ficlet
Since my recent tragic laptop event killed my first versions of all my mcsheplets prompts, I've been reconstructing them slowly. Here's "irresistable," PG-ish, set in the colony!verse, with a few minor references to the events there, though it mostly stands alone. Table here. McKay/Sheppard.
After John's near-death Indiana Jones impression, Rodney gets - weird. Given how weird their relationship was before, that's saying something.
"Look, Sheppard, all I'm saying is that what you're asking is completely - completely - " Rodney trails off, midsentence, and John glances up from the emergency display in front of them to find Rodney's eyes lingering on his mouth. In the middle of the gateroom. Christ.
"McKay?"
" - completely against the laws of physics," Rodney finishes as though he never stopped, "But if I reroute the power through - " and he's muttering under his breath, fingers flying over the keyboard. John steps back and lets him work, reassured at the normalcy of it.
He'd swear, if asked, that he can still feel the heat of Rodney's gaze on his lips for days.
They don't talk about this - this thing between them. It's easier to pretend it's not there, that way. John breaks the military's rules when he has to, yeah, but for the first three years they were on Atlantis, John couldn't even conceive of breaking this one.
Atlantis, though, follows a different set of rules now, and John's other excuses are wearing thin, even in his own head.
"Come on, Rodney, let's get moving," John says, offering his hand to pull Rodney to his feet.
Rodney stands with a groan, sweaty fingers slippery in John's dirt-crusted palm. He's bitching about something: the improbability of how many planets are covered in earthlike trees, the weather, the distance to the gate, John's not really listening, because Rodney's hand is still holding on to his. It's not like it was in the infirmary, a swift pressure and fleeting warmth. It's real, and solid, and the fact that Rodney isn't letting go makes something in John's chest ache.
Rodney's flow of words finally cuts off as he seems to realize that they're practically holding hands in the woods with Ronon standing not ten feet away. For a long moment Rodney stares at their hands, and John can't figure out why his arm is ignoring his commands to pull away.
Finally, Rodney looks up into John's eyes and squeezes his hand - deliberately, consciously, with full intent - before releasing him.
The relief John expected to feel doesn't ever come, replaced instead by an achingly phantom touch.
They've been dancing around this thing - no. John's a big boy, he can call this by its name. He and Rodney have been dancing around this attraction for five years now, and with every passing day John feels like he can remember fewer and fewer reasons why it's a bad idea.
The scales just keep shifting, shifting, shifting. Towards Rodney.
"Rodney, you didn't," Teyla says in a tone that means she knows without a doubt he did.
"Well - yeah. I did," Rodney admits from John's bed, and when John tilts his head back to look, he finds Rodney's cheeks stained pink, a wry smile twisting his lips. "Which is probably why she refused to ever go out with me again."
"Oh, Rodney," Teyla sighs, half laughing as she leans across Ronon to grab for the popcorn. "We have all done ridiculous things in the process of courting, I think."
"I haven't," Ronon says, holding the popcorn bowl away from Teyla so she has to climb half over him to get it. Which, of course, she does, stealing the whole bowl and joining Rodney on the bed, out of Ronon's reach.
"Bullshit," John answers, and feels Rodney's hand come down to rest on the back of his neck. He tells himself it's not a big deal - they're friends, buddies, they touch each other casually all the time. Except Rodney's hand doesn't move away - just rests there. Ronon's still smirking, and John adds, "Everybody acts like an ass when it comes to this stuff."
"Oh, yeah? What about you?"
Ronon apparently doesn't think John's willing to humiliate himself in front of his team. He's wrong.
"I was seventeen," John says with a grin, slouching further back against the bed and hoping the movement will dislodge Rodney's hand. It doesn't, and John tries not to think about the fact that he's relieved. "We'd just moved to Austin that summer. Debbie was in a bunch of my classes..."
He can't relax as he tells the story. It's like all of his nerves are hyperfocused on the few inches of skin Rodney's in contact with, his entire center of gravity climbing up to meet Rodney's touch. John can't tell if the weird feeling in his stomach is from talking about his first disastrous date with Debbie, who four and a half years later would marry him, or if it's from the way Rodney is taking a casual touch and stretching it out into exaggeration, parody. By the time he's done talking, he's buckling under the weight of Rodney's hand.
It doesn't happen dramatically, when it finally does happen. It's just another night, another moment, another touch, and that last weight moves to the other side of the scale, balance irretrievably altered. For the first time, John thinks there's no reason that could possibly outweigh the startling brightness of Rodney's eyes meeting his in the dark.
"What, you didn't bring me any?" There's no bite in Rodney's voice, though, and he crosses the balcony to lean against the railing beside John.
"Wasn't expecting company," John says, extending the Athosian hooch like an offering. Rodney reaches for it, and their fingers brush on the bottleneck.
John's gaze jerks up to meet Rodney's, and something sparks, a jolt spiralling up through John's hand into his arm, shoulder, chest, belly. Rodney's wide-eyed in the dim starlight, and they just look at each other for a minute, fingers twitching around against the glass until it drops, shatters on the floor. Neither of them even glances down - John can't tear his eyes away from Rodney's as their hands fold in on each other. John can't remember why he should let go.
"Yeah?" Rodney finally asks, voice cracking a little.
John leans forward, slowly, but freezes before he can complete the motion. Rodney, face soft with something John can't name, meets him halfway, chapped, damp lips against his own, noses tucked in beside each other, and then their joined hands are moving, Rodney curling his fingers along the curve of John's skull where it meets his neck, John shielding Rodney's hand with his own.
Where we are in the universe, John thinks, and a million shards of light pinwheel into orbit around the places where skin and bone and blood press haltingly together.
After John's near-death Indiana Jones impression, Rodney gets - weird. Given how weird their relationship was before, that's saying something.
"Look, Sheppard, all I'm saying is that what you're asking is completely - completely - " Rodney trails off, midsentence, and John glances up from the emergency display in front of them to find Rodney's eyes lingering on his mouth. In the middle of the gateroom. Christ.
"McKay?"
" - completely against the laws of physics," Rodney finishes as though he never stopped, "But if I reroute the power through - " and he's muttering under his breath, fingers flying over the keyboard. John steps back and lets him work, reassured at the normalcy of it.
He'd swear, if asked, that he can still feel the heat of Rodney's gaze on his lips for days.
They don't talk about this - this thing between them. It's easier to pretend it's not there, that way. John breaks the military's rules when he has to, yeah, but for the first three years they were on Atlantis, John couldn't even conceive of breaking this one.
Atlantis, though, follows a different set of rules now, and John's other excuses are wearing thin, even in his own head.
"Come on, Rodney, let's get moving," John says, offering his hand to pull Rodney to his feet.
Rodney stands with a groan, sweaty fingers slippery in John's dirt-crusted palm. He's bitching about something: the improbability of how many planets are covered in earthlike trees, the weather, the distance to the gate, John's not really listening, because Rodney's hand is still holding on to his. It's not like it was in the infirmary, a swift pressure and fleeting warmth. It's real, and solid, and the fact that Rodney isn't letting go makes something in John's chest ache.
Rodney's flow of words finally cuts off as he seems to realize that they're practically holding hands in the woods with Ronon standing not ten feet away. For a long moment Rodney stares at their hands, and John can't figure out why his arm is ignoring his commands to pull away.
Finally, Rodney looks up into John's eyes and squeezes his hand - deliberately, consciously, with full intent - before releasing him.
The relief John expected to feel doesn't ever come, replaced instead by an achingly phantom touch.
They've been dancing around this thing - no. John's a big boy, he can call this by its name. He and Rodney have been dancing around this attraction for five years now, and with every passing day John feels like he can remember fewer and fewer reasons why it's a bad idea.
The scales just keep shifting, shifting, shifting. Towards Rodney.
"Rodney, you didn't," Teyla says in a tone that means she knows without a doubt he did.
"Well - yeah. I did," Rodney admits from John's bed, and when John tilts his head back to look, he finds Rodney's cheeks stained pink, a wry smile twisting his lips. "Which is probably why she refused to ever go out with me again."
"Oh, Rodney," Teyla sighs, half laughing as she leans across Ronon to grab for the popcorn. "We have all done ridiculous things in the process of courting, I think."
"I haven't," Ronon says, holding the popcorn bowl away from Teyla so she has to climb half over him to get it. Which, of course, she does, stealing the whole bowl and joining Rodney on the bed, out of Ronon's reach.
"Bullshit," John answers, and feels Rodney's hand come down to rest on the back of his neck. He tells himself it's not a big deal - they're friends, buddies, they touch each other casually all the time. Except Rodney's hand doesn't move away - just rests there. Ronon's still smirking, and John adds, "Everybody acts like an ass when it comes to this stuff."
"Oh, yeah? What about you?"
Ronon apparently doesn't think John's willing to humiliate himself in front of his team. He's wrong.
"I was seventeen," John says with a grin, slouching further back against the bed and hoping the movement will dislodge Rodney's hand. It doesn't, and John tries not to think about the fact that he's relieved. "We'd just moved to Austin that summer. Debbie was in a bunch of my classes..."
He can't relax as he tells the story. It's like all of his nerves are hyperfocused on the few inches of skin Rodney's in contact with, his entire center of gravity climbing up to meet Rodney's touch. John can't tell if the weird feeling in his stomach is from talking about his first disastrous date with Debbie, who four and a half years later would marry him, or if it's from the way Rodney is taking a casual touch and stretching it out into exaggeration, parody. By the time he's done talking, he's buckling under the weight of Rodney's hand.
It doesn't happen dramatically, when it finally does happen. It's just another night, another moment, another touch, and that last weight moves to the other side of the scale, balance irretrievably altered. For the first time, John thinks there's no reason that could possibly outweigh the startling brightness of Rodney's eyes meeting his in the dark.
"What, you didn't bring me any?" There's no bite in Rodney's voice, though, and he crosses the balcony to lean against the railing beside John.
"Wasn't expecting company," John says, extending the Athosian hooch like an offering. Rodney reaches for it, and their fingers brush on the bottleneck.
John's gaze jerks up to meet Rodney's, and something sparks, a jolt spiralling up through John's hand into his arm, shoulder, chest, belly. Rodney's wide-eyed in the dim starlight, and they just look at each other for a minute, fingers twitching around against the glass until it drops, shatters on the floor. Neither of them even glances down - John can't tear his eyes away from Rodney's as their hands fold in on each other. John can't remember why he should let go.
"Yeah?" Rodney finally asks, voice cracking a little.
John leans forward, slowly, but freezes before he can complete the motion. Rodney, face soft with something John can't name, meets him halfway, chapped, damp lips against his own, noses tucked in beside each other, and then their joined hands are moving, Rodney curling his fingers along the curve of John's skull where it meets his neck, John shielding Rodney's hand with his own.
Where we are in the universe, John thinks, and a million shards of light pinwheel into orbit around the places where skin and bone and blood press haltingly together.