Another, not final, word about Sheppard and Our Rodney

[stungunbilly]

Or, rather, I realized that I don't write Atlantis stories, and therefore had to stop what I was doing.

~

In the dreams it’s never his fault; he is tied up, or held down, or immobilized through magic or technology. His body is streched and bared, just enough for hot hands to touch him too intimately, for a mouth to find the points of his pulse, for all contact to sizzle on sensitized skin when he gives up and in because he can’t fight any longer.

It’s an awareness of person, not just bodies in motion, and that makes it somehow much more vividly physical. It’s the Colonel’s hand on his belly, slick against sweat and sliding inexorably down toward his gaping fly, it is John’s mouth that laps at  his throat with slow determination. He wakes hard and aching, full of shame and confusion, but he never touches himself then, because he couldn’t face Sheppard down with the memory of his dick in his hand and deliberate fantasy holding him silent. No matter how much it aches in his throat to push it all aside, he does.

So when they meet, he is himself; bold and strident in opinion, cautious and complaining in execution. He meets John’s eyes and talks over him and sometimes, lets him stand a little too close.
~

 

~
Mornings usually begin with a senior staff meeting, these days. Rodney likes to be early, but is generally late. There is commonly some scientist waiting for him to wake up to introduce him to a new lab problem, and days when there isn’t he can’t resist the impulse to make sure there isn’t one building. When he gets to Elizabeth’s office, Sheppard is likely to be there, a little rumpled and slouching but alert.

John has a light in his eyes, sometimes green and sometimes golden. He has a full mouth which smiles indiscriminately, usually with a twist that makes him seem sarcastic. In the mornings his jaw is angular and pale without the shadow that will come by two o’clock.

“Hey,” he says, always. “Hey Rodney.”

Rodney wiggles in his chair and drinks his coffee, hot enough to burn his tongue. He waves his hand vaguely at Sheppard and blanks his mind of the previous night, squirms because the seat is too hard, and looks around for Elizabeth. He usually has a power bar but sometimes he has to make do with one of the weird alien candies in the dish on her desk.

He is grateful that the Lt. Colonel never asks him how he slept, and doesn't ask himself. There are usually pale blue smudges under Sheppard's bright eyes.

~

And also, I had a truly embarassing realization.
If John turned into a woman, I would be wanting TPTB to have him and Rodney get married and have robots kids and a pet alien cat and settle in a little place in the Atlantean suburbs. In canon. I pain myself.

Now, off to read McKay/Dex or McKay/Zelenka and possibly some Sheppard/Ray Kowalski for therapy.