SGA fic: Unexpected (John/Rodney, R)
Feb. 20th, 2010 12:24 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
zinnithHere's a little ficlet written with the intention to cheer ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sgamadison up. (John/Rodney, R-rated, ~1000 words, unbeta'd.)
Unexpected
"Inowpctmvtnnnn..." Rodney mumbles.
At least that's what John hears. The rest of the syllables get lost somewhere between Rodney's mouth and the pillow.
"Huh?" John asks, a little curious over what might be going through Rodney's head at this time of the morning. It usually takes about two cups of coffee to get his brain started and anything he says before that point is bound to be either incoherent or hilarious or both.
Rodney raises his head, blinks against the sunlight, and smiles a little bit. "This is not how I pictured my vacation," he repeats.
Okay, that makes no sense at all. So far, it's been a great vacation. John has done a lot of surfing and Rodney has done a lot of sitting under a huge umbrella on the beach and catching up on articles written by people who are not him and therefore stupid. The people in the hotel bar knows them well enough by now that their drinks are sitting at the counter even before they've had time to sit down and Rodney doesn't even have to ask to make sure there's no citrus. It's been a perfect vacation, and John privately thinks he could get used to this. Not just the roomservice and the long lazy days, but the fact that no one here knows who they are, and that he can hold Rodney's hand in public if he wants to.
"What do you mean?" he asks Rodney, who's still half asleep, sprawled half under and half on top of the covers with one arm carelessly slung over John's chest.
"Hmmmhmm?" Rodney mutters and closes his eyes again.
John pokes him. "Hey, McKay? What do you mean? What's wrong with this vacation?"
This is the first word of complaint he's heard from Rodney all week and John knows by now that the only two times Rodney will not complain is: 1.) When he has nothing to complain about, and 2.) When he's so miserable that he doesn't have the energy to complain. The first option is rare but it does happen. The second one has only happened once or twice, most notably after Doranda. The weeks leading up to their more or less enforced time off have been tough, that much is true, but John prefers to think he would've noticed if things had been that bad.
Rodney's mostly asleep by now and John pokes him again, a little harder this time. It earns him a groggy little yelp and a flailing arm in his face. "What? What!"
"What's wrong with this vacation?" John repeats patiently.
Rodney yawns hugely and sits up, leaning on his elbow. His hair is mussed and he has a long pillow crease on his left cheek and he looks utterly adorable, something John will vehemently deny if asked.
"What's wrong? Nothing's wrong. Is there something wrong?"
Having a conversation with pre-caffeinated Rodney is an interesting and often frustrating experience. John sighs. "You said this isn't how you pictured it. So what's wrong, McKay?"
Rodney rubs his eyes with the heel of his hand and blinks rapidly a few times, like he's trying very hard to wake up. There's a faint look of panic on his face and suddenly John is very worried.
"There's nothing wrong," Rodney says. "Everything's perfect, it's gone off without a hitch. No alien invasions, no terrorist attacks, no civil war outbreaks, no imbecillic so-called scientists trying to destroy the world, no Atlantis emergencies calling us back on the second day. No one's tried to kill us or poison us or kidnap us, nothing has gone wrong."
"Okay." John takes a deep breath. "And what's so bad about that?"
"Bad? Are you simple? Did I say it was a bad thing?"
John makes a face. Rodney's looking at him like he's stupid, and right now he feels a little stupid. Rodney's right, they've never had any time off that turned out to actually be time off. Something always comes up, some kind of crisis that needs to be taken care of and the vacation always ends up being like work. "Sorry about that," he mutters, meaning all the ruined vacations in the past.
Rodney frowns. "I can hear you saying words but they make no sense. I'm sure there are better ways for you to use your mouth."
The worry in John's gut slowly dissipates and gives way to a relieved smile. "Oh yeah? What did you have in mind?"
Rodney has morning breath and the corners of his eyes are crusty and he smells like sweat and the sex they had the night before and John doesn't care. It's a long slow kiss and it tastes like sunshine and the sand that seems to get into everything, which only makes it better.
John rolls over, gets on top, and Rodney is completely relaxed, limp and pliant underneath him in a way he never is back home. John keeps kissing him, listening to the happy, pleasure-drunk little noises he makes. They never get to have morning sex and that's a shame because John really loves it when it's like this, slow, unhurried, like they have all the time in the world.
It's too early for anything fancy but it doesn't matter. This is more than enough, just the two of them moving against each other, getting slick with new sweat. The sun is warm outside and the smell of the ocean drifts in through the cracked-open window like a whisper of home. Coming is almost an afterthought, a lazy wave rolling through them both, slow and sweet.
The best thing about morning sex is when you get to go back to sleep afterwards. When there's nowhere you have to be and no one who needs you to be anything but yourself.
"This is a great vacation," John mumbles into Rodney's neck, his lips rasping against scratchy stubble.
Rodney's arm around his shoulder comes up to swat him lightly on the back of the head. "Shut up. Don't jinx it."
-fin-
sgamadison up. (John/Rodney, R-rated, ~1000 words, unbeta'd.)Unexpected
"Inowpctmvtnnnn..." Rodney mumbles.
At least that's what John hears. The rest of the syllables get lost somewhere between Rodney's mouth and the pillow.
"Huh?" John asks, a little curious over what might be going through Rodney's head at this time of the morning. It usually takes about two cups of coffee to get his brain started and anything he says before that point is bound to be either incoherent or hilarious or both.
Rodney raises his head, blinks against the sunlight, and smiles a little bit. "This is not how I pictured my vacation," he repeats.
Okay, that makes no sense at all. So far, it's been a great vacation. John has done a lot of surfing and Rodney has done a lot of sitting under a huge umbrella on the beach and catching up on articles written by people who are not him and therefore stupid. The people in the hotel bar knows them well enough by now that their drinks are sitting at the counter even before they've had time to sit down and Rodney doesn't even have to ask to make sure there's no citrus. It's been a perfect vacation, and John privately thinks he could get used to this. Not just the roomservice and the long lazy days, but the fact that no one here knows who they are, and that he can hold Rodney's hand in public if he wants to.
"What do you mean?" he asks Rodney, who's still half asleep, sprawled half under and half on top of the covers with one arm carelessly slung over John's chest.
"Hmmmhmm?" Rodney mutters and closes his eyes again.
John pokes him. "Hey, McKay? What do you mean? What's wrong with this vacation?"
This is the first word of complaint he's heard from Rodney all week and John knows by now that the only two times Rodney will not complain is: 1.) When he has nothing to complain about, and 2.) When he's so miserable that he doesn't have the energy to complain. The first option is rare but it does happen. The second one has only happened once or twice, most notably after Doranda. The weeks leading up to their more or less enforced time off have been tough, that much is true, but John prefers to think he would've noticed if things had been that bad.
Rodney's mostly asleep by now and John pokes him again, a little harder this time. It earns him a groggy little yelp and a flailing arm in his face. "What? What!"
"What's wrong with this vacation?" John repeats patiently.
Rodney yawns hugely and sits up, leaning on his elbow. His hair is mussed and he has a long pillow crease on his left cheek and he looks utterly adorable, something John will vehemently deny if asked.
"What's wrong? Nothing's wrong. Is there something wrong?"
Having a conversation with pre-caffeinated Rodney is an interesting and often frustrating experience. John sighs. "You said this isn't how you pictured it. So what's wrong, McKay?"
Rodney rubs his eyes with the heel of his hand and blinks rapidly a few times, like he's trying very hard to wake up. There's a faint look of panic on his face and suddenly John is very worried.
"There's nothing wrong," Rodney says. "Everything's perfect, it's gone off without a hitch. No alien invasions, no terrorist attacks, no civil war outbreaks, no imbecillic so-called scientists trying to destroy the world, no Atlantis emergencies calling us back on the second day. No one's tried to kill us or poison us or kidnap us, nothing has gone wrong."
"Okay." John takes a deep breath. "And what's so bad about that?"
"Bad? Are you simple? Did I say it was a bad thing?"
John makes a face. Rodney's looking at him like he's stupid, and right now he feels a little stupid. Rodney's right, they've never had any time off that turned out to actually be time off. Something always comes up, some kind of crisis that needs to be taken care of and the vacation always ends up being like work. "Sorry about that," he mutters, meaning all the ruined vacations in the past.
Rodney frowns. "I can hear you saying words but they make no sense. I'm sure there are better ways for you to use your mouth."
The worry in John's gut slowly dissipates and gives way to a relieved smile. "Oh yeah? What did you have in mind?"
Rodney has morning breath and the corners of his eyes are crusty and he smells like sweat and the sex they had the night before and John doesn't care. It's a long slow kiss and it tastes like sunshine and the sand that seems to get into everything, which only makes it better.
John rolls over, gets on top, and Rodney is completely relaxed, limp and pliant underneath him in a way he never is back home. John keeps kissing him, listening to the happy, pleasure-drunk little noises he makes. They never get to have morning sex and that's a shame because John really loves it when it's like this, slow, unhurried, like they have all the time in the world.
It's too early for anything fancy but it doesn't matter. This is more than enough, just the two of them moving against each other, getting slick with new sweat. The sun is warm outside and the smell of the ocean drifts in through the cracked-open window like a whisper of home. Coming is almost an afterthought, a lazy wave rolling through them both, slow and sweet.
The best thing about morning sex is when you get to go back to sleep afterwards. When there's nowhere you have to be and no one who needs you to be anything but yourself.
"This is a great vacation," John mumbles into Rodney's neck, his lips rasping against scratchy stubble.
Rodney's arm around his shoulder comes up to swat him lightly on the back of the head. "Shut up. Don't jinx it."
-fin-
