Fic: Too Cliche or Not Too Cliche
Title: "Too Cliche or Not Too Cliche"
Spoilers: None
Pairing: McShep, hints of Dexett
Warnings: Crackfic, to the highest levels of crack!fic
AN: Written for lilithilien cause well, yeah. Bad days suck like...well, anything that sucks and they deserve crack!fic like nothing else deserves crack!fic.
“Oh, now this is just...”
Conversation screeched to a halt, Elizabeth Weir stopped mid-mediator and all eyes shifted to Rodney McKay who was performing rather remarkably a spitting image of the mad professor routine. Fingers jabbed at the keyboard a mile a minute and the scientist’s face grew alarmingly red - tomato, to be precise. Words poured from his lips and hand, two variations of a theme forming a harmony John Sheppard was certain would shatter glass of it hit the right pitch. Orchestral verbiage in comedic act. Just the kind of thing leaving John amused as hell and weak with relief that it wasn’t directed at him, for that tongue was razor sharp and the hands, well, Rodney’s hands could string a man from a light pole with one hand tied behind his back and he wouldn’t break a sweat...if the light pole happened to be a computer and the man an ASCII representation of a man.
“Rodney...”
“Insolent son of a social scientist. I’ve got more brains in my left toenail...in the clippings from my left toenail...”
“Rodney...”
“And to think he gets paid to think.” John watched, rather amazed as Rodney didn’t even pause to take a breath, simply touched his ear comm and shifted focus to one of more direct contact. “Kavanagh! Maybe I used words too large for you. Let me simplify. Unless otherwise instructed, do not think.....Stop. You’re attempting to think and I have evidence in my possession that for you, thinking does not work.....I don’t care if you thought you could increase the threshold to 62% and maintain a stable system. I returned your fixed equations on a silver platter and all you were required to do was use them to finish calculating drivepod output under duress. Instead of listening to the smartest man in two galaxies, you instead listened to a fifth year speak of a Flux Capacitor.....And neither do the physics in your equations! Lobotomized goats could don tutus and tapdance the math better than you. I-“
John watched with alarm as Rodney turned 12 shades of violent red then fell over with a hiss of escaping air. Carson Beckett, who had joined the staff meeting late after burning both ends of the candle trying to contain an outbreak of chickenpox among the Athosians, leapt to his feet and looked grim as he felt for Rodney’s pulse, then leaned close to Rodney’s lips to listen to the hiss direct from the source.
“Ach, the lad’s done it now. He blew a gasket.”
“He blew a what?”
“Is it serious?”
“Can it be fixed?”
Carson called for a gurney and while they waited, looked at each member, Teyla who was puzzled but concerned, Elizabeth who was pulling her constipated monkey look she wore whenever something distracted her audience from her speech of the day, Ronon looked amused, but then, Ronon always looked amused. Or straight-from-the-brothel-sexy. Oh how Carson blessed the day Ronon was put on Sheppard’s team. That was about the time prostate exams became part of the mandatory post-mission check.
Honestly, one could never be too careful and those prostates are tricky little buggers.
Sheppard looked calm, but Carson knew it was an act. Inside he was seething with desire to run to his lover, but that wasn’t public knowledge. In fact, Carson believed himself the only one to know their secret, well, other than maybe Radek. And Carson wouldn’t have known if not for the incident with the cock ring. Sheppard had tried to write it off as an accident in newspaper rolling but Carson knew better. He wasn’t born yesterday and Rodney couldn’t lie to save himself. That and there was no paper on Atlantis, at least not enough to waste on newspapers. Yes, they had a closet relationship. But that seemed to suit the two of them.
Until now.
“Look, s’not as bad as it may look. At least he didn’t have a cow. Have you ever witnessed a 90 kilo man have a cow?”
“I have.” Everyone looked at John, surprise written clearly on their faces. “Not up close.”
Carson repressed a shudder and helped his staff place Rodney on the gurney. “We’ll take him down to the infirmary, I’ve got something in my bag that may help him. In the meantime, I suggest someone inform Radek that Rodney is out of commission and he must deal with Dr. Kavanagh’s error.”
“I’ll do it.” Again, everyone turned to look, this time at Ronon who had growled ominously from his predatory slouch, a deceitfully innocent look upon his face. “I’ll make sure Kavanagh doesn’t think, too.”
“Right.” Carson grew a bit nervous as Ronon rose from his chair and lead the charge down the corridors of Atlantis, two patients in his infirmary were a bit more than he liked but really, the supply closet could hold a cot quite easily if the room got a bit crowded with ego.
Two hours later and Sheppard stands as Carson enters the tiny area reserved for waiting. He breathed a sigh of relief when Carson smiled and informed them that Rodney would be fine. Radek muttered something in Czech John thought sounded suspiciously like plans to Delilah Kavanagh’s hair and use it to suspend him by his balls from the gate room balcony. But John’s Czech wasn’t quite perfect yet so he might have been mistaken. If he wasn’t, he was going to have to get Radek to tell him when so the best picture angles could be found prior to Kavanagh’s free ball.
“Can I see him?”
Carson okayed John’s request only because he turned the puppy dog eyes on the doctor. Carson was a sucker for all things puppy dog, especially Ronon when he pouted. Or when he was happy. Or horny. Or really, any time. Or maybe Ronon just had one face that applied to all moods. Carson had never met a man who had such a variety of facial expression rolled into one look, and not since Bon Jovi had he ever found a man in leather pants quite so attractive. He waved John into the recovery room and stayed out with the others to update them on Rodney’s condition.
John quickly made his way to the bed where his lover lay far too still for his liking. He still looked the same to John, still the same scientist even if he had blown a gasket. John wondered if Beckett’s ‘fix’ would leave a scar, John was rather fond of scars and Rodney had this cute little scar on his knee from when he was twelve and fell off a toboggan into a cluster of saplings. He still felt guilty about the trees, dead the next spring, claimed it was why he had no interest in botany. ‘Can’t kill a quark with your ass,’ he’d say. John rather believed him.
John gripped his lover’s hand till the whites of his knuckles showed in the starlit room. “Baby, come back to me,” he whispered, running his fingers through the sparse hair atop Rodney’s head. “You’ve got to come back. I’m nothing without you. Everything I do, I do it for you. Wake up, please, baby?”
“Call me in the morning, Major, sleeping now.”
”Don’t ever do that again, do you hear me? I thought I’d lost you.”
“M’not lost. G'way. Sleepy.”
“I hear that happens when you blow a gasket.”
“Major?”
”Colonel. And what?”
“Love you.”
“Ditto.” John rested his head against Rodney’s as his lover slept, his hand never leaving the scientist’s until three hours later when Carson threatened to chemically castrate him if he didn’t get into his own bed, reserved specially for him in the infirmary, right next to Rodney’s reserved bed.
‘What a pair,’ Carson thought as he pulled the blankets up and tucked John in, ‘what a pair.’
Spoilers: None
Pairing: McShep, hints of Dexett
Warnings: Crackfic, to the highest levels of crack!fic
AN: Written for lilithilien cause well, yeah. Bad days suck like...well, anything that sucks and they deserve crack!fic like nothing else deserves crack!fic.
“Oh, now this is just...”
Conversation screeched to a halt, Elizabeth Weir stopped mid-mediator and all eyes shifted to Rodney McKay who was performing rather remarkably a spitting image of the mad professor routine. Fingers jabbed at the keyboard a mile a minute and the scientist’s face grew alarmingly red - tomato, to be precise. Words poured from his lips and hand, two variations of a theme forming a harmony John Sheppard was certain would shatter glass of it hit the right pitch. Orchestral verbiage in comedic act. Just the kind of thing leaving John amused as hell and weak with relief that it wasn’t directed at him, for that tongue was razor sharp and the hands, well, Rodney’s hands could string a man from a light pole with one hand tied behind his back and he wouldn’t break a sweat...if the light pole happened to be a computer and the man an ASCII representation of a man.
“Rodney...”
“Insolent son of a social scientist. I’ve got more brains in my left toenail...in the clippings from my left toenail...”
“Rodney...”
“And to think he gets paid to think.” John watched, rather amazed as Rodney didn’t even pause to take a breath, simply touched his ear comm and shifted focus to one of more direct contact. “Kavanagh! Maybe I used words too large for you. Let me simplify. Unless otherwise instructed, do not think.....Stop. You’re attempting to think and I have evidence in my possession that for you, thinking does not work.....I don’t care if you thought you could increase the threshold to 62% and maintain a stable system. I returned your fixed equations on a silver platter and all you were required to do was use them to finish calculating drivepod output under duress. Instead of listening to the smartest man in two galaxies, you instead listened to a fifth year speak of a Flux Capacitor.....And neither do the physics in your equations! Lobotomized goats could don tutus and tapdance the math better than you. I-“
John watched with alarm as Rodney turned 12 shades of violent red then fell over with a hiss of escaping air. Carson Beckett, who had joined the staff meeting late after burning both ends of the candle trying to contain an outbreak of chickenpox among the Athosians, leapt to his feet and looked grim as he felt for Rodney’s pulse, then leaned close to Rodney’s lips to listen to the hiss direct from the source.
“Ach, the lad’s done it now. He blew a gasket.”
“He blew a what?”
“Is it serious?”
“Can it be fixed?”
Carson called for a gurney and while they waited, looked at each member, Teyla who was puzzled but concerned, Elizabeth who was pulling her constipated monkey look she wore whenever something distracted her audience from her speech of the day, Ronon looked amused, but then, Ronon always looked amused. Or straight-from-the-brothel-sexy. Oh how Carson blessed the day Ronon was put on Sheppard’s team. That was about the time prostate exams became part of the mandatory post-mission check.
Honestly, one could never be too careful and those prostates are tricky little buggers.
Sheppard looked calm, but Carson knew it was an act. Inside he was seething with desire to run to his lover, but that wasn’t public knowledge. In fact, Carson believed himself the only one to know their secret, well, other than maybe Radek. And Carson wouldn’t have known if not for the incident with the cock ring. Sheppard had tried to write it off as an accident in newspaper rolling but Carson knew better. He wasn’t born yesterday and Rodney couldn’t lie to save himself. That and there was no paper on Atlantis, at least not enough to waste on newspapers. Yes, they had a closet relationship. But that seemed to suit the two of them.
Until now.
“Look, s’not as bad as it may look. At least he didn’t have a cow. Have you ever witnessed a 90 kilo man have a cow?”
“I have.” Everyone looked at John, surprise written clearly on their faces. “Not up close.”
Carson repressed a shudder and helped his staff place Rodney on the gurney. “We’ll take him down to the infirmary, I’ve got something in my bag that may help him. In the meantime, I suggest someone inform Radek that Rodney is out of commission and he must deal with Dr. Kavanagh’s error.”
“I’ll do it.” Again, everyone turned to look, this time at Ronon who had growled ominously from his predatory slouch, a deceitfully innocent look upon his face. “I’ll make sure Kavanagh doesn’t think, too.”
“Right.” Carson grew a bit nervous as Ronon rose from his chair and lead the charge down the corridors of Atlantis, two patients in his infirmary were a bit more than he liked but really, the supply closet could hold a cot quite easily if the room got a bit crowded with ego.
Two hours later and Sheppard stands as Carson enters the tiny area reserved for waiting. He breathed a sigh of relief when Carson smiled and informed them that Rodney would be fine. Radek muttered something in Czech John thought sounded suspiciously like plans to Delilah Kavanagh’s hair and use it to suspend him by his balls from the gate room balcony. But John’s Czech wasn’t quite perfect yet so he might have been mistaken. If he wasn’t, he was going to have to get Radek to tell him when so the best picture angles could be found prior to Kavanagh’s free ball.
“Can I see him?”
Carson okayed John’s request only because he turned the puppy dog eyes on the doctor. Carson was a sucker for all things puppy dog, especially Ronon when he pouted. Or when he was happy. Or horny. Or really, any time. Or maybe Ronon just had one face that applied to all moods. Carson had never met a man who had such a variety of facial expression rolled into one look, and not since Bon Jovi had he ever found a man in leather pants quite so attractive. He waved John into the recovery room and stayed out with the others to update them on Rodney’s condition.
John quickly made his way to the bed where his lover lay far too still for his liking. He still looked the same to John, still the same scientist even if he had blown a gasket. John wondered if Beckett’s ‘fix’ would leave a scar, John was rather fond of scars and Rodney had this cute little scar on his knee from when he was twelve and fell off a toboggan into a cluster of saplings. He still felt guilty about the trees, dead the next spring, claimed it was why he had no interest in botany. ‘Can’t kill a quark with your ass,’ he’d say. John rather believed him.
John gripped his lover’s hand till the whites of his knuckles showed in the starlit room. “Baby, come back to me,” he whispered, running his fingers through the sparse hair atop Rodney’s head. “You’ve got to come back. I’m nothing without you. Everything I do, I do it for you. Wake up, please, baby?”
“Call me in the morning, Major, sleeping now.”
”Don’t ever do that again, do you hear me? I thought I’d lost you.”
“M’not lost. G'way. Sleepy.”
“I hear that happens when you blow a gasket.”
“Major?”
”Colonel. And what?”
“Love you.”
“Ditto.” John rested his head against Rodney’s as his lover slept, his hand never leaving the scientist’s until three hours later when Carson threatened to chemically castrate him if he didn’t get into his own bed, reserved specially for him in the infirmary, right next to Rodney’s reserved bed.
‘What a pair,’ Carson thought as he pulled the blankets up and tucked John in, ‘what a pair.’