More SGA fic~
Title: Happiness, or something like that
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Pairing: John/Rodney
Warnings: None, worksafe.
Spoilers: None
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~1500
Summary: John is so happy, he can hardly think straight.
Notes: Total fluff, because I wanted to experiment with writing them in the early stages of a relationship. ...And I wanted to write about John being happy. ^_~ It could also be seen as a bit of an epilogue to this fic, but it totally stands alone too. *nod* Comments and thoughts are always greatly appreciated. :)
(x-posted to mckay_sheppard)
John is, with Rodney… Well, it’s hard to put into words, as most things like this are, but being like this, and this thing with Rodney, being able to tell him about it, and having Rodney understand and want it too, well… John is so happy, he can hardly think straight.
He’s been gliding through meetings, and briefings, and off-world missions in this kind of weird protective bubble--hell, he’s even perfectly content getting his paperwork in on time, that’s how untouchable, and how completely euphoric John has been feeling for the past few weeks.
It’s more than just being in a great mood though; it’s more basic than that, something like what John imagines inner peace might feel like, though he’s not really sure because there has never really been much peace in John’s life, inner, or otherwise.
John remembers the look on Rodney’s face the day they first met, when John sat in the ancient chair and everything lit up around them, remembers the look in Rodney’s eyes then, of hope and yes and finally, with the stars spread above them like suddenly anything was possible.
John guesses being with Rodney is something like that, maybe. Something like finally falling into the place where you’re supposed to fit, or something.
The fact that he actually tries to explain this theory to Rodney one night over one too many beers on the pier again (turns out six-packs weren’t actually all that hard to come by if you knew the right people to talk to) cements in John’s mind the fact that…he’s finally lost it for good.
“So basically, you’re saying that I turn you on?” Rodney asks, nonplussed. “That is what you just told me, right? As long as I’m translating that correctly, that’s what you said, and I’d like to think that I’ve become fairly fluent in my John-Sheppardese as of late.”
John raises an eyebrow, and then narrows his eyes. “Not exactly.”
“What? I’m wrong? How can I be wrong? I was there that day too, you know, I think I--” Rodney snaps his fingers. “Oh, oh, oh, you mean happy.”
John raises his eyebrows skeptically. “It’s a little more than that. I’m happy when we get to come out here for an hour without some emergency radio call interrupting us-"
Rodney puts up a hand. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m flattered, really. And, well, you make me happy too. So we’re even.”
“Really?” John asks, taking another sip of beer. His chest feels pleasantly warm, despite the slightly cool breeze brushing past his cheek.
“Really, we’re even, really, or are you honestly doubting the fact that you make me happy, because--”
John’s having a hard time listening, as opposed to just staring at Rodney’s profile in the moonlight--the way the light’s reflecting off his lips is really pretty distracting. Eventually he sets his can of beer aside and moves a little closer to Rodney, watching the other man’s eyes darken a little, as he leans in for a closer look.
“Oh,” Rodney says, and John watches in something like anticipation as all Rodney’s energy, and all of that intensity suddenly takes a turn inward, suddenly focuses on him, on them.
Rodney’s eyes flutter closed as John moves to press their lips together. The alcohol is making him a little bolder than usual, but he figures it’s okay, just this once. Sure they’re outside, but no one comes out here but them anyway, and even if someone did, they’d be able to hear the swish of the transport in plenty of time. Probably.
The thing is, he wants Rodney so badly, he doubts he could stop it from happening even if he wanted to. John wants to kiss him, to touch him, wants to feel Rodney fall apart under his fingers, wants everything, all at once. Sometimes John thinks he’d give Rodney anything, anything he wants, if it means that they don’t ever have to stop this, if it means that he can have Rodney like this, pressed against him, whenever he wants, just breathing him in, and--
It’s not until Rodney pushes away from him for a moment that John realizes he’s actually been saying some--okay, all--of this out loud, because Rodney’s staring at him with a look that’s equal parts touched, turned on, and completely surprised.
“Wow, okay, remind me again how many drinks it takes to get you talking like this? Because this is really--”
“Four. Give or take,” John says, nuzzling into Rodney’s neck. This really isn’t supposed to be so easy. He nibbles a little on Rodney’s earlobe, just because it’s there, and because he can.
Rodney squirms a little, and lets out a quick laugh. “I’ll remember that,” he says, before John fits their mouths together again, and everything goes quiet for a while.
“God, John--" Rodney says a moment later, breaking away from the kiss, which had turned into something a little more like a tongue-wrestling battle (John was winning) than a kiss, his voice gravelly, and low.
John’s never heard Rodney sound quite like this before, and it makes the breath hitch in his chest and sends such a strong jolt of heat to his groin that he can’t help but make a completely undignified, strangled sound into Rodney’s mouth as he reclaims his lips again, briefly, before closing his eyes, and forcing himself to pull away long enough to look at Rodney, really look at him, make sure Rodney’s really there, and that he’s not just imagining this whole thing. He knows he’s not (it’s been something like three weeks, after all) but sometimes reminding himself seems like the smart thing to do, just in case.
“Rodney, I--” He swallows, his eyes scanning Rodney’s face. “I want to--”
“Yeah, sure, whatever you want, John,” Rodney says urgently, seriously. “Let’s just--"
John nods, and starts to pick up everything they’d brought out there with them, empty cans, a bag of chips, his jacket, which he’d taken off a while ago. He’s trying to move quickly but his brain is still mostly offline, thinking about Rodney’s lips, his shoulders, his warm hands, how much John wants to get back to his quarters, or Rodney’s quarters, or anywhere that’s a little more private so he can just take him in his mouth and--
“John.” Rodney’s voice is muffled against John’s back and John can feel his breath through his shirt--warm, moist, warm--and his chest tightens a little, surprised by the sudden affection. He closes his eyes and the lights of the city around them turn into dull specks behind his eyelids. He has the brief, strange feeling that he’d lose his balance without Rodney’s tight grip around his chest. It’s as if all the fight has drained out of him in an instant, bringing instead a calm that John’s never quite felt before, but it feels good, almost cleansing, in a strange way.
“John,” Rodney says again, his voice quiet. “I just… I know it hasn’t been that long, and you’re my best friend, so I really want this to work, and, god, you know I’d do anything, really, but I want you to know that this isn’t-- That I wouldn’t, with you, if I didn’t really, really-- So, John, I...” Rodney holds him a little tighter for a second, and then John can feel Rodney’s arms stiffen around him, can feel him shake his head. “God, what’s wrong with me? I’m sorry, I must be-- God.” He lets go, with an awkward almost-shove, and John turns around to face him, slowly. “I totally just ruined the mood, didn’t I,” Rodney says, looking a little miserable.
John smiles, because, well, yes, but who cares?
“I’m sure we can get it back,” he says, eyes dancing, a huge stupid grin on his face that he can’t suppress even though he knows Rodney hates it when John’s amused and he’s, well, not.
“Easy for you to say! You didn’t just make an overly sentimental ass-- Well, okay, maybe you did a little too, but at least you were kind of sexy about it instead of sounding like some kind of--"
“Hey.”
Rodney’s eyes snap up to meet John’s, and there’s a moment of understanding there, something between them that finishes all the unfinished thoughts, a sort of unspoken we’re cool, because, hey, no matter how good things are, sometimes you just need a little reassurance.
“What?” Rodney finally says, letting out a long breath.
“Do I look like I’m complaining?”
Rodney rolls his eyes. “You look drunk.”
“I do not,” John counters, mock-offended.
“Whatever, Mr. Dirty Talk after a few drinks.”
John just grins, unfazed. He raises his eyebrows. “See, I told you we’d get that mood back.”
When John realizes he’s actually left Rodney speechless for a second, his grin becomes even wider.
“Race you back to my quarters?” he says, barely stopping to look behind him before he breaks into a jog, because really, there's no question.
Rodney’s got his back.
***
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Pairing: John/Rodney
Warnings: None, worksafe.
Spoilers: None
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~1500
Summary: John is so happy, he can hardly think straight.
Notes: Total fluff, because I wanted to experiment with writing them in the early stages of a relationship. ...And I wanted to write about John being happy. ^_~ It could also be seen as a bit of an epilogue to this fic, but it totally stands alone too. *nod* Comments and thoughts are always greatly appreciated. :)
(x-posted to mckay_sheppard)
John is, with Rodney… Well, it’s hard to put into words, as most things like this are, but being like this, and this thing with Rodney, being able to tell him about it, and having Rodney understand and want it too, well… John is so happy, he can hardly think straight.
He’s been gliding through meetings, and briefings, and off-world missions in this kind of weird protective bubble--hell, he’s even perfectly content getting his paperwork in on time, that’s how untouchable, and how completely euphoric John has been feeling for the past few weeks.
It’s more than just being in a great mood though; it’s more basic than that, something like what John imagines inner peace might feel like, though he’s not really sure because there has never really been much peace in John’s life, inner, or otherwise.
John remembers the look on Rodney’s face the day they first met, when John sat in the ancient chair and everything lit up around them, remembers the look in Rodney’s eyes then, of hope and yes and finally, with the stars spread above them like suddenly anything was possible.
John guesses being with Rodney is something like that, maybe. Something like finally falling into the place where you’re supposed to fit, or something.
The fact that he actually tries to explain this theory to Rodney one night over one too many beers on the pier again (turns out six-packs weren’t actually all that hard to come by if you knew the right people to talk to) cements in John’s mind the fact that…he’s finally lost it for good.
“So basically, you’re saying that I turn you on?” Rodney asks, nonplussed. “That is what you just told me, right? As long as I’m translating that correctly, that’s what you said, and I’d like to think that I’ve become fairly fluent in my John-Sheppardese as of late.”
John raises an eyebrow, and then narrows his eyes. “Not exactly.”
“What? I’m wrong? How can I be wrong? I was there that day too, you know, I think I--” Rodney snaps his fingers. “Oh, oh, oh, you mean happy.”
John raises his eyebrows skeptically. “It’s a little more than that. I’m happy when we get to come out here for an hour without some emergency radio call interrupting us-"
Rodney puts up a hand. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m flattered, really. And, well, you make me happy too. So we’re even.”
“Really?” John asks, taking another sip of beer. His chest feels pleasantly warm, despite the slightly cool breeze brushing past his cheek.
“Really, we’re even, really, or are you honestly doubting the fact that you make me happy, because--”
John’s having a hard time listening, as opposed to just staring at Rodney’s profile in the moonlight--the way the light’s reflecting off his lips is really pretty distracting. Eventually he sets his can of beer aside and moves a little closer to Rodney, watching the other man’s eyes darken a little, as he leans in for a closer look.
“Oh,” Rodney says, and John watches in something like anticipation as all Rodney’s energy, and all of that intensity suddenly takes a turn inward, suddenly focuses on him, on them.
Rodney’s eyes flutter closed as John moves to press their lips together. The alcohol is making him a little bolder than usual, but he figures it’s okay, just this once. Sure they’re outside, but no one comes out here but them anyway, and even if someone did, they’d be able to hear the swish of the transport in plenty of time. Probably.
The thing is, he wants Rodney so badly, he doubts he could stop it from happening even if he wanted to. John wants to kiss him, to touch him, wants to feel Rodney fall apart under his fingers, wants everything, all at once. Sometimes John thinks he’d give Rodney anything, anything he wants, if it means that they don’t ever have to stop this, if it means that he can have Rodney like this, pressed against him, whenever he wants, just breathing him in, and--
It’s not until Rodney pushes away from him for a moment that John realizes he’s actually been saying some--okay, all--of this out loud, because Rodney’s staring at him with a look that’s equal parts touched, turned on, and completely surprised.
“Wow, okay, remind me again how many drinks it takes to get you talking like this? Because this is really--”
“Four. Give or take,” John says, nuzzling into Rodney’s neck. This really isn’t supposed to be so easy. He nibbles a little on Rodney’s earlobe, just because it’s there, and because he can.
Rodney squirms a little, and lets out a quick laugh. “I’ll remember that,” he says, before John fits their mouths together again, and everything goes quiet for a while.
“God, John--" Rodney says a moment later, breaking away from the kiss, which had turned into something a little more like a tongue-wrestling battle (John was winning) than a kiss, his voice gravelly, and low.
John’s never heard Rodney sound quite like this before, and it makes the breath hitch in his chest and sends such a strong jolt of heat to his groin that he can’t help but make a completely undignified, strangled sound into Rodney’s mouth as he reclaims his lips again, briefly, before closing his eyes, and forcing himself to pull away long enough to look at Rodney, really look at him, make sure Rodney’s really there, and that he’s not just imagining this whole thing. He knows he’s not (it’s been something like three weeks, after all) but sometimes reminding himself seems like the smart thing to do, just in case.
“Rodney, I--” He swallows, his eyes scanning Rodney’s face. “I want to--”
“Yeah, sure, whatever you want, John,” Rodney says urgently, seriously. “Let’s just--"
John nods, and starts to pick up everything they’d brought out there with them, empty cans, a bag of chips, his jacket, which he’d taken off a while ago. He’s trying to move quickly but his brain is still mostly offline, thinking about Rodney’s lips, his shoulders, his warm hands, how much John wants to get back to his quarters, or Rodney’s quarters, or anywhere that’s a little more private so he can just take him in his mouth and--
“John.” Rodney’s voice is muffled against John’s back and John can feel his breath through his shirt--warm, moist, warm--and his chest tightens a little, surprised by the sudden affection. He closes his eyes and the lights of the city around them turn into dull specks behind his eyelids. He has the brief, strange feeling that he’d lose his balance without Rodney’s tight grip around his chest. It’s as if all the fight has drained out of him in an instant, bringing instead a calm that John’s never quite felt before, but it feels good, almost cleansing, in a strange way.
“John,” Rodney says again, his voice quiet. “I just… I know it hasn’t been that long, and you’re my best friend, so I really want this to work, and, god, you know I’d do anything, really, but I want you to know that this isn’t-- That I wouldn’t, with you, if I didn’t really, really-- So, John, I...” Rodney holds him a little tighter for a second, and then John can feel Rodney’s arms stiffen around him, can feel him shake his head. “God, what’s wrong with me? I’m sorry, I must be-- God.” He lets go, with an awkward almost-shove, and John turns around to face him, slowly. “I totally just ruined the mood, didn’t I,” Rodney says, looking a little miserable.
John smiles, because, well, yes, but who cares?
“I’m sure we can get it back,” he says, eyes dancing, a huge stupid grin on his face that he can’t suppress even though he knows Rodney hates it when John’s amused and he’s, well, not.
“Easy for you to say! You didn’t just make an overly sentimental ass-- Well, okay, maybe you did a little too, but at least you were kind of sexy about it instead of sounding like some kind of--"
“Hey.”
Rodney’s eyes snap up to meet John’s, and there’s a moment of understanding there, something between them that finishes all the unfinished thoughts, a sort of unspoken we’re cool, because, hey, no matter how good things are, sometimes you just need a little reassurance.
“What?” Rodney finally says, letting out a long breath.
“Do I look like I’m complaining?”
Rodney rolls his eyes. “You look drunk.”
“I do not,” John counters, mock-offended.
“Whatever, Mr. Dirty Talk after a few drinks.”
John just grins, unfazed. He raises his eyebrows. “See, I told you we’d get that mood back.”
When John realizes he’s actually left Rodney speechless for a second, his grin becomes even wider.
“Race you back to my quarters?” he says, barely stopping to look behind him before he breaks into a jog, because really, there's no question.
Rodney’s got his back.
***