Fic repost: Risk Assessment... (SGA John/Rodney) PG
So. Five days before the due date, I was 9000 words into my semi-angsty post-Last Man fic, when I realized that it just didn't pop. And despite great suggestions from my teammates, I had no clue how to end it. I finally figured out that I needed to rewrite the whole thing from Rodney's POV--but with con.txt taking up the rest of my time, that just wasn't going to happen.
So I wrote this instead.
Title: Risk Assessment and Management (And Other Heart Math) ( Original link.)
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Slight for Season 4
Summary: Anticipating every single way something could go wrong was an impossibility--but then again, Rodney had done the impossible before. A short, silly, sappy story.
Beta thanks: Thank you to kageygirl, as always, for looking over this--as well as putting up with my craziness. And thank you to Team Home for being there and giving me great suggestions. *smooch*
Rodney began his final pass at nineteen hundred.
The control room was quiet, the lights dimmed to a comfortable evening glow. Stevenson glanced up from the environmental monitoring station as Rodney crested the top of the stairs, but she looked down again before he was forced to make eye contact, and Campbell merely gave him a sideways once-over before he returned to whatever he was working on. Probably solitaire from the way he was moving the mouse, but Rodney had more important things to do at the moment than enforce productivity. Like checking the long-range sensors.
Rodney brought the readout to the foreground. He'd programmed in the new parameters for the alarm himself. Not so much as a stray asteroid should be able to penetrate the outer edges of the solar system without triggering it. He was sure of that. But for an occasion like this, he needed to be two-hundred percent sure, so he ran through the sensor logs for the last two days--twice--before concluding that as far as the sensors were concerned, things were all clear for the foreseeable future.
He sent the long-range sensors back to the background, then moved up behind Campbell, who wasn't slacking off after all. Rodney leaned in closer, watching as the sergeant rearranged the power configuration on the schematic three times in a row.
"That's the Lagrangian point satellite." Rodney tapped the screen right above the darting cursor. "That's the conduit I had to repair right before-- Why are you working on this, anyway? Shouldn't you be monitoring the gate?"
"I am monitoring the gate," Campbell said slowly. Almost insolently--for a fellow Canadian, anyway. "I don't actually just sit here and stare at the screen all day, you know."
Rodney waved him off. "Yes, yes, and you're not actually the reigning solitaire champion of Atlantis, either. That doesn't explain why you're working on this. There's no way we could get the resources to build another satellite. We'll be lucky to get the IOA to cough up the money for a new midway station."
"I know. But I was thinking that it might be possible to incorporate the weapon itself into Atlantis. It wouldn't have same the directional capabilities as the satellite, and I don't think it's feasible to operate it at more than fifty percent of the original beam. But--"
"But even fifty percent output could cripple an entire fleet of hive ships." Rodney reached for the mouse. "The problem is the cooling system, of course. The power requirement for that could be higher than for the weapon output. Thus the advantage of building it in space."
"We do have the ocean." Campbell wormed his hand under Rodney's and took over the mouse again. "In small bursts--"
"You'll kill off every living thing down there in a five-mile radius. You need to--" Rodney caught a glimpse at the clock in the corner of the screen. "Yes, well, I'm sure you'll figure it out. You said all the teams are in, right? Any other issues with the gate? Glitches while dialing, anything?"
Campbell shook his head. "The teams are in, everything's fine. Which is why I was working on this. Are you sure that the heat energy would be that devastating? I've done the math--"
"Do it again." Rodney walked away before Campbell could try to argue that two plus two didn't equal four. He needed to stay focused. Not that he was having a hard time remembering exactly what he needed to do, but the flutters inside him were ready to latch onto any excuse to settle down. He'd known it was bad earlier when he found himself contemplating going to the gym to start an exercise program. Which was patently ridiculous. Jogging wouldn't help the situation at all. He needed to follow through as he'd planned. He was a genius. He'd anticipated every possible outcome, and come up with solutions for each.
He hoped.
Sam was in her office, as usual. Her screen was angled just enough that he could make out the engine schematics of a F-302. Apparently everyone wanted to play engineer today. Rodney snorted, and Sam finally looked up.
"Problem, McKay?"
"That's what I wanted to ask you." His palms had started to sweat, so he rubbed them until they were dry. "Has there been any new news from Earth? Any relays from the Apollo?"
Sam raised her eyebrows. "No, why? Are you expecting something to happen?"
Rodney shook his head. "No, no. Just checking in, I guess you could say. Need to keep on top of things, you know." He cleared his throat. "So no sudden reversal of policies, right?"
Sam leaned back in her chair, fingers steepled in front of her. She looked kind of like Picard in that pose, except for the having hair and breasts and being ridiculously hot part. "What's going on, Rodney?
"Nothing! I just wanted to make sure I could get some work done without being interrupted by absurd demands." He crossed his arms over his chest, then dropped his hands to his hips when he realized how defensive he looked. "So, anyway, I'm just going to go do that. Work, I mean. Busy, busy."
Sam made a face--eyes screwed up, lips half-pursed in a half-formed question--and tilted her head to the side. It was the same look she got when she really wanted to deliver a particularly eviscerating diatribe on how utterly stupid someone was being, but she couldn't figure out where to start. So he took advantage of her indecision and fled.
The infirmary was even quieter than the control room had been. Lieutenant Rodriguez--or was it Rogers?--was asleep in the far bed. Probably still on the good drugs after having his appendix out yesterday. For a moment, Rodney actually longed to feel a stab of pain in his own right lower quadrant. But no, he really did want to go through with this. Even if being opened up on the operating table and having his guts rearranged was the less frightening option at the moment.
He started towards Jennifer's office, but paused in the doorway so he could press his fingers to his abdomen, checking for tenderness. It'd be just his luck to give himself appendicitis via his own very powerful mind.
"What's wrong this time, Rodney?"
Rodney snatched his hand away from his gut. "No, nothing wrong today. I don't think. Actually, that's why I'm here. I wanted to see if there was any chance of an outbreak in the near future. Or if anything's going around that might suddenly send the city into a lockdown. You know, that kind of thing."
"Outbreak? On Atlantis? No, everything is fine as far as I know. Of course, it's impossible to predict the future. Well, impossible for me anyway. Someone like Davos could possibly predict an outbreak, but even his visions weren't that precise... Wait." Jennifer finally looked up from her paperwork, eyes wide and worried. "Why are you asking? Is there a problem with the quarantine system again?"
"No, I've made sure it's working just fine." He'd gone over the programming three times, actually, as well as doing a thorough physical inspection of the triggering mechanism. "As long as nothing gets into Atlantis, we aren't in any danger. Which, imagine that, is why I'm asking our chief medical officer if there's any chance of that occurring."
Jennifer rolled her eyes. "And now we're back to me being able to predict the future."
"Is it really that much of stretch from what you do most of the time?"
She leaned forward, crooking her finger at him. Rodney took a single step forward--keeping himself still well outside of her reach. "If you ever want me to check out those 'dangerous symptoms' of yours again? I suggest you leave right now."
"I just wanted to make sure--"
"Rodney!"
He held up both hands. "Going!" He was running late anyway. He squirted some sanitizer into his palm on the way out, rubbing it in as he headed towards the transporter. It was after nineteen-thirty already, and he still hadn't made it to Radek's lab.
He keyed his radio instead, hoping that this extension of trust wouldn't be misplaced. "McKay to Zelenka. Is everyone complying with the moratorium?"
Radek sighed over the radio, long and extremely put out. Rodney hated when he did that; it made him feel like somebody was conducting wind tunnel experiments in his ear canal. "Yes, Rodney. We shut down everything but essential systems and monitoring equipment ten minutes ago, and we will not turn anything back on until your say-so. Now can you please explain why we are having to do this ridiculous thing?"
Rodney stepped into the transporter. "No, not really." He turned his radio off before Radek could pester him anymore, and then directed the transporter to the personnel quarters.
And then he was there. In front of John's door. There wasn't anything else to check, nothing else he could do to prepare.
Rodney took a deep breath, and stepped inside.
"Hey," John said, looking up from his golf magazine. He looked good--well, he always looked good, but he was wearing jeans and the faded light blue shirt that draped so well across his chest and shoulders. He smiled as he set the magazine down, and Rodney's stomach started quivering in time with his heart. "You're late."
"Yes, sorry. I had to-- Well, that's not important." Rodney tried to take another deep breath, but his entire ribcage seemed to have locked down. "But I'm here now."
John raised an eyebrow. "Yes, you are. So, ready for dinner?"
"Yes, in a minute. But, ah, could we talk first?"
The other eyebrow went up. "Something wrong?"
Maybe he should wait. This wasn't exactly the way he'd wanted this to go, with John already on edge from waiting. Except John didn't look angry or annoyed. Not at all. His eyes were actually kind of soft and wide. Bemused, maybe. Like the way he looked after Rodney got done ranting about lemon meringue pie day.
"Right." He held up his hand, palm out in warning. "Listen. I'm probably going to do this badly, but I'd appreciate it if you'd at least let me get all the way through what I have to say before you respond."
John crossed his arms over his chest and wiggled his shoulders closer to the wall behind him. "The floor's all yours, McKay."
Rodney glanced down at the floor. He'd thought about it earlier, but discarded the idea as too ridiculous for him to pull off. John could probably do it, but Rodney knew himself. He'd probably crack his kneecap and wind up in the infirmary if he tried. His best bet was to stick to the plan as it was, so he clasped his hands behind him and looked back to John.
"I realize this probably isn't anything you were considering." The words started slowly, but he could feel them pushing forward, building up speed. "And I do think that our...relationship, as it is, is, well, excellent. But I can't help but feel we aren't really taking full advantage of the opportunities presented by the recent changes your government has made in its backwards policies."
John started to open his mouth, so Rodney rushed onwards. "And yes, I realize that I do have many...shortcomings I have yet to...to lengthen, but there would be advantages to such an arrangement. While I wouldn't say that I'm rich, certainly not in comparison to your own family's wealth, I am fiscally well off. You already know all of my family, and seem to like Jeannie and Madison well enough." He paused, wondering if he should mention Kaleb too, but decided he was a non-issue. John didn't seem to have a problem with the whole English literature thing, anyway. And now John was looking like he wanted to say something again. Rodney groped for his list, but he could only come up with the final item, the one that was supposed to be his ace in the hole. "Also, I'm not sure if you were paying attention in the last staff meeting by the time the new IOA policies came up, but I know you had your eye on that suite in the southwest tower, and if we do this, I'm pretty sure Sam will okay the transfer. You could even use the balcony as a driving range."
Rodney forced a smile onto his face, and waited, trying not to fidget as John stared back at him with a poker face that could take down Brett Maverick himself.
"Are you through?" John asked after a few seconds.
"Oh!" Rodney unclasped his hands so he could wave John on. "Oh, yes. Sorry, please feel free to respond now."
John rubbed his palms against his jeans, up and down twice, and swung his legs the bed. The way he walked towards Rodney was more like a stalk. Except not low and slinky like a panther, which John could do sometimes. More like a really deadly soldier who was on a mission to do unspeakable things. Rodney swallowed, and reminded himself he usually liked those unspeakable things.
"Rodney," John said, his voice deep and throaty. "Did you just ask me to marry you?"
"Ah." Rodney blinked. He reviewed his speech quickly, and realized that no, he'd never actually managed to say the words. "Yes?"
John shook his head. But before he turned away Rodney caught a glimpse of the smile he was trying to hide. That was a good sign. Probably a good sign. He was pretty sure it was a good sign, anyway.
John circled around his bed, straight to his nightstand. He opened the top drawer--the drawer where he kept the latest copies of his comics and golf magazines, the toothbrush he used to clean his clubs, and the lube--and rooted around for a few seconds. Then he turned around, something hidden in his left hand, and made his way back to Rodney. He held up a black velvet-covered box. Rodney couldn't look away as John eased the lid open.
Two plain gold bands rested side-by-side.
Rodney reached out, but he didn't have the nerve to actually touch them. "So is that a yes?"
John laughed. He dropped the box to his side and hooked his other hand around the back of Rodney's neck, drawing him forward for a kiss. A slow, lingering kiss that reminded Rodney of the way they'd kissed after the first time they slept together. Only this was better, because this was their first kiss engaged. As fiancés.
"I was going to ask you," John said, lips next to Rodney's ear. "But I couldn't figure out the best time to do it."
Rodney started to nuzzle into John's neck, but then the implications of what John said finally clicked. "You couldn't get up the nerve!" He pulled back far enough so that John could see his gloating grin. "I'm the courageous one for once."
John rolled his eyes. "No, Rodney. I just didn't want a big emergency to spring up right when I was trying to ask. Things have a habit of going a little crazy around here, you know."
"Hmm, yes. That's true, I suppose." Rodney moved forward again, enticed by the subtle line between stubbled skin and smooth on John's neck. He brushed a kiss over that spot, then rested his cheek against John's. "But sometimes, you just have to throw caution to the wind."
So I wrote this instead.
Title: Risk Assessment and Management (And Other Heart Math) ( Original link.)
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Slight for Season 4
Summary: Anticipating every single way something could go wrong was an impossibility--but then again, Rodney had done the impossible before. A short, silly, sappy story.
Beta thanks: Thank you to kageygirl, as always, for looking over this--as well as putting up with my craziness. And thank you to Team Home for being there and giving me great suggestions. *smooch*
Rodney began his final pass at nineteen hundred.
The control room was quiet, the lights dimmed to a comfortable evening glow. Stevenson glanced up from the environmental monitoring station as Rodney crested the top of the stairs, but she looked down again before he was forced to make eye contact, and Campbell merely gave him a sideways once-over before he returned to whatever he was working on. Probably solitaire from the way he was moving the mouse, but Rodney had more important things to do at the moment than enforce productivity. Like checking the long-range sensors.
Rodney brought the readout to the foreground. He'd programmed in the new parameters for the alarm himself. Not so much as a stray asteroid should be able to penetrate the outer edges of the solar system without triggering it. He was sure of that. But for an occasion like this, he needed to be two-hundred percent sure, so he ran through the sensor logs for the last two days--twice--before concluding that as far as the sensors were concerned, things were all clear for the foreseeable future.
He sent the long-range sensors back to the background, then moved up behind Campbell, who wasn't slacking off after all. Rodney leaned in closer, watching as the sergeant rearranged the power configuration on the schematic three times in a row.
"That's the Lagrangian point satellite." Rodney tapped the screen right above the darting cursor. "That's the conduit I had to repair right before-- Why are you working on this, anyway? Shouldn't you be monitoring the gate?"
"I am monitoring the gate," Campbell said slowly. Almost insolently--for a fellow Canadian, anyway. "I don't actually just sit here and stare at the screen all day, you know."
Rodney waved him off. "Yes, yes, and you're not actually the reigning solitaire champion of Atlantis, either. That doesn't explain why you're working on this. There's no way we could get the resources to build another satellite. We'll be lucky to get the IOA to cough up the money for a new midway station."
"I know. But I was thinking that it might be possible to incorporate the weapon itself into Atlantis. It wouldn't have same the directional capabilities as the satellite, and I don't think it's feasible to operate it at more than fifty percent of the original beam. But--"
"But even fifty percent output could cripple an entire fleet of hive ships." Rodney reached for the mouse. "The problem is the cooling system, of course. The power requirement for that could be higher than for the weapon output. Thus the advantage of building it in space."
"We do have the ocean." Campbell wormed his hand under Rodney's and took over the mouse again. "In small bursts--"
"You'll kill off every living thing down there in a five-mile radius. You need to--" Rodney caught a glimpse at the clock in the corner of the screen. "Yes, well, I'm sure you'll figure it out. You said all the teams are in, right? Any other issues with the gate? Glitches while dialing, anything?"
Campbell shook his head. "The teams are in, everything's fine. Which is why I was working on this. Are you sure that the heat energy would be that devastating? I've done the math--"
"Do it again." Rodney walked away before Campbell could try to argue that two plus two didn't equal four. He needed to stay focused. Not that he was having a hard time remembering exactly what he needed to do, but the flutters inside him were ready to latch onto any excuse to settle down. He'd known it was bad earlier when he found himself contemplating going to the gym to start an exercise program. Which was patently ridiculous. Jogging wouldn't help the situation at all. He needed to follow through as he'd planned. He was a genius. He'd anticipated every possible outcome, and come up with solutions for each.
He hoped.
Sam was in her office, as usual. Her screen was angled just enough that he could make out the engine schematics of a F-302. Apparently everyone wanted to play engineer today. Rodney snorted, and Sam finally looked up.
"Problem, McKay?"
"That's what I wanted to ask you." His palms had started to sweat, so he rubbed them until they were dry. "Has there been any new news from Earth? Any relays from the Apollo?"
Sam raised her eyebrows. "No, why? Are you expecting something to happen?"
Rodney shook his head. "No, no. Just checking in, I guess you could say. Need to keep on top of things, you know." He cleared his throat. "So no sudden reversal of policies, right?"
Sam leaned back in her chair, fingers steepled in front of her. She looked kind of like Picard in that pose, except for the having hair and breasts and being ridiculously hot part. "What's going on, Rodney?
"Nothing! I just wanted to make sure I could get some work done without being interrupted by absurd demands." He crossed his arms over his chest, then dropped his hands to his hips when he realized how defensive he looked. "So, anyway, I'm just going to go do that. Work, I mean. Busy, busy."
Sam made a face--eyes screwed up, lips half-pursed in a half-formed question--and tilted her head to the side. It was the same look she got when she really wanted to deliver a particularly eviscerating diatribe on how utterly stupid someone was being, but she couldn't figure out where to start. So he took advantage of her indecision and fled.
The infirmary was even quieter than the control room had been. Lieutenant Rodriguez--or was it Rogers?--was asleep in the far bed. Probably still on the good drugs after having his appendix out yesterday. For a moment, Rodney actually longed to feel a stab of pain in his own right lower quadrant. But no, he really did want to go through with this. Even if being opened up on the operating table and having his guts rearranged was the less frightening option at the moment.
He started towards Jennifer's office, but paused in the doorway so he could press his fingers to his abdomen, checking for tenderness. It'd be just his luck to give himself appendicitis via his own very powerful mind.
"What's wrong this time, Rodney?"
Rodney snatched his hand away from his gut. "No, nothing wrong today. I don't think. Actually, that's why I'm here. I wanted to see if there was any chance of an outbreak in the near future. Or if anything's going around that might suddenly send the city into a lockdown. You know, that kind of thing."
"Outbreak? On Atlantis? No, everything is fine as far as I know. Of course, it's impossible to predict the future. Well, impossible for me anyway. Someone like Davos could possibly predict an outbreak, but even his visions weren't that precise... Wait." Jennifer finally looked up from her paperwork, eyes wide and worried. "Why are you asking? Is there a problem with the quarantine system again?"
"No, I've made sure it's working just fine." He'd gone over the programming three times, actually, as well as doing a thorough physical inspection of the triggering mechanism. "As long as nothing gets into Atlantis, we aren't in any danger. Which, imagine that, is why I'm asking our chief medical officer if there's any chance of that occurring."
Jennifer rolled her eyes. "And now we're back to me being able to predict the future."
"Is it really that much of stretch from what you do most of the time?"
She leaned forward, crooking her finger at him. Rodney took a single step forward--keeping himself still well outside of her reach. "If you ever want me to check out those 'dangerous symptoms' of yours again? I suggest you leave right now."
"I just wanted to make sure--"
"Rodney!"
He held up both hands. "Going!" He was running late anyway. He squirted some sanitizer into his palm on the way out, rubbing it in as he headed towards the transporter. It was after nineteen-thirty already, and he still hadn't made it to Radek's lab.
He keyed his radio instead, hoping that this extension of trust wouldn't be misplaced. "McKay to Zelenka. Is everyone complying with the moratorium?"
Radek sighed over the radio, long and extremely put out. Rodney hated when he did that; it made him feel like somebody was conducting wind tunnel experiments in his ear canal. "Yes, Rodney. We shut down everything but essential systems and monitoring equipment ten minutes ago, and we will not turn anything back on until your say-so. Now can you please explain why we are having to do this ridiculous thing?"
Rodney stepped into the transporter. "No, not really." He turned his radio off before Radek could pester him anymore, and then directed the transporter to the personnel quarters.
And then he was there. In front of John's door. There wasn't anything else to check, nothing else he could do to prepare.
Rodney took a deep breath, and stepped inside.
"Hey," John said, looking up from his golf magazine. He looked good--well, he always looked good, but he was wearing jeans and the faded light blue shirt that draped so well across his chest and shoulders. He smiled as he set the magazine down, and Rodney's stomach started quivering in time with his heart. "You're late."
"Yes, sorry. I had to-- Well, that's not important." Rodney tried to take another deep breath, but his entire ribcage seemed to have locked down. "But I'm here now."
John raised an eyebrow. "Yes, you are. So, ready for dinner?"
"Yes, in a minute. But, ah, could we talk first?"
The other eyebrow went up. "Something wrong?"
Maybe he should wait. This wasn't exactly the way he'd wanted this to go, with John already on edge from waiting. Except John didn't look angry or annoyed. Not at all. His eyes were actually kind of soft and wide. Bemused, maybe. Like the way he looked after Rodney got done ranting about lemon meringue pie day.
"Right." He held up his hand, palm out in warning. "Listen. I'm probably going to do this badly, but I'd appreciate it if you'd at least let me get all the way through what I have to say before you respond."
John crossed his arms over his chest and wiggled his shoulders closer to the wall behind him. "The floor's all yours, McKay."
Rodney glanced down at the floor. He'd thought about it earlier, but discarded the idea as too ridiculous for him to pull off. John could probably do it, but Rodney knew himself. He'd probably crack his kneecap and wind up in the infirmary if he tried. His best bet was to stick to the plan as it was, so he clasped his hands behind him and looked back to John.
"I realize this probably isn't anything you were considering." The words started slowly, but he could feel them pushing forward, building up speed. "And I do think that our...relationship, as it is, is, well, excellent. But I can't help but feel we aren't really taking full advantage of the opportunities presented by the recent changes your government has made in its backwards policies."
John started to open his mouth, so Rodney rushed onwards. "And yes, I realize that I do have many...shortcomings I have yet to...to lengthen, but there would be advantages to such an arrangement. While I wouldn't say that I'm rich, certainly not in comparison to your own family's wealth, I am fiscally well off. You already know all of my family, and seem to like Jeannie and Madison well enough." He paused, wondering if he should mention Kaleb too, but decided he was a non-issue. John didn't seem to have a problem with the whole English literature thing, anyway. And now John was looking like he wanted to say something again. Rodney groped for his list, but he could only come up with the final item, the one that was supposed to be his ace in the hole. "Also, I'm not sure if you were paying attention in the last staff meeting by the time the new IOA policies came up, but I know you had your eye on that suite in the southwest tower, and if we do this, I'm pretty sure Sam will okay the transfer. You could even use the balcony as a driving range."
Rodney forced a smile onto his face, and waited, trying not to fidget as John stared back at him with a poker face that could take down Brett Maverick himself.
"Are you through?" John asked after a few seconds.
"Oh!" Rodney unclasped his hands so he could wave John on. "Oh, yes. Sorry, please feel free to respond now."
John rubbed his palms against his jeans, up and down twice, and swung his legs the bed. The way he walked towards Rodney was more like a stalk. Except not low and slinky like a panther, which John could do sometimes. More like a really deadly soldier who was on a mission to do unspeakable things. Rodney swallowed, and reminded himself he usually liked those unspeakable things.
"Rodney," John said, his voice deep and throaty. "Did you just ask me to marry you?"
"Ah." Rodney blinked. He reviewed his speech quickly, and realized that no, he'd never actually managed to say the words. "Yes?"
John shook his head. But before he turned away Rodney caught a glimpse of the smile he was trying to hide. That was a good sign. Probably a good sign. He was pretty sure it was a good sign, anyway.
John circled around his bed, straight to his nightstand. He opened the top drawer--the drawer where he kept the latest copies of his comics and golf magazines, the toothbrush he used to clean his clubs, and the lube--and rooted around for a few seconds. Then he turned around, something hidden in his left hand, and made his way back to Rodney. He held up a black velvet-covered box. Rodney couldn't look away as John eased the lid open.
Two plain gold bands rested side-by-side.
Rodney reached out, but he didn't have the nerve to actually touch them. "So is that a yes?"
John laughed. He dropped the box to his side and hooked his other hand around the back of Rodney's neck, drawing him forward for a kiss. A slow, lingering kiss that reminded Rodney of the way they'd kissed after the first time they slept together. Only this was better, because this was their first kiss engaged. As fiancés.
"I was going to ask you," John said, lips next to Rodney's ear. "But I couldn't figure out the best time to do it."
Rodney started to nuzzle into John's neck, but then the implications of what John said finally clicked. "You couldn't get up the nerve!" He pulled back far enough so that John could see his gloating grin. "I'm the courageous one for once."
John rolled his eyes. "No, Rodney. I just didn't want a big emergency to spring up right when I was trying to ask. Things have a habit of going a little crazy around here, you know."
"Hmm, yes. That's true, I suppose." Rodney moved forward again, enticed by the subtle line between stubbled skin and smooth on John's neck. He brushed a kiss over that spot, then rested his cheek against John's. "But sometimes, you just have to throw caution to the wind."