life here. His own personal feelings used against him.
"I wasn’t--"
"No, you weren't," Rodney interrupts again, "and I'd kindly appreciate it if you don’t ever do that again."
"Rodney!" John snaps, gratified when the other man finally looks like he's stopping. "I wasn't," he doesn't have the words, he barely has the thought, but he knows that this is the moment he needs to express something, so he reaches out, fingertips against skin on Rodney's neck. "No cruelty intended."
John's not there yet, but he wants Rodney to know he's not in that other place, where he was just using Rodney's feelings against him.
Rodney makes a choked off sound in the back of his throat. "Oh god, I'm going to have to *train* you, assuming you don't just breakdown halfway through and--"
Possibly my most favorite line in the story. Because Rodney would totally skip over everything else and move onto his own possibly pain. Really. Also, it's funny.
John's fingers find their way to Rodney's lips, halting their litany, mostly because he can't really listen to any more of it without it feeling all too real. He lets them rest there long enough for Rodney to get the hint before letting them slide around, the tingle of stubble rough against his palm, and then finally soft hair and the nape of a neck. One step forward has them touching, pressing against each other carefully. Mindful of Rodney's still healing injury, John carefully puts his lips to Rodney's.
Another deep noise, harsh and sharp from Rodney. John swallows it, tasting Rodney, slowly kissing him, lips gliding and catching and moving gently. It's devastatingly soft and sweet and Rodney's lips cling to his perfectly. It's the best kiss John has ever had.
The first kiss. I was… unsure how to write this. Because well. I was damnit. I wanted it to be a jumble of unfamiliar sensations surrounding something that was familiar. Emotions and feelings versus stubble and muscle.
Rodney's hands are like steel on John's arms, holding tightly, halfway between pushing him away and drawing him closer. They end the kiss softly. Rodney looks tired and flushed and weary and just a little bit elated.
Here's where we start to get an inkling of Rodney's internal process. I wanted to show his own reservations and fears.
It's the most natural thing in the world to gather Rodney up into his arms, to let his hands slide around his waist slowly, feeling deliberately what he had been ignoring before. Rodney rests his forehead on John's, shaking his head mutely.
"Not cruel," John says again, because it's the closest he can get to what he means.
Here is where I've turned 'Not Cruel' into 'Might love you' or something similar. It was on purpose. These guys will never just out and out say it. It's not how they operate. They're crap communicators (why are they on a first contact team again?) and more often than not they do or say one thing to show and express another. It's less scary to call someone an idiot than to tell them you appreciate them.
"Yeah," Rodney says, "I'm getting that." He punctuates it with a yawn.
John leads Rodney to his bed, swallows heavily as Rodney settles in but he's so happy that Rodney is there, alive and breathing and crumpling his covers that the panic recedes almost instantly. They sleep, propped together on John's bed, Rodney on his back and John draped carefully over his healthy side.
In crack fic world there would have been a handjob or something. In Trying Not to Freak Out World, just getting used to someone sleeping next to you can be a trial. Also I wanted to show a bit of clinging. Something along the lines of "oh thank god you're not dead" and give John another baby step to take.
Originally this is where the fic stopped when it was sent off to beta. It knew this wasn't going to be the *actual* ending. But it was the end of the structured story as I had it planned. Also, it needed some tough poking in some places (mostly with body placement and stuff) and I wanted to make sure that was well on its way while I thought. I'm good a multitasking I tell you, really I am.
******
The surprise comes when John realizes that nothing changes. They don't stare at each other across their pudding, well they do, but the googoo eyes have apparently always been there because no one's commenting or looking at them strangely. That alone is just a little disturbing.
Again the reference back to normalcy. Here's I guess where I sum it up and frame it with a neon sign. Also, the last line of that paragraph was very important. It reads like a throwaway but it wasn’t' supposed to. It's just another moment of John getting hit over the head with the fact that this was going on before he ever had any clue.
They hang out and complain about each other, to each other, with each other. They watch movies and get into trouble and harass Elizabeth for permission to do stupid things like trying to fly a jumper under water.
Only now Rodney follows John into his room or vice versa and John gets to fly without leaving the ground. Rodney's hands make him instantly hard with a touch to his chest or waist, his lips are perfect and soft and make the best noises. They lie in bed pressing against each other, all soft sounds and gentle motions, and John gets the distinct feeling that Rodney is teaching him all sorts of things he won't appreciate until later. Later, when he finally gets over the shivery feeling of another man's cock pressed into his thigh, or his hands running over a flat chest. Or the distinctly masculine moans that Rodney makes when John finds that wonderfully sensitive spot on the side of his neck.
He still freaks out; just about every day there's a moment where he asks himself what he's doing; a moment when the thought of wrapping his hand around another guy's cock just makes him want to scream out loud and lock himself in his room.
Again with the decision wavering. I wanted it this late in the game. I wanted to remind the readers that it's not all hunky dorey for John now. It's still fucked up and scary and every day he's reminded of why and how etc.
Rodney takes it all in stride, rolling his eyes, pushing him around and then sinking to his knees in front of John. John finds Rodney's mouth was made for his cock, warm and wet and sweet, sweet suction that makes him lose brain cells. Then he sees it; Rodney looks up, uncertainty in his eyes as his cheeks puff and hollow, checking and looking for John's enjoyment.
There needed to be some gay smut. I felt John had to be shown to have gotten at least this far. Otherwise the story would have felt incomplete. Despite the fact that him receiving a blow job from Rodney might seem passive it's a much larger step than any of the other's he's taken. Because he's watching and he's aware and it turns him on and makes him a little bit crazy.
They're both afraid and that's probably the most reassuring thing yet.
The ending line almost seemed too pat to me. Too much like a moral to the story. But I think it worked because it sort of… outlined the whole issue. It's almost like a minimap for a relationship. It's nice and openended and let's the reader know that all the scary shit is far from over. And I like that in an ending.
THE END
I didn't directly deal with Don't Ask Don't Tell because I thought that John's fear pretty much encompassed all that. I'm a DADT junky and usually I'd have mentioned it in some manner. But it tends to take over a story and while I don't say it, I figured it could be assumed that it's all part and parcel of the bigger picture.