Fic: SGA: Checkmate 'Verse: The Importance of Waffles in the Scheme of Things
Title: The Importance of Waffles in the Scheme of Things
Series: Checkmate 'Verse
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Rating: G
Spoilers/Warnings:None
Unbeta'd
Summary: John and Rodney and a post cat-to-human change Sunday morning.
Author's note: Originally written for sheafrotherdon's Sunday Morning Festival. Reposted here to archive with other Checkmate fics. There is also a blink-and-you'll-miss-it reference to my Take Out 'verse.
~*~*~*~*~*~
John creaked in, looking stoic, manly and unattractively sweaty.
“Nice workout?” Rodney said mildly. He was of the opinion that Teyla and Ronon beat on John far too hard, but that conversation had been tabled for the time being on account of John being pigheaded. It was not going to be tabled for long.
“Ugh,” John groaned and headed straight to the bathroom. Rodney narrowed his eyes and stared at the door after John had disappeared through it.
Also, working up that kind of sweat was not Rodney’s concept of a Sunday morning in any galaxy, unless, you know, immanent doom was at hand. Or maybe the last of the ginger ice cream at that chinese place in New England. That stuff on a waffle with some raspberries was the essence of Sunday morning. Waffles, mmm. He looked toward the covered tray on his desk and firmly told himself to wait.
Observed, Rodney thought, John’s quarters are closer to Teyla’s gym; John was tired, hurting and probably feeling a little sorry for himself; John came here, even though he knew Rodney’s views on how hard he trained. Conclusion: John chose this location despite discomfort and embarrassment.
Huh. That, my friends, Rodney said to himself, terribly pleased, counts as a win. It might be easier to convince John to move in than he thought. Win. Win. Win.
Or, John was concerned that he’d stiffen up too much to get meet to Rodney’s quarters for laziness and breakfast as they had planned. Either way. He was here.
He got some of John’s boxers and t-shirt that had migrated to his laundry and put them in the bathroom and went back to work with a happy little hum. (It wasn’t actually work work; just some things he was playing around with. Okay. Maybe a great big laser cannon for John’s birthday. Not that he would admit that aloud.)
A short while later, John came out, still moving slowly, but with something close to his normal slink. He flopped onto the bed and rolled to his side, moaning happily.
“Bed,” he sighed blissfully. “Beeeeeed.”
Snorting, Rodney put his computer aside and schooched down on the bed to lie beside him.
John, eyes half closed, smiled and stretched, belly arching toward Rodney, a move that Rodney couldn’t help but be charmed by whether John was man or cat. He leaned in to capture John’s delectable lower lip and John hummed happily. When the kiss ended, John sleepily smacked his lips and sighed, snuggling down into the pillow.
Rodney watched him, stroking his hand down John’s side as far as he could reach, slow and steady. John melted, his long body swaying closer until their bellies nearly touched.
Shifting carefully, Rodney inched closer until he could comfortably sweep his hand from John’s shoulder blades all the way down his spine and lower, to the tops of his thighs. Changing back had not made John any less eager to be petted. Rodney was happy to oblige.
“So,” he murmured, nosing John’s cheek, “breakfast.”
John whined and wiggled closer, the movement pushing up their shirts. John’s belly was warm and firm against Rodney’s and Rodney thought about stopping to take their shirts off, but he didn’t want to let go just yet.
Sighing, he nosed down John’s neck, which John obligingly arched for him. He lazily swept his lips up and down the long tendon, all while steadily smoothing his hand up and down John’s spine.
“Hmmmmmnnn.” John was blissed out and pliant in his arms.
“I’ve got waffles,” Rodney whispered, his voice surprisingly husky to his own ears. “Bluish-berry ones. And Jeannie sent me some maple syrup.”
John froze. He seemed to be thinking it over.
“We’ve got that heating thing, right?” John’s voice was sleep-low but hopeful.
“We’ve got the heating thing.”
John pressed his face against Rodney’s neck. “Feels so good,” he confessed. “Are you starving?”
Well. Rodney spared one tiny mental wail for his waffles, because he would do pretty much anything to keep a moment like this. John, warm and content, reacting as if Rodney’s touch was a necessary thing and the long drowsy possibility of Sunday stretching out before like a lazy cat in a sunbeam, like this man in his arms.
“Nope,” he said, letting John’s lazy gravitation pull him down and down, “I’m good.”
~*~*~*~*~*~
Series: Checkmate 'Verse
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Rating: G
Spoilers/Warnings:None
Unbeta'd
Summary: John and Rodney and a post cat-to-human change Sunday morning.
Author's note: Originally written for sheafrotherdon's Sunday Morning Festival. Reposted here to archive with other Checkmate fics. There is also a blink-and-you'll-miss-it reference to my Take Out 'verse.
~*~*~*~*~*~
John creaked in, looking stoic, manly and unattractively sweaty.
“Nice workout?” Rodney said mildly. He was of the opinion that Teyla and Ronon beat on John far too hard, but that conversation had been tabled for the time being on account of John being pigheaded. It was not going to be tabled for long.
“Ugh,” John groaned and headed straight to the bathroom. Rodney narrowed his eyes and stared at the door after John had disappeared through it.
Also, working up that kind of sweat was not Rodney’s concept of a Sunday morning in any galaxy, unless, you know, immanent doom was at hand. Or maybe the last of the ginger ice cream at that chinese place in New England. That stuff on a waffle with some raspberries was the essence of Sunday morning. Waffles, mmm. He looked toward the covered tray on his desk and firmly told himself to wait.
Observed, Rodney thought, John’s quarters are closer to Teyla’s gym; John was tired, hurting and probably feeling a little sorry for himself; John came here, even though he knew Rodney’s views on how hard he trained. Conclusion: John chose this location despite discomfort and embarrassment.
Huh. That, my friends, Rodney said to himself, terribly pleased, counts as a win. It might be easier to convince John to move in than he thought. Win. Win. Win.
Or, John was concerned that he’d stiffen up too much to get meet to Rodney’s quarters for laziness and breakfast as they had planned. Either way. He was here.
He got some of John’s boxers and t-shirt that had migrated to his laundry and put them in the bathroom and went back to work with a happy little hum. (It wasn’t actually work work; just some things he was playing around with. Okay. Maybe a great big laser cannon for John’s birthday. Not that he would admit that aloud.)
A short while later, John came out, still moving slowly, but with something close to his normal slink. He flopped onto the bed and rolled to his side, moaning happily.
“Bed,” he sighed blissfully. “Beeeeeed.”
Snorting, Rodney put his computer aside and schooched down on the bed to lie beside him.
John, eyes half closed, smiled and stretched, belly arching toward Rodney, a move that Rodney couldn’t help but be charmed by whether John was man or cat. He leaned in to capture John’s delectable lower lip and John hummed happily. When the kiss ended, John sleepily smacked his lips and sighed, snuggling down into the pillow.
Rodney watched him, stroking his hand down John’s side as far as he could reach, slow and steady. John melted, his long body swaying closer until their bellies nearly touched.
Shifting carefully, Rodney inched closer until he could comfortably sweep his hand from John’s shoulder blades all the way down his spine and lower, to the tops of his thighs. Changing back had not made John any less eager to be petted. Rodney was happy to oblige.
“So,” he murmured, nosing John’s cheek, “breakfast.”
John whined and wiggled closer, the movement pushing up their shirts. John’s belly was warm and firm against Rodney’s and Rodney thought about stopping to take their shirts off, but he didn’t want to let go just yet.
Sighing, he nosed down John’s neck, which John obligingly arched for him. He lazily swept his lips up and down the long tendon, all while steadily smoothing his hand up and down John’s spine.
“Hmmmmmnnn.” John was blissed out and pliant in his arms.
“I’ve got waffles,” Rodney whispered, his voice surprisingly husky to his own ears. “Bluish-berry ones. And Jeannie sent me some maple syrup.”
John froze. He seemed to be thinking it over.
“We’ve got that heating thing, right?” John’s voice was sleep-low but hopeful.
“We’ve got the heating thing.”
John pressed his face against Rodney’s neck. “Feels so good,” he confessed. “Are you starving?”
Well. Rodney spared one tiny mental wail for his waffles, because he would do pretty much anything to keep a moment like this. John, warm and content, reacting as if Rodney’s touch was a necessary thing and the long drowsy possibility of Sunday stretching out before like a lazy cat in a sunbeam, like this man in his arms.
“Nope,” he said, letting John’s lazy gravitation pull him down and down, “I’m good.”
~*~*~*~*~*~