A Fluffy Fic
Mar. 21st, 2005 12:01 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
history_gurlOkay, this is the fic I wanted to write for the enclosed spaces challenge on ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
sga_flashfic. Of course, it would not cooperate then. *sigh* Anyway ...
Title: Conflict Resolution
Pairing: McShep
Rating: weak PG?
Disclaimer: don't own 'em, wish I did, I got nothing for anybody to take
Blue eyes perched over a sharp nose, a slash of thin lips tightened over a jutting jaw. Two strong arms crossed over a broad chest, tendons in the forearms visible to any observer. And a foot tapped a rapid tattoo on the floor in the only visible movement.
Funny, thought Major John Sheppard, even Rodney’s nonverbal communications are fast and overwhelming.
“So.”
“So.” The foot tapping somehow, astonishingly, increased its tempo yet again.
“You keep tapping like that, you’re gonna get a cramp.”
“Really? A cramp?” Rodney’s eyebrows took flight, his face displaying exactly what he thought of Sheppard’s warning. “Do you think a cramp is the greatest of my worries right now, Major? Could you possibly have deluded yourself into thinking that I’m concerned about my toes?”
Sheppard really wanted to take a step back. An angry McKay could be an amusing thing, from a distance, but not so much when he was less than a foot away. Once those hands started flying, well, it was going to get even more crowded, and Sheppard was not looking forward to that. A sudden silence alerted Sheppard to the fact that he had missed something.
“You weren’t even listening to me, were you?” The glare that accompanied those words made Sheppard want to shrink back again. “Of course, that shouldn’t surprise me. You didn’t listen when I asked … no, told you not to touch anything on that panel. You might like to think you can just wander around Atlantis, touching things with abandon, but I know better. This is not the lab, these are not controlled conditions, and you just can’t do whatever you like, just because you have the Ancient gene.”
Ironyman, superhero identity of Rodney McKay. Sheppard had enough presence of mind to keep his thought to himself, but not to keep the smirk from his lips. Rodney, of course, noticed.
“Oh, that’s right, laugh it up, Major. We’re trapped in this, this … instant pillar, that’s probably less than a meter square,” Sheppard’s mouth opened, and one finger darted out from McKay’s tightly folded arms in warning. “Ah! We’re trapped in a skinny box, with no visible door or access, you can’t think us out, no one knows we’re here, and I haven’t eaten in who knows how long. It’s like Indiana Sheppard and the Pillar of Doom.”
“It could be worse, you know?” Sheppard let his smile widen, watching the disdain grow in McKay’s eyes at his words. “No, really, it could. We could be in here without our comms.” Sheppard waited for those words to sink in; he didn’t have to wait long.
“Good, good, you call Lt. Ford, tell him he might get to blow things up. I’ll contact Zelenka.” McKay stared at the immobile Sheppard. “Well? What are you waiting for, Major? You’re calling …”
“What? Oh, right.” Sheppard dragged his eyes from Rodney’s hands, and activated his radio. “Major Sheppard to Lieutenant Ford. We have a bit of a situation here, Ford.” He could hear Rodney trying to contact Zelenka at the same time, and he let his eyes drift back to McKay’s hands as he listened for Ford’s acknowledgement.
“Lieutenant Ford, come in.” Still nothing. “Sgt Bates, this is Major Sheppard.” Nothing. “Dr. Grodin? Control Room?”
“You were saying it could be worse?” McKay’s voice dripped saccharine sweetness.
“No luck either?”
“What do you think, Major?”
“I think you need to relax, McKay. I’m sure there’s a perfectly logical reason why our radios don’t work, and why we can’t get out of here.” Sheppard braced his shoulders against the wall behind him.
“Really. Would that be mathematical logic, or Major Sheppard logic? I’ve noticed that those two things often have nothing in common.” Before Sheppard could frame a suitable reply, McKay was off on another tangent. “Listen, what were you thinking when you touched the panel? Can you remember that?”
“Sure. I was thinking about you yelling at me to keep my hands to myself.”
“Is that it?”
“Well,” Sheppard scratched at his jaw with a finger, “then I thought about me yelling back at you, and how Ford told me we sound like an old married couple, and how that fit with the yelling … and then the walls came down. Hey! D’you think this might be some kind of conflict resolution thing?”
“A what?” Nobody could do scorn like Rodney McKay. But nobody could ignore that scorn like John Sheppard.
“You know,” Sheppard shifted a little as he tried to come up with a metaphor McKay could work with, “like a … a … penalty box in hockey!”
“Oh, yes, because the preferred method of solving disputes in hockey is to shove the two combatants into a small space together and let the best man survive.”
“Okay, okay, not exactly like a penalty box then, but, ya know, someplace for people to … um … work stuff out,” Sheppard suggested with a nod and a shrug.
“Major, as you may have already noticed, the Ancients were not leprechauns. They were approximately human sized, like us. And they would not fit well into this, this pillar any better than we do. As such, I believe it impractical to suggest that they would willingly incarcerate two individuals in a structure that is inadequate for them. So, you’ll forgive me if I tend to ignore your explanation out of hand, won’t you?” McKay paused, but only briefly. “And what, exactly, is your fascination with my chest all of a sudden? I understand we’re pretty far from the nearest Hooters, but I really don’t think I’d get hired there anyway.”
Sheppard snapped his eyes up so fast he rapped his head against the wall. “Hands,” he said quickly.
“Hands?” McKay’s hands twitched as he spoke.
“I was looking at your hands, not your, ah, chest.” Eyes flickering between Rodney’s hands and face, Sheppard continued. “I just, I’ve never seen you talk so much and not move your hands. It’s kinda … weird.”
“Weird.”
“Yeah, weird.”
“Let me see if I’ve got this straight, Major. You think we’re on the equivalent of an Ancient ‘time out’ and you are fixating on my hands and calling me weird?” McKay’s head tilted and his gaze locked on Sheppard, but his hands never moved.
“Yes! You always move your hands when you talk. You gesture, you swoop them around, you point, you stab, it’s part of your … McKayisms.” Sheppard lifted his head sharply and cut off anything McKay might have said in response. “Is it just me, or does this thing seem to be shrinking?” Sheppard shifted again, and felt his knee brush Rodney’s leg.
“Oh, great! All we need now is a garbage monster and a Princess. Wait, it started shrinking when we were discussing …”
“Arguing about,” Sheppard said quietly.
“Discussing,” McKay repeated with a quelling look, “… discussing … my hands? No, wait, that makes no sense.”
“It does if I’m right about the reasons for this thing.” A raised finger cut off McKay’s protest. “If this really is a ‘conflict resolution’ room, it might be responding to our arguing.”
“But it’s too small; this type of thing would only work with … couples.” Sheppard could almost see the connections being made in Rodney’s brain. “And you said that Ford referred to us as ‘an old married couple,’ and we’ve been assuming that the city is at least semi-sentient. You could be on to something here, Major.”
“Gee, thanks, McKay.”
“Now, all we have to do is figure out how to make the city think we’re not fighting anymore. I suppose we could talk out all our ‘issues’. No, that would be counterproductive. Maybe we could convince the city we’re gonna go for couples’ counseling with Heightmeyer. No, no, we don’t know if this is responding to physical cues as well as verbal ones. I know, we could …”
“We could always kiss and make up.” As the words left his mouth, Sheppard leaned forward. Keeping his eyes locked with Rodney, he snaked his left hand up to cup the other man’s neck, feeling stubble rasp against his thumb as he traced the strong jaw. “Whaddaya think?”
As McKay parted his lips to respond, Sheppard covered the remaining distance between them. He pressed gently against Rodney’s mouth, his tongue reaching out to flick at the left corner, the one that could curl downward in both cynicism and self-rebuke. Resting his other hand on Rodney’s shoulder, he let his tongue drift across slightly chapped lips tasting of coffee and lip balm. His nose filled with the scent of Rodney, clean, sharp, with a faint metallic tang from all the devices that surrounded him in the lab. Making encouraging noises in his throat, he nibbled at Rodney’s lower lip until he could slip his tongue past it. With a loud moan, he swept his tongue over Rodney’s teeth, reveling in their sharpness. He licked at the faint aftertaste of a raspberry power bar, chasing it across Rodney’s hot, wet tongue, a tongue that was finally, finally, rising to meet his own. The kiss deepened as both men tried to claim the other’s mouth.
Just when Sheppard was beginning to think that air would be a good thing, McKay’s hands finally moved. One settled, hot and hard, against Sheppard’s chest, the clever fingers already moving to pluck at a nipple through the thin black t-shirt. The other threaded into his hair, pulling slightly to break their lip lock. Before he could protest though, McKay began licking and chewing a path along his jaw.
“Is this what you wanted, Major? Is this what the city wanted?” The words rushed hot and fast against Sheppard’s ear, and he blindly thrust his hand at one of the walls for balance. With the same suddenness that had marked their descent, the walls disappeared.
Blinking at the sudden change of circumstance, the two men swayed in the open space beside the console that had started the whole thing. Sheppard watched Rodney lick his lips, and felt those hands tighten their hold on him. “So, McKay, wanna go somewhere private and show me how you talk with your hands?”
sga_flashfic. Of course, it would not cooperate then. *sigh* Anyway ...Title: Conflict Resolution
Pairing: McShep
Rating: weak PG?
Disclaimer: don't own 'em, wish I did, I got nothing for anybody to take
Blue eyes perched over a sharp nose, a slash of thin lips tightened over a jutting jaw. Two strong arms crossed over a broad chest, tendons in the forearms visible to any observer. And a foot tapped a rapid tattoo on the floor in the only visible movement.
Funny, thought Major John Sheppard, even Rodney’s nonverbal communications are fast and overwhelming.
“So.”
“So.” The foot tapping somehow, astonishingly, increased its tempo yet again.
“You keep tapping like that, you’re gonna get a cramp.”
“Really? A cramp?” Rodney’s eyebrows took flight, his face displaying exactly what he thought of Sheppard’s warning. “Do you think a cramp is the greatest of my worries right now, Major? Could you possibly have deluded yourself into thinking that I’m concerned about my toes?”
Sheppard really wanted to take a step back. An angry McKay could be an amusing thing, from a distance, but not so much when he was less than a foot away. Once those hands started flying, well, it was going to get even more crowded, and Sheppard was not looking forward to that. A sudden silence alerted Sheppard to the fact that he had missed something.
“You weren’t even listening to me, were you?” The glare that accompanied those words made Sheppard want to shrink back again. “Of course, that shouldn’t surprise me. You didn’t listen when I asked … no, told you not to touch anything on that panel. You might like to think you can just wander around Atlantis, touching things with abandon, but I know better. This is not the lab, these are not controlled conditions, and you just can’t do whatever you like, just because you have the Ancient gene.”
Ironyman, superhero identity of Rodney McKay. Sheppard had enough presence of mind to keep his thought to himself, but not to keep the smirk from his lips. Rodney, of course, noticed.
“Oh, that’s right, laugh it up, Major. We’re trapped in this, this … instant pillar, that’s probably less than a meter square,” Sheppard’s mouth opened, and one finger darted out from McKay’s tightly folded arms in warning. “Ah! We’re trapped in a skinny box, with no visible door or access, you can’t think us out, no one knows we’re here, and I haven’t eaten in who knows how long. It’s like Indiana Sheppard and the Pillar of Doom.”
“It could be worse, you know?” Sheppard let his smile widen, watching the disdain grow in McKay’s eyes at his words. “No, really, it could. We could be in here without our comms.” Sheppard waited for those words to sink in; he didn’t have to wait long.
“Good, good, you call Lt. Ford, tell him he might get to blow things up. I’ll contact Zelenka.” McKay stared at the immobile Sheppard. “Well? What are you waiting for, Major? You’re calling …”
“What? Oh, right.” Sheppard dragged his eyes from Rodney’s hands, and activated his radio. “Major Sheppard to Lieutenant Ford. We have a bit of a situation here, Ford.” He could hear Rodney trying to contact Zelenka at the same time, and he let his eyes drift back to McKay’s hands as he listened for Ford’s acknowledgement.
“Lieutenant Ford, come in.” Still nothing. “Sgt Bates, this is Major Sheppard.” Nothing. “Dr. Grodin? Control Room?”
“You were saying it could be worse?” McKay’s voice dripped saccharine sweetness.
“No luck either?”
“What do you think, Major?”
“I think you need to relax, McKay. I’m sure there’s a perfectly logical reason why our radios don’t work, and why we can’t get out of here.” Sheppard braced his shoulders against the wall behind him.
“Really. Would that be mathematical logic, or Major Sheppard logic? I’ve noticed that those two things often have nothing in common.” Before Sheppard could frame a suitable reply, McKay was off on another tangent. “Listen, what were you thinking when you touched the panel? Can you remember that?”
“Sure. I was thinking about you yelling at me to keep my hands to myself.”
“Is that it?”
“Well,” Sheppard scratched at his jaw with a finger, “then I thought about me yelling back at you, and how Ford told me we sound like an old married couple, and how that fit with the yelling … and then the walls came down. Hey! D’you think this might be some kind of conflict resolution thing?”
“A what?” Nobody could do scorn like Rodney McKay. But nobody could ignore that scorn like John Sheppard.
“You know,” Sheppard shifted a little as he tried to come up with a metaphor McKay could work with, “like a … a … penalty box in hockey!”
“Oh, yes, because the preferred method of solving disputes in hockey is to shove the two combatants into a small space together and let the best man survive.”
“Okay, okay, not exactly like a penalty box then, but, ya know, someplace for people to … um … work stuff out,” Sheppard suggested with a nod and a shrug.
“Major, as you may have already noticed, the Ancients were not leprechauns. They were approximately human sized, like us. And they would not fit well into this, this pillar any better than we do. As such, I believe it impractical to suggest that they would willingly incarcerate two individuals in a structure that is inadequate for them. So, you’ll forgive me if I tend to ignore your explanation out of hand, won’t you?” McKay paused, but only briefly. “And what, exactly, is your fascination with my chest all of a sudden? I understand we’re pretty far from the nearest Hooters, but I really don’t think I’d get hired there anyway.”
Sheppard snapped his eyes up so fast he rapped his head against the wall. “Hands,” he said quickly.
“Hands?” McKay’s hands twitched as he spoke.
“I was looking at your hands, not your, ah, chest.” Eyes flickering between Rodney’s hands and face, Sheppard continued. “I just, I’ve never seen you talk so much and not move your hands. It’s kinda … weird.”
“Weird.”
“Yeah, weird.”
“Let me see if I’ve got this straight, Major. You think we’re on the equivalent of an Ancient ‘time out’ and you are fixating on my hands and calling me weird?” McKay’s head tilted and his gaze locked on Sheppard, but his hands never moved.
“Yes! You always move your hands when you talk. You gesture, you swoop them around, you point, you stab, it’s part of your … McKayisms.” Sheppard lifted his head sharply and cut off anything McKay might have said in response. “Is it just me, or does this thing seem to be shrinking?” Sheppard shifted again, and felt his knee brush Rodney’s leg.
“Oh, great! All we need now is a garbage monster and a Princess. Wait, it started shrinking when we were discussing …”
“Arguing about,” Sheppard said quietly.
“Discussing,” McKay repeated with a quelling look, “… discussing … my hands? No, wait, that makes no sense.”
“It does if I’m right about the reasons for this thing.” A raised finger cut off McKay’s protest. “If this really is a ‘conflict resolution’ room, it might be responding to our arguing.”
“But it’s too small; this type of thing would only work with … couples.” Sheppard could almost see the connections being made in Rodney’s brain. “And you said that Ford referred to us as ‘an old married couple,’ and we’ve been assuming that the city is at least semi-sentient. You could be on to something here, Major.”
“Gee, thanks, McKay.”
“Now, all we have to do is figure out how to make the city think we’re not fighting anymore. I suppose we could talk out all our ‘issues’. No, that would be counterproductive. Maybe we could convince the city we’re gonna go for couples’ counseling with Heightmeyer. No, no, we don’t know if this is responding to physical cues as well as verbal ones. I know, we could …”
“We could always kiss and make up.” As the words left his mouth, Sheppard leaned forward. Keeping his eyes locked with Rodney, he snaked his left hand up to cup the other man’s neck, feeling stubble rasp against his thumb as he traced the strong jaw. “Whaddaya think?”
As McKay parted his lips to respond, Sheppard covered the remaining distance between them. He pressed gently against Rodney’s mouth, his tongue reaching out to flick at the left corner, the one that could curl downward in both cynicism and self-rebuke. Resting his other hand on Rodney’s shoulder, he let his tongue drift across slightly chapped lips tasting of coffee and lip balm. His nose filled with the scent of Rodney, clean, sharp, with a faint metallic tang from all the devices that surrounded him in the lab. Making encouraging noises in his throat, he nibbled at Rodney’s lower lip until he could slip his tongue past it. With a loud moan, he swept his tongue over Rodney’s teeth, reveling in their sharpness. He licked at the faint aftertaste of a raspberry power bar, chasing it across Rodney’s hot, wet tongue, a tongue that was finally, finally, rising to meet his own. The kiss deepened as both men tried to claim the other’s mouth.
Just when Sheppard was beginning to think that air would be a good thing, McKay’s hands finally moved. One settled, hot and hard, against Sheppard’s chest, the clever fingers already moving to pluck at a nipple through the thin black t-shirt. The other threaded into his hair, pulling slightly to break their lip lock. Before he could protest though, McKay began licking and chewing a path along his jaw.
“Is this what you wanted, Major? Is this what the city wanted?” The words rushed hot and fast against Sheppard’s ear, and he blindly thrust his hand at one of the walls for balance. With the same suddenness that had marked their descent, the walls disappeared.
Blinking at the sudden change of circumstance, the two men swayed in the open space beside the console that had started the whole thing. Sheppard watched Rodney lick his lips, and felt those hands tighten their hold on him. “So, McKay, wanna go somewhere private and show me how you talk with your hands?”
(no subject)
Date: 2005-04-22 07:53 pm (UTC)There's one typo I wanna get out of the way first: Just when Sheppard was being to think that air would be a good thing
I loved their
discussionarguing! Rodney walking right over John, so he hardly gets a word in edgewise. Spot-on. And Sheppard with his smiles and quiet fascination with Rodney. Ironyman! *LOL* I could quote every single one of the pop culture references back at you, they were extremely fitting.I just came over here from your last flashfic entry, because it impressed me so. You have a great take on the characters. I'd love to see much more of that.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-04-22 08:55 pm (UTC)As for the "much more" ... well, I'm writing. The fact that I have four different stories on the go, in two different fandoms, says something about me, I'm sure. But, I'm just not sure what. :)