SGA ficlet: And later, there will be time to be awake (J/R, g, 240 words)
This somehow came about from a prompt from pixiequeen10thk ([for your prompt,] my brain is going the way of Rodney's lovely soft belly and snuggling). This is not that story. This is just the story that came out of my fingers when I was supposed to be eating ice cream and then taking a nap and I happened to think about the prompt before taking my first bite of ice cream (it's now melted, I'll have you know).
I'm posting it as-is and without a betaing since otherwise I will do things to this story (like edit it again and think about what it means and where it's going and where it came from) and if I did that it would get bumped to the bottom of my fandom queue and then never get done. So, here, have a story! *pushes it at you* (ETA: Gah, I evidently fail at the 'just post it!' as I have now edited it twice more. I'm officially not editing it any more and I mean it this time!)
The tone of this story is slightly odd and I'm really not sure what I think of it-- I'm beginning to suspect that that is standard for me just-post-finishing a story.
As usual, any and all feedback/concrit/etc is welcome and adored.
Title: And later, there will be time to be awake.
by: fish-echo
Etc.: SGA, John Sheppard/Rodney McKay, G, 240 words
It is mornings later, John doesn't know how many, he likes it that way. No longer first, nor second, nor even tenth, just some unknown number that turns into a 'the', making it one of a continuous mornings.
It was in the morning.
He rolled over and there was Rodney. Still sleeping, mouth open (so he could breath in the knowledge of physics while he slept, in John's private opinion), hair sleepily askew, one arm tightening around John, the other bent over his head in an old gesture (a childhood barrier protecting him from lemon flavored nightmares). John captured Rodney's near leg with his own and went back to sleep.
Rodney woke up one morning when there was a small attack by a very pointy elbow. Really, it must have been more of a forward sortie because what actually woke up our Rodney was a warm-but-sharp-jointed blanket (too much exercise, too much worry, but mostly just his genes. And try as he could to rebel against his father and not talk about his mother, his DNA he couldn't leave behind. Nor would he want to. It made Atlantis sing beneath him and she warmed in his mind and held his people close. But he still had gangly knees.) Rodney smiled a contented smile as his angular blanket glomped onto him and he let his eyes go close.
There was still time to sleep.
I'm posting it as-is and without a betaing since otherwise I will do things to this story (like edit it again and think about what it means and where it's going and where it came from) and if I did that it would get bumped to the bottom of my fandom queue and then never get done. So, here, have a story! *pushes it at you* (ETA: Gah, I evidently fail at the 'just post it!' as I have now edited it twice more. I'm officially not editing it any more and I mean it this time!)
The tone of this story is slightly odd and I'm really not sure what I think of it-- I'm beginning to suspect that that is standard for me just-post-finishing a story.
As usual, any and all feedback/concrit/etc is welcome and adored.
Title: And later, there will be time to be awake.
by: fish-echo
Etc.: SGA, John Sheppard/Rodney McKay, G, 240 words
It is mornings later, John doesn't know how many, he likes it that way. No longer first, nor second, nor even tenth, just some unknown number that turns into a 'the', making it one of a continuous mornings.
It was in the morning.
He rolled over and there was Rodney. Still sleeping, mouth open (so he could breath in the knowledge of physics while he slept, in John's private opinion), hair sleepily askew, one arm tightening around John, the other bent over his head in an old gesture (a childhood barrier protecting him from lemon flavored nightmares). John captured Rodney's near leg with his own and went back to sleep.
Rodney woke up one morning when there was a small attack by a very pointy elbow. Really, it must have been more of a forward sortie because what actually woke up our Rodney was a warm-but-sharp-jointed blanket (too much exercise, too much worry, but mostly just his genes. And try as he could to rebel against his father and not talk about his mother, his DNA he couldn't leave behind. Nor would he want to. It made Atlantis sing beneath him and she warmed in his mind and held his people close. But he still had gangly knees.) Rodney smiled a contented smile as his angular blanket glomped onto him and he let his eyes go close.
There was still time to sleep.