Postcards
From The Id
by lamardeuse
Rating: PG-13
Pairing:
McKay/Sheppard
Warnings
(highlight to view):
sexual situations
Written for
hackthis' someecards
challenge.
Rodney had no idea how
he'd managed it, but somehow he'd convinced Katie to give him one last
chance. They were sitting in a restaurant on Earth, a fabulously
expensive French restaurant with atmosphere galore, candlelight and
soft violin music giving everything a warm, romantic feel. He had the
perfect setup here,
and all he had to do was open his mouth and tell her how he felt.
Complimenting her, that
would be a good start – women liked that. It wasn't like it was hard to
compliment her. She was sweet and beautiful and brilliant and she put
up with him,
or at least she had. No, okay, he probably shouldn't go down that last
route, so: sweet, beautiful, brilliant. Should he say he didn't deserve
her? Maybe not; she might agree with him. He could tell her how sorry
he was for screwing up, how much he wanted to make things work with
her, because she really
was a wonderful person, and if he couldn't make someone as kindhearted
as
Katie see the good in him, he was a more than a little afraid that no
one
ever would, and whoa, where had that come from?
Rodney slumped in his
chair. Oh, God, that was it, wasn't it? He'd never been all that great
at romantic relationships, fine, and he knew he wasn't exactly God's
gift to women,
but he hadn't realized how much Jeanie's sniping comments had mirrored
his
own doubts and fears. Was he really afraid of losing Katie
because
he didn't think anyone else would want him? Did he actually love her
enough
to (possibly) marry her, or was he just settling because he'd finally
found
someone who could stand him for more than a month? If he let her go, it
was tantamount to admitting that eventually every woman who got a look
at
the real Rodney McKay would turn and run, and really, maybe he should
just
give up now and join a monastery or something –
“Rodney?”
Rodney looked up to see
Katie peering at him across the table, a concerned look on her face.
“Yes, I'm
sorry, what did you say?”
“Are you all right? You
seemed very far away just now.”
“No, I – ” Rodney sucked
in a breath. “I'm fine. I just – thank you for giving me this chance.”
Katie ducked her head
shyly. “I'm glad you suggested this. I didn't like the way we'd left
things.”
Rodney's heart started to
pound in his chest, but he couldn't tell if what he was feeling was
excitement or terror. “No, I didn't either. You're – sweet and
beautiful and brilliant – ” there, he'd gotten that all out, good for
him “– and I think we can
make this work.”
“I'd like that,” Katie
said, smiling at him, and oh God, this was actually going to happen,
she was going to take him back, there was hope for him after all, he
wasn't going to die alone in an apartment with fifteen cats –
Rodney blinked. Okay,
that probably wasn't a good reason to be happy about this, was it?
“Are you ready to order?”
Rodney looked up to see a
tall, dark-haired waiter in a crisp black suit standing above them.
“Oh,” he said, stupidly, because he'd completely forgotten about the
meal. He flipped open the menu, but the words all blended together,
meaningless. He knew his French was rusty, but it was more than that;
he seemed to have forgotten how
to decipher the letters of the alphabet. Maybe he was having a stroke?
“Do you have some
suggestions for us?” Katie asked the waiter, and right, that was a good
idea, he should have thought of that. “We'd love to hear your opinion.”
The waiter turned to
Katie and smiled thinly. “I am not sure you would like to hear my
opinion, madame.”
Katie smiled up at him
encouragingly. “Of course we would,” she said, and for some reason
Rodney's blood turned cold.
“Well, in that case,
madame, I would like to offer the opinion that you were right to dump
this man,
and you are a fool if you are considering taking him back.”
“Wait a minute...” Rodney
began, holding up a hand.
Katie shot Rodney an
uncharacteristically sharp look, then smiled up at the waiter again.
“Please, go on.”
“No woman should marry
him,” the waiter sniffed. “He is petty, arrogant and inconsiderate, and
he will always put his work before a relationship.”
“Well, considering my
work involves saving people from certain death on a regular
basis – ”
Rodney began hotly, only to have Katie silence him with an irritated
glare.
“Docteur McKay has never
had a relationship that has not ended in disaster. He has few friends,
and
those he does have only tolerate him because he is useful on occasion.”
“On occasion?”
Rodney yelled. “I'll have you know I'm very useful on every occasion –
that is,
when I'm not locked in a room with plants and no computer,
and – and – ” He was aware he was missing an important point here –
wait,
he just had to think for a moment “– and that is not true! I have
plenty
of friends! Real friends!”
The waiter folded his
arms. “Name one.”
Rodney snapped his
fingers. “John Sheppard! He likes spending time with me. We hang out
together all
the time! In fact, the day I was going to propose, he offered to have a
beer
with me afterward to celebrate. Is that the action of someone who only
tolerates me?”
Katie stared at him.
“Wait,” she said. “You were going to propose to me, and then go spend
time with
Colonel Sheppard?”
Rodney frowned. Put that
way, it sounded odd. It hadn't sounded odd at the time, but now it
sounded
odd. “I know that sounds odd,” he confessed, “but it – um.”
Katie leaned forward.
“You always used to tell me how busy you were with work. You rarely had
time
for me. For us. And now you're saying that you hang out with Colonel
Sheppard 'all the time'? Why do you have time for him and not for me?”
Inside Rodney's head, the
disused gears of his interpersonal skills were grinding together with
an alarming
noise that sounded a lot like screaming. “I – I – that's different!” he
blurted.
“Sheppard's on my team, and it's important that you bond with your team
members.
It's a – team thing.”
“Do you spend as much
time with Ronon and Teyla?” Katie demanded.
Rodney's mouth opened and
closed a few times. “No? But that doesn't mean – ”
“Madame,” the waiter
intoned solemnly, “it is worse than I thought. Your boyfriend is gay.”
Katie buried her face in
her linen napkin and began to cry noisily.
“Wait! I – that's not – I
don't – ”
“I think it would be best
if you left this restaurant,” the waiter informed him coldly. “Before
you upset the lady further.”
Rodney stood abruptly,
turned on his heel and stomped out the door. Instead of ending up
outside, however, he found himself back in his quarters on Atlantis,
surrounded by meowing
cats twining themselves around his legs, staring balefully at him from
his
bed, happily shredding the side of his chair with their claws.
“Crap,” Rodney said,
right before he woke up in a cold sweat.
“Favorite western,” John
said, pointing at Ronon.
Rodney made a face and
stabbed at an innocent hash brown with a fork.
“The Magnificent Seven,”
Ronon said.
Rodney snorted. “Like
that's a surprise.”
Ronon regarded him
balefully across the table. “What do you mean by that?”
“I mean you have a thing
for Yul Brynner.”
Ronon shrugged. “He's
cool.”
“You went gaga over him
when we watched that movie,” Rodney pointed out. “For a week you
thought about shaving your head.”
“Still thinking about
it,” Ronon said. “Hair's gettin' to be a pain.”
“Oh, really? Is it
becoming harder for you to make yourself beautiful in the morning?”
Dimly through the haze of
his bizarre hostility, it occurred to Rodney that he was courting
death, but
Ronon's eyes only crinkled at the corners. The bastard was amused.
“Something on your mind, McKay?”
All at once, the anger
he'd been feeling drained out of him in a rush. “No,” he muttered,
pinching the bridge of his nose. “I just didn't sleep very well.”
“You should rest,” Teyla
said, concern showing on her features. “You have been working too hard
on
recalibrating those quarantine systems.”
“I'm fine, thank you,”
Rodney murmured, stuffing a forkful of eggs in his mouth. He realized
he sounded like a petulant child, but he felt like one. It was bad
enough to have subconscious doubts about his social skills, but to have
them all paraded in front of
him in his dreams in the form of a snotty French waiter was too much.
“Teyla,” Sheppard said.
“Favorite western.”
“I would have to say –
Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.”
“Really,” John drawled.
“Really. It is a truly
beautiful romance.”
“Butch Cassidy and the
Sundance Kid is not a romance,” Rodney said tartly.
Teyla only cocked her
head at him, her serenity untouched. “They were two people who shared
their lives, and were willing to die for one another. If that is not a
love story, what is?”
“That's not – it's not
even – ” Rodney spluttered. “You can't just make a story what you want
it to
be,” he finished weakly.
“Why not?” Teyla asked,
sounding genuinely curious.
“Because entertainment is
supposed to be mindless,” Rodney grumbled. “That's the way we like it
on Earth.”
“Sounds boring,” Ronon
offered.
Sheppard cleared his
throat. Rodney looked up to see him watching him from across the table,
as though he were trying to stare right through his skull into his
brain. It was unnerving, unsettling, and Rodney wished he would stop it
right now.
John opened his mouth,
but Rodney beat him to it. “I don't have one,” he blurted, shooting to
his feet so quickly he nearly tipped over his chair. “Now, if you'll
excuse me.”
“Rodney?” John's voice
followed him as he made a hasty retreat, but he ignored it.
He supposed it was too
much to expect Sheppard would leave it alone, but of course, he didn't.
Sheppard waggled the
memory stick at him. “Since you don't have a favorite western, I
brought your favorite cheesy old Technicolor sci-fi movie.”
“I already have Forbidden
Planet,” Rodney griped.
John frowned. “It's a
gesture, Rodney,” he whined. “And I also brought these,” he added,
holding up a six-pack of –
“Oh my God, is that
Smithwicks?” Rodney held up the sturdy bottle of Irish beer, chilled to
perfection. “How the hell did you get your hands on Smithwicks?”
“The new guy, Dunegan, in
Anthropology. He's got great connections.”
Rodney looked up at him
with something he knew had to be approaching adoration; still,
Smithwicks deserved it. But – “Wait a minute. How did you know I liked
Smithwicks?”
Sheppard hitched a
shoulder. “You mentioned you missed it a while ago. Also, you ordered
one at that
restaurant we went to when we were back on Earth last year.”
Rodney nodded dumbly.
Sheppard had remembered Rodney's favorite beer. Because Sheppard was
his buddy, and buddies did things like that. Not because they were gay.
That would be ridiculous, as ridiculous as saying that Butch Cassidy
and the Sundance Kid had been
madly in love with one another.
Sheppard deposited the
six-pack on Rodney's nightstand, then snagged one and popped the cap
with an attachment from his Swiss army knife. He handed that one to
Rodney, then reached for the one Rodney had been holding. Their fingers
tangled together for a moment before Rodney thought to release the
bottle. Afterward, Rodney's hand felt strangely tingly. He supposed it
was from the cold.
Sheppard fell asleep
three quarters of the way through the movie, his head thrown back
against the
chair, his snores soft and even. Rodney took the beer away from him
before
it spilled, but otherwise left him alone. John had taken off his boots
and
propped his feet up against Rodney's coffee table, the toes pointing
outward
slightly. As the sinister nature of Morbeus' power was revealed, Rodney
found himself paying more attention to Sheppard's feet; there was
something
about that brain boosting machine that hit a little too close to home.
As
the doctor lay dying in his friend's arms, raving about the monsters
from
the id, Rodney clicked off the movie and pulled out the jump drive with
a
vicious yank.
Sheppard immediately
yawned and stretched and opened his eyes to half-mast. “D'd I miss the
end?” he
mumbled.
Rodney shook his head. “I
stopped it.” He looked away. “I'm not so much of a fan of that movie as
I used to be.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
Rodney turned to look at
him. “Don't be. It was – nice of you. Thank you.”
Sheppard blinked at him,
then scrubbed a hand over his face. When he took it away, his eyes were
open all the way, but he didn't look at Rodney, instead focusing his
attention
on the darkened computer screen. “She was an idiot to turn you down.”
Rodney frowned,
momentarily confused by the non sequitur. “Oh. No. Who told you that?”
Sheppard glanced at him,
shook his head. “Nobody. I used my powers of deduction.”
“Oh. Well – no. That is,
I didn't exactly ask her.”
Sheppard's face went
carefully and completely blank. “Did you – change your mind?”
“Not at first. But being
trapped in a room with me in the middle of a crisis gave her ample
opportunity
to get to know a side of my personality she hadn't had the opportunity
to
see.” He looked away. “In intimate detail.”
John made a face. “Damn.
I figured you'd freak out.”
Rodney's gut twisted. The
waiter was nothing compared to hearing it from the man he considered
his best
friend. He rose to his feet on shaking legs. “Yes. Well, you were
right. Now,
if you don't mind, it's getting late – ”
“Hey, hey, Rodney, whoa.”
John was on his feet now, too, and his hands were gripping Rodney's
upper arms, turning Rodney gently but firmly back toward him. “That
wasn't what I meant. I meant that I knew how frustrated you
had to have been when you found out you couldn't get to a computer or a
radio when the shit was hitting the fan. Believe me, I wouldn't have
done any better in that situation.”
Rodney tried not to think
about Sheppard's hands on him, their touch so hot he felt burned
through the
thin material of his shirt. “Oh, well, all right, that's – I see.”
“So you decided not to
ask her because – ”
Rodney glared at him.
“Because there's not much point in planning for the future when you're
about to die?”
Mercifully, Sheppard
finally let go of him. “Rodney, we could all die tomorrow. Hell, you
could die tomorrow back on Earth just walking across the street.”
“Wow,” Rodney said,
impressed. “You have an even bleaker outlook than I do.”
“No, I mean – ” Sheppard
paused, seeming to gather his thoughts “– I mean, if you're always
worrying
about what's gonna happen next, you'll never do anything.”
Rodney stared at him, and
John stared back. It occurred to him that neither of them was saying
anything, and what was more, most of the oxygen seemed to have left the
room, because Rodney was suddenly feeling lightheaded.
He wasn't sure how long
they stood there before John finally broke the spell, taking a jerky
step back and rubbing the back of his neck. “Well,” he said, voice
strangely hoarse, “guess I'd better let you get some rest.”
“Okay,” Rodney said,
rather stupidly. “Thanks for the movie. And the beer.”
“No problem. That's what
friends are for, right?”
“So I've heard,” Rodney
murmured, as Sheppard gave him one last smile and turned to go.
The night after they
returned from their ordeal with the Princess Brat, Rodney dreamed it
was ten years later and she'd summoned the two of them back to her
court. Rodney glanced into a mirror as they walked down the hallway of
the palace and saw that
he was bald and jowly, while Sheppard, of course, looked as if he
hadn't
aged a day.
This dream sucked already.
“I have decided to return
to my original plan and marry John,” she announced to the assembled
crowd, which applauded politely. Turning to Rodney, she sneered, “You
are no longer attractive to me, and you must be punished.”
“Yeah, I saw that
coming,” Rodney sighed, and when he turned around, he was standing
alone in a stone room. Just for the hell of it, he walked to the
window. Oh, of course, a
tower. That was just peachy.
“What, I don't even get
any cats this time?” Rodney yelled, to no one in particular.
He leaned out the window – Jesus, he couldn't even see the ground, just
swirling gray fog a couple of hundred feet down.
And then he felt a hand
close around his shoulder. He started, then yelped and pitched forward.
Another hand gripped his other shoulder and yanked him back before he
fell.
“Whoa, hang on, I've got
you.” John's voice, warm breath tickling his ear. Dimly, it occurred to
Rodney that this was a very vivid dream, but he decided to just go with
it,
at least for now.
“Why – are you here?”
Rodney said. Words seemed to be coming more slowly with his back
plastered all
up against Sheppard's front and Sheppard's hands still curled snugly
around
his shoulders. “I thought you were going to get married.”
“Nah,” Sheppard said.
“Thought I'd stay here with you instead, if that's okay.”
Rodney turned in
Sheppard's grasp and stared at him. “You chose to be locked up in a
stone tower for
all eternity with me rather than to marry a princess.”
“I like you better,” John
said simply, smiling.
“Oh,” Rodney said.
“Really?”
“Really,” John answered,
smile turning into a grin.
And after that, it seemed
the most natural thing in the world to lean forward and kiss Sheppard
right on the mouth.
“Cool,” Sheppard said
when they parted, then hooked an arm around Rodney's neck and hauled
him in for another kiss. Rodney let it happen for a moment, let the
illusion of having Sheppard this close envelop him for as long a
stretch of time as he could manage, and then he was pushing him away.
“Hey, where're you
going?” Sheppard complained, reaching for him.
“This isn't real,” Rodney
murmured, shaking his head. “This is a dream.”
“So?” Sheppard countered.
“So you don't really want
this!” Rodney yelled, waving his arms. “This is my subconscious –
messing with my mind!”
John actually pouted at
that, as though he was insulted. “How do you know I don't really want
this?”
“Because nobody wants
this!” Rodney shouted. “Because I'm going to die alone, all right?
Because – because – ” Rodney ran out of steam abruptly as he silently
finished the thought: because I'm not loveable.
“That's not true,”
Sheppard said, and suddenly he was there, his hands closing around
Rodney's arms,
tugging him closer. “Rodney, I lo– ”
“No!” Rodney exclaimed,
wrenching himself from Sheppard's grasp. “Don't you dare say that, you
– you – figment of my imagination!”
“Rodney!” Sheppard
yelled, which Rodney thought was an extreme reaction, until he felt the
backs of
his legs catch against the low sash of the open window right before he
tumbled backward, falling out of the tower.
He woke up gasping and
shaking, any arousal he might have felt during the dream effectively
killed by the healthy dose of terror. He staggered to the bathroom,
where the cold water he splashed on his face didn't manage to erase the
phantom sensation of
Sheppard's mouth against his.
When Rodney fell through
the hole on M5V-801, he had just enough time to think Christ, not
again before he hit the floor.
While the during part had
definitely left something to be desired, the aftermath of the ordeal
wasn't bad at all, despite the bandaged hands. He'd gotten to play the
hero, not quite as dashing as some, but still, it counted. And he'd had
a surprisingly good time with Jennifer Keller, who, all right, fine,
was far too young for him, in more ways than one. Still, it was a boost
to his ego to see the way she smiled at him, the way she laughed at his
attempts at humor, which even he admitted were fairly lame. In his own
defense, though, he was so far beyond exhaustion by this point that he
was surprised he could form coherent sentences.
They were halfway through
their second beer – this time, she was treating him – when Jennifer
looked up and sucked in a breath at something she saw over Rodney's
left shoulder. Rodney turned to see Ronon striding toward them, a look
on his face that Rodney
couldn't begin to fathom – but this was pretty much par for the
course,
since Rodney never had much luck deciphering Ronon's stone-faced
expressions.
Ronon reached the table
and then just stood there, staring down at Jennifer as though he were
seeing
a beer-drinking ghost. “Hey,” Jennifer said softly, “I meant to call
you,”
and Rodney felt the pit of his stomach give way, because God, they were
an item, and why the hell had Sheppard not filled him in? This
little tidbit of information might have come in handy an hour earlier,
when Rodney could have said 'hell no' to Jennifer's invitation, because
he didn't want to be beaten to a pulp by her jealous boyfriend,
thank you very much.
But Ronon didn't tear him
limb from limb; in fact, he gave no indication at first that Rodney
existed. Instead, he sank down into the seat beside Keller, almost
gracefully for such
a huge man, his gaze never leaving her face. And then he turned his
head
to stare at her bandaged hands where they rested on the tabletop.
Slowly, his own hand slid across the table, palm up, stopping just
before it would have touched one of hers; after a moment, Jennifer
swallowed and placed her hand, also palm-up, on top of his. Ronon
cupped his fingers slightly, forming a cradle for it to rest in.
And then his gaze rose to
Rodney, and the look in his eyes was as easy to read as a neon sign.
Gratitude.
This time it was Rodney's
turn to swallow around the sudden lump in his throat. “Well, listen,”
he said,
when he could trust his voice, “it's been great, really, but if I'm not
in
bed within about five seconds, I'm going to faceplant right into this
table.
And I don't think anyone wants to see that.”
Jennifer smiled at him
gently. “Thanks for the beer. And just – thanks.”
Rodney smiled back as he
hauled himself to his feet. “No thanks necessary,” he said, nodding at
her,
then Ronon.
As he limped his way to
his quarters, he couldn't help the faint taste of envy that stayed with
him
as he thought of the look in Ronon's eyes. Having someone who would
care
that much wasn't something he'd ever told himself he needed, but these
days
it was getting harder to convince himself that was still true. Just
once,
he'd like to know what it felt like to come home to a person who –
well,
okay, there were people in his life who gave a damn – but a person who
cared
about him more than anyone else, that would be –
“Hey.”
Lost in his own head,
Rodney didn't register John's presence in the hall outside his quarters
until he was nearly on top of him. When he did, he stopped so quickly
he nearly tripped over his own feet. “Oh. Um. Hey.”
John shoved his hands in
his pockets. “I – uh, heard you had some trouble.”
Rodney shrugged. “Just a
little.” He couldn't help letting a yawn escape.
“You're tired, I should –
”
“No! I mean, do you want
to – ”
“– If you're sure you're
not too –”
“– I'm sure, I'm very
sure, I've never been more sure.”
John stared at him,
finally silent, then broke into a lopsided smirk that did something not
entirely
unpleasant to Rodney's insides. “Gee, Rodney, are you sure?”
“Oh, for – ” Rodney
thought his door open, then stepped inside. “Get in here, already.”
Still smirking, John
followed him.
They only made it through
half an hour of Spiderman 3; this time, John was the one to
turn it off.
“Sorry, I thought there'd
be less – ” John waved a hand.
“Existential angst?”
Rodney supplied. “Well, he is a Marvel hero, after all.”
“Yeah, I could never
really figure out why they call him Smilin' Stan.”
“Probably because he's
smiling all the way to the bank these days,” Rodney murmured. He turned
to look
at John, and caught him staring at...his own hands.
Well. That was odd.
“I'm sorry,” John said
quietly, not looking up.
“You said that already.”
“No, I mean – for not
going with you.” His gaze rose to Rodney's face.
“Well,” Rodney said,
voice suddenly gone scratchy, “it turned out all right in the end.”
“Because of you,” John
said.
Rodney frowned. “Who told
you – ”
“Carter. She said you
saved her life. Keller's, too.”
“Well,” Rodney said
again, “I owe quite a bit to her haranguing. She must have learned her
pep talks from the John Sheppard school of motivation.”
“Still,” John drawled, a
twinkle in his eye, “I wish I could've been there to harangue you
personally.”
Rodney waved a hand. “I
imagine you just would've gone and gotten your leg broken, too, being
all heroic.” John puffed a little at that and Rodney added, “Problem
is, you're a lot
heavier than Sam is. I would have let go of the damned rope for sure.”
John's mouth twisted.
“Then maybe fate actually did know what she was doing today.”
Rodney snorted. “There's
a first time for everything.”
John rested his head
against the back of the couch, looking at Rodney out of the corner of
his eye. “Guess I should let you sleep.”
Rodney's heart leapt, but
he had run out of excuses. “I suppose,” he conceded.
John nodded and stood,
and before Rodney knew what he was doing, he'd shot to his feet and
gripped
John's forearm. A split second too late, he remembered why that was a
really
stupid idea.
“Ow, ow, ow, God, ow,”
Rodney gasped, letting go of Sheppard like his hand had suddenly caught
fire, which he supposed it had.
“Rodney, geez,” John
murmured, and Rodney squinted through the tears of pain to see that
Sheppard was holding Rodney's hand in both of his, gingerly, as he
inspected the palm.
Rodney stood there,
dumbstruck, staring at the top of John's bowed head. John's thumb
stroked along the
side of Rodney's pinky, and Rodney shut his eyes briefly and shuddered.
John raised his head and
searched Rodney's face. “Still hurts?”
Rodney shook his head,
took a deep breath, and told his subconscious to take a flying leap.
Then he
leaned forward and pressed his mouth to John's.
He felt John go
completely still under him, and tried not to panic, because he'd been
wrong so many
times before, and this time had the potential to top them all. But
before
Rodney could pull away and plead temporary insanity, John tilted his
head
and slid his tongue along Rodney's lower lip, and Rodney felt a surge
of
triumph at the realization he'd finally, finally gotten it
right.
“Will you still want to
do this when I get bald and fat?”
John rolled onto his side
and ran a hand through Rodney's hair. “Don't worry,” he said, smiling
goofily. “You're not gonna get fat.”
“Oh, ha ha,” Rodney
sneered, but it became difficult to stay peeved when John rolled him
onto his back and kissed him. One of Rodney's hands rose to John's
shoulder; John immediately pulled back and glared at him.
“Okay, yes, right,”
Rodney said, letting his hand fall back to the mattress as John
returned to kissing his mouth, his cheek, his jawline. John hadn't let
him use his hands at
all, and it had been both maddening and incredibly hot to lie there,
unable
to reciprocate, while John had stripped Rodney and touched him all over
using only the tips of his fingers, like he was a blind man charting
the
surface of Rodney's skin. By the time he'd finally reached Rodney's
erogenous
zones, his whole damn body had been one big erogenous zone.
Not that Rodney was
complaining, especially since John seemed to be starting a second
mapping expedition,
this time with lips instead of fingers.
As John nibbled his way
down the side of his neck, Rodney sighed and tilted his head back.
“When these bandages come off, you'd better be naked and in your bed
waiting for me.”
John's response to that
was a strangled groan and a bite to the tendon joining neck to shoulder.
“Watch it, you vampire,”
Rodney tried to snap, but the words emerged more like a purr. Opening
his
eyes and staring upwards, he asked, “Do that again, will you?”
John obliged, biting down
even harder this time. Rodney gasped and curled his toes into the
sheets as
John soothed the now-tender skin with gentle swipes of his tongue, then
broke
into a huge, no doubt stupid grin.
“Just checking,” he
murmured, bending to kiss the top of John's ridiculously thick head of
hair.
End
February
2008
A/N: My e-card:
send feedback
leave
a comment on my livejournal
leave a
comment on Dreamwidth
Back to Stargate:
Atlantis fiction