SGA: Checkmate 'Verse: Body Language, Part 1
Title: Body Language, Part 1
Series: Checkmate 'Verse
Author: Beadattitude
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: AU, Animal Transformation, eventual slash (John/Rodney)
Warnings: None
Spoilers: None
Summary: John doesn't have to speak, or need to, get his point across. Well, none of them do, actually.
Author's note: This is to be a series of vignettes, scattered throughout the story, and this is the easiest one. The rest are kicking my fanny, dang it.
Day 20 - A remote corner of the mess hall
Rodney glanced up at the shadow falling across his keyboard and rolled his eyes. John flicked his ears in agreement and studiously avoided looking up at Ronon’s hand, which was hovering over his head, fingers flexing in a taunting manner.
Rodney tilted his head and raised his eyebrows. John shut his eyes tightly. Ronon’s hand remained where it was. Rodney moved his coffee to the other side of his laptop.
Slowly lowering one finger, Ronon poked John, once, in the head. John hunched, muscles under his skin twitching in exasperation. Ronon began another slow descent, finger extended. In the blink of an eye, John ducked under the questing hand, rolled, and stole the last sausage off Ronon's plate.
He dropped the sausage, planted one foot on it, bent his head and licked it. He finished this display with a death glare. Ronon glared back, picked up his knife and fork, twiddled his thumbs ostentatiously and began cutting up his melon and stuffing it in his mouth.
Rodney pointed to the hashed tubers stuck on John’s paw. John licked at it, made a face, licked at it again. He held out his paw toward Rodney to wipe off, glared at Ronon and gave Rodney a grateful glance when his paw was clean. Rodney pointed at John’s sausage with his knife, fork poised, ready to cut. John bit off a chunk and chewed it energetically, little bits of sausage falling from his mouth to the table.
Ronon scowled and cut his melon, his toast, his eggs, and his tubers, letting the cutlery clink loudly on his plate. He made a neat pile of food on his fork, speared it, dangled it elegantly between thumb and forefinger right in front of John’s nose, then popped it in his mouth. John took another messy, glaring bite of his sausage and smacked his lips loudly.
Rodney covered his eyes with his hand and sighed.
Series: Checkmate 'Verse
Author: Beadattitude
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: AU, Animal Transformation, eventual slash (John/Rodney)
Warnings: None
Spoilers: None
Summary: John doesn't have to speak, or need to, get his point across. Well, none of them do, actually.
Author's note: This is to be a series of vignettes, scattered throughout the story, and this is the easiest one. The rest are kicking my fanny, dang it.
Day 20 - A remote corner of the mess hall
Rodney glanced up at the shadow falling across his keyboard and rolled his eyes. John flicked his ears in agreement and studiously avoided looking up at Ronon’s hand, which was hovering over his head, fingers flexing in a taunting manner.
Rodney tilted his head and raised his eyebrows. John shut his eyes tightly. Ronon’s hand remained where it was. Rodney moved his coffee to the other side of his laptop.
Slowly lowering one finger, Ronon poked John, once, in the head. John hunched, muscles under his skin twitching in exasperation. Ronon began another slow descent, finger extended. In the blink of an eye, John ducked under the questing hand, rolled, and stole the last sausage off Ronon's plate.
He dropped the sausage, planted one foot on it, bent his head and licked it. He finished this display with a death glare. Ronon glared back, picked up his knife and fork, twiddled his thumbs ostentatiously and began cutting up his melon and stuffing it in his mouth.
Rodney pointed to the hashed tubers stuck on John’s paw. John licked at it, made a face, licked at it again. He held out his paw toward Rodney to wipe off, glared at Ronon and gave Rodney a grateful glance when his paw was clean. Rodney pointed at John’s sausage with his knife, fork poised, ready to cut. John bit off a chunk and chewed it energetically, little bits of sausage falling from his mouth to the table.
Ronon scowled and cut his melon, his toast, his eggs, and his tubers, letting the cutlery clink loudly on his plate. He made a neat pile of food on his fork, speared it, dangled it elegantly between thumb and forefinger right in front of John’s nose, then popped it in his mouth. John took another messy, glaring bite of his sausage and smacked his lips loudly.
Rodney covered his eyes with his hand and sighed.