Director's Cut: Dance Remix
So, I hate to disappoint people. And even though I'm kind of sloppy, I'm kind of a perfectionist. So, let's see if this is better...
“This better be good,” says Rodney, bustling into John’s room exactly 15 minutes later. Then he stops completely, like he’s hit a wall. “Is that? No.” He shakes himself like a dog. “Oh my god, is that Jamaican Blue Mountain I smell?”
John just shrugs.
“Oh my god. Where did you get it? There isn’t supposed to be any of that left on Atlantis. For two months, I - nevermind,” says Rodney, cutting himself off and going over to reverently touch the small ceramic mug of steaming coffee. He carefully lifts it to his face with both hands and just inhales the steam.
“Is this? Is this for me?”
“Yeah. I figured you might like it,” says John. And then he stands there and watches as Rodney drinks the whole thing. He waits until Rodney puts the mug down and opens his eyes. And then John takes two steps closer.
“So. Did you like it?” he asks.
“Oh god,” Rodney moans. “Yes. Yes! Thank you. Thank you so much. Just tell me what you want. What do you want? I’ll do anything.”
“Yeah,” says John with a sly grin, “I’m pretty much counting on that.” And he slides in until there’s only six inches between them.
“What?” says Rodney, his eyes going wide, then quickly flicking around the room to take in the red Athosian bedspread, the ten softly glowing meditation candles, and the prominently placed bag of coffee beans - still 1/3 full.
“Wait. Wait. Are you trying to buy my virtue with dry roast premium coffee?”
“Yes,” says John, pressing Rodney back up against the wall.
“Oh…Wait! Just to clarify: you used to be straight. Then you were gay. And now you’re straight again.”
“Yep. Pretty much,” says John. He’s probably 90% straight. 80-20. 70-30. “C’mon, McKay. If I can be sorta gay, then so can you.” And John punctuates his point by leaning in to suck on Rodney’s earlobe.
“I - what?” And Rodney seems to come back to himself with a jolt. “Stop that! I cannot believe you. Your logic is even more perforated than usual. I can’t even begin to understand by what tortuous path of abduction you arrived at that inane conclusion. Besides which, you are the most deliberately contrary person I have ever met, but this is going too far, even for you.”
“I don’t know what you’re complaining about, Rodney,” says John, stepping back to unbutton his shirt and throw it on the bed. “Now you can have sex whenever you want. No waiting.” He peels his undershirt over his head. “And I’d say, statistically, your chances have just improved… a whole lot.”
But McKay actually looks pained, as if John is giving him a headache. He does not look smugly pleased, or vaguely intrigued, or intellectually curious, or stymied by superior logic, or even apprehensive but open to further persuasion. And John starts to feel a kind of cold creeping dread. This is not going the way he planned. That was his fucking bulletproof line!
God. He actually planned this all out, every detail, and now he’s standing here half-naked feeling like a complete ass. And the thing is, he can’t figure out where he went wrong, how he could have so totally mis-played the situation. He’d thought McKay would be a hell of a lot more opportunistic. Bribeable. Open-minded. He can’t be phobic, not with the way he’s been through all this mess. So maybe, maybe he’s just the straightest guy in the fucking world.
Fuck that. Did John ask to be bent by a Ancient party favor? But do you see him complaining?
“Look, Rodney, just give me a shot here, ok?” and it comes out a whole lot more desperate than he intends.
“I just don’t understand why you’re doing this,” says Rodney, sounding confused, and tired, and kind of bleak. “I mean, why me? Why now?”
Because apparently John’s capacity for denial only extends so far in the Pegasus Galaxy. Because when the hell is he likely to ever get another shot? Because there’s a lot of motherfucking Nothing out there.
John blows out a frustrated breath. “Because I can’t catch a fucking break, that’s why! Because sometimes this expedition seems like a really bad joke at everybody’s expense! Because I don’t know what else to do!”
Rodney looks completely dumbfounded, and not particularly flattered. Oh, John is so, so blowing it here.
“Come on!” he says, giving up on suave and playing to his strengths, putting a hand on Rodney’s waist, sliding a knee in between his legs, pinning him to the wall with his bare chest. “I can make you feel really good. You know I can.” He palms Rodney’s hip under his shirt, nudges his knee up a little higher, nuzzles into Rodney’s collarbone.
“I - I -- ,” splutters McKay.
Ok, Ok, John can work with that. He slides a hand into the back of Rodney’s pants, presses in even closer, executes a slow grind that starts at mid-thigh and ends at throat level, rucking up Rodney’s shirt in the process, so the two of them are touching for three hot inches of skin above the belt.
And is that? Yes it is! Paydirt! John looks up at Rodney through his lashes - Rodney flushed and splayed against the wall. John licks his lips. “I may have only been gay for three months, but I’m a fast learner and,” he gives Rodney his best seductive smile, “I’ve never had any complaints.”
A strange look passes over Rodney’s face that John can’t quite identify, but it’s enough like ‘yes’ to have him dropping to his knees.
He presses his face into Rodney’s inner thigh, rubs the back of his hand against the hot bulge in Rodney’s pants, breathes over the worn button-fly, and is just working the end of the belt through the buckle when Rodney says, “Stop!”
Crap. John rocks back on his heels, waiting for it.
“Look,” says Rodney, sort of half crouched over and bracing a hand against the wall. “You’ve, um, you’ve convinced me of your sincerity. And, and, I’m not averse to coming to some kind of, some kind of arrangement of some kind.” He stops to take a deep breath and adjust himself in his pants. “But if we’re going to do this then, then, there are going to be some ground rules.” Rodney takes another deep breath, steeling himself, then blurts, “I don’t want you going to the international settlement anymore.”
John stands up and says, “Ok.” He uses his hands to pull Rodney’s head exactly even with his own. He says, “I think I can handle that, McKay.” He presses his mouth down hard, opening Rodney’s mouth with his tongue, as wet and sloppy as he can make it. He says, “Yes,” and sinks his teeth into Rodney’s lower lip, sucks the whole thing into his mouth. He says, “No problem,” and licks along McKay’s teeth and up against his hard palate. He says, “I’m pretty sure I’ve got what I want right here,” and tucks his tongue into the corner of Rodney’s mouth. He runs both hands up the back of Rodney’s neck, fitting his thumbs underneath his ears. He says, “You don’t have to worry,” and brushes kisses over Rodney’s jaw.
“Jesus,” whispers McKay, bringing one hand up to clutch at John’s shoulder, and fitting the other one around the back of his head, running a thumb over the top of John’s cheekbone. ‘I’m only gay for you, McKay,’ John thinks, but he stops himself from saying it by sucking hard at the skin right at the base of Rodney’s throat, sucking until a dull red bruise blooms up to the surface. He kisses the spot, and licks it, brushes his lips over it with barely any pressure at all, and thinks, ‘I’m only gay for you.’
“This better be good,” says Rodney, bustling into John’s room exactly 15 minutes later. Then he stops completely, like he’s hit a wall. “Is that? No.” He shakes himself like a dog. “Oh my god, is that Jamaican Blue Mountain I smell?”
John just shrugs.
“Oh my god. Where did you get it? There isn’t supposed to be any of that left on Atlantis. For two months, I - nevermind,” says Rodney, cutting himself off and going over to reverently touch the small ceramic mug of steaming coffee. He carefully lifts it to his face with both hands and just inhales the steam.
“Is this? Is this for me?”
“Yeah. I figured you might like it,” says John. And then he stands there and watches as Rodney drinks the whole thing. He waits until Rodney puts the mug down and opens his eyes. And then John takes two steps closer.
“So. Did you like it?” he asks.
“Oh god,” Rodney moans. “Yes. Yes! Thank you. Thank you so much. Just tell me what you want. What do you want? I’ll do anything.”
“Yeah,” says John with a sly grin, “I’m pretty much counting on that.” And he slides in until there’s only six inches between them.
“What?” says Rodney, his eyes going wide, then quickly flicking around the room to take in the red Athosian bedspread, the ten softly glowing meditation candles, and the prominently placed bag of coffee beans - still 1/3 full.
“Wait. Wait. Are you trying to buy my virtue with dry roast premium coffee?”
“Yes,” says John, pressing Rodney back up against the wall.
“Oh…Wait! Just to clarify: you used to be straight. Then you were gay. And now you’re straight again.”
“Yep. Pretty much,” says John. He’s probably 90% straight. 80-20. 70-30. “C’mon, McKay. If I can be sorta gay, then so can you.” And John punctuates his point by leaning in to suck on Rodney’s earlobe.
“I - what?” And Rodney seems to come back to himself with a jolt. “Stop that! I cannot believe you. Your logic is even more perforated than usual. I can’t even begin to understand by what tortuous path of abduction you arrived at that inane conclusion. Besides which, you are the most deliberately contrary person I have ever met, but this is going too far, even for you.”
“I don’t know what you’re complaining about, Rodney,” says John, stepping back to unbutton his shirt and throw it on the bed. “Now you can have sex whenever you want. No waiting.” He peels his undershirt over his head. “And I’d say, statistically, your chances have just improved… a whole lot.”
But McKay actually looks pained, as if John is giving him a headache. He does not look smugly pleased, or vaguely intrigued, or intellectually curious, or stymied by superior logic, or even apprehensive but open to further persuasion. And John starts to feel a kind of cold creeping dread. This is not going the way he planned. That was his fucking bulletproof line!
God. He actually planned this all out, every detail, and now he’s standing here half-naked feeling like a complete ass. And the thing is, he can’t figure out where he went wrong, how he could have so totally mis-played the situation. He’d thought McKay would be a hell of a lot more opportunistic. Bribeable. Open-minded. He can’t be phobic, not with the way he’s been through all this mess. So maybe, maybe he’s just the straightest guy in the fucking world.
Fuck that. Did John ask to be bent by a Ancient party favor? But do you see him complaining?
“Look, Rodney, just give me a shot here, ok?” and it comes out a whole lot more desperate than he intends.
“I just don’t understand why you’re doing this,” says Rodney, sounding confused, and tired, and kind of bleak. “I mean, why me? Why now?”
Because apparently John’s capacity for denial only extends so far in the Pegasus Galaxy. Because when the hell is he likely to ever get another shot? Because there’s a lot of motherfucking Nothing out there.
John blows out a frustrated breath. “Because I can’t catch a fucking break, that’s why! Because sometimes this expedition seems like a really bad joke at everybody’s expense! Because I don’t know what else to do!”
Rodney looks completely dumbfounded, and not particularly flattered. Oh, John is so, so blowing it here.
“Come on!” he says, giving up on suave and playing to his strengths, putting a hand on Rodney’s waist, sliding a knee in between his legs, pinning him to the wall with his bare chest. “I can make you feel really good. You know I can.” He palms Rodney’s hip under his shirt, nudges his knee up a little higher, nuzzles into Rodney’s collarbone.
“I - I -- ,” splutters McKay.
Ok, Ok, John can work with that. He slides a hand into the back of Rodney’s pants, presses in even closer, executes a slow grind that starts at mid-thigh and ends at throat level, rucking up Rodney’s shirt in the process, so the two of them are touching for three hot inches of skin above the belt.
And is that? Yes it is! Paydirt! John looks up at Rodney through his lashes - Rodney flushed and splayed against the wall. John licks his lips. “I may have only been gay for three months, but I’m a fast learner and,” he gives Rodney his best seductive smile, “I’ve never had any complaints.”
A strange look passes over Rodney’s face that John can’t quite identify, but it’s enough like ‘yes’ to have him dropping to his knees.
He presses his face into Rodney’s inner thigh, rubs the back of his hand against the hot bulge in Rodney’s pants, breathes over the worn button-fly, and is just working the end of the belt through the buckle when Rodney says, “Stop!”
Crap. John rocks back on his heels, waiting for it.
“Look,” says Rodney, sort of half crouched over and bracing a hand against the wall. “You’ve, um, you’ve convinced me of your sincerity. And, and, I’m not averse to coming to some kind of, some kind of arrangement of some kind.” He stops to take a deep breath and adjust himself in his pants. “But if we’re going to do this then, then, there are going to be some ground rules.” Rodney takes another deep breath, steeling himself, then blurts, “I don’t want you going to the international settlement anymore.”
John stands up and says, “Ok.” He uses his hands to pull Rodney’s head exactly even with his own. He says, “I think I can handle that, McKay.” He presses his mouth down hard, opening Rodney’s mouth with his tongue, as wet and sloppy as he can make it. He says, “Yes,” and sinks his teeth into Rodney’s lower lip, sucks the whole thing into his mouth. He says, “No problem,” and licks along McKay’s teeth and up against his hard palate. He says, “I’m pretty sure I’ve got what I want right here,” and tucks his tongue into the corner of Rodney’s mouth. He runs both hands up the back of Rodney’s neck, fitting his thumbs underneath his ears. He says, “You don’t have to worry,” and brushes kisses over Rodney’s jaw.
“Jesus,” whispers McKay, bringing one hand up to clutch at John’s shoulder, and fitting the other one around the back of his head, running a thumb over the top of John’s cheekbone. ‘I’m only gay for you, McKay,’ John thinks, but he stops himself from saying it by sucking hard at the skin right at the base of Rodney’s throat, sucking until a dull red bruise blooms up to the surface. He kisses the spot, and licks it, brushes his lips over it with barely any pressure at all, and thinks, ‘I’m only gay for you.’