Fic Musings: Where should we go today? How about Casual Clothing?
I've had a meditation on John's lips and how he kisses. Should I/we do Rodney's? Can a treatise be written on Rodney's shoulders or hands or should we talk about something else?
I myself was struck the other day at how adorable John/Joe is even sleep rumpled and befuddled; face soft and full and kind of exhausted; eminently rufflable. It's a different John than John narrow-and-beautiful-as-a-blade soldier John, whose face might be just as puffy and tired, but his whole body has snapped into focus and his eyes are sharp and calculating everything. Different than dress blues John or OMG wearing a suit jacket or suit John. (I firmly believe those are Joe's own clothes.)
When he's all sweet and smiling and sleepy (and sometimes when his face goes like this he's being a little sarcastic-cute) when he gives this close-mouthed genuine smile and his cheeks are round you can kind of see the boy - sweet or mischievous - and I just want to piiiiiinch his cheeks like a not-at-all-auntly type person.
Casual clothes John. Day off John. A John that I think might shuffle around in flip flops, scratch his tummy a lot and pull clean clothes out of of a laundry basket where they were jammed in haste days ago and now have permawrinkles. He looks at the wadded shirt and shrugs and puts it on because it's soft. Buttons just enough buttons (there's one missing between sternum and stomach and one at the bottom) and and pulls on some shorts. He might even take off his sweatband and walk around with that little leather-thong bracelet showing. And Rodney, confronted by John's strong hairy thighs and narrow, vulnerable looking ankles and feet and ridiculous knees, might try to focus on something else as John drags Rodney away from is "recreational work" to "actual recreation," hauling him over to amble out to the pier with a couple of bags of sandwiches and of course, beer.
In a tacky, hilarious t-shirt and pants whose effect other personnel he is completely unaware of, Rodney allows himself to be drug off like some thumped over the head caveperson, bludgeoned by the effect of John Sheppard's bare legs. He wants to gather up one of John's ankles in his hands, or run his hand up the back of his calf under those baggy cargo shorts to cup the curve of muscle on the back of his thigh, and maybe...
Well, he's not so sure what exactly he wants to do, or could do, but he wants to hold those thighs in his hands, hold them open and press his mouth to the vulnerable backs of John's knees and feel John's muscles tremble under his hands. He tries not to think of what might lie between those thighs. He's had a hint of the hairiness of John's belly, and wonders how...and wonders if maybe just at the tops of his legs, if John might have tender, nearly hairless skin right where his thighs curve under and if he'd squirm and moan and beg if Rodney nibbled and kissed and maybe sucked up a few marks there.
By the time they get out to the pier, Rodney's nearly dizzy with the thought, and it's a relief to sit down and have John's legs disappear out of sight for awhile. It's no accident that Rodney sticks his first ice cold beer right between his legs, because he clearly has lost his mind and his dick is trying to make it stays that way.
It's not the first time he's had these thoughts about John, but it's the first time, really, that he's had them while they've hung out deliberately, uniforms off, (God) uniforms discarded, (arrgh!) wearing casual clothes since the shrine.
John passes him a sandwich and Rodney looks down to get it, looks at John's masculine, muscled, strangely graceful forearm. He notices the darkness of John's skin against the rolled back cuff of John's white, soft-looking shirt, observes the thin leather bracelet and the pale skin of John's inner arm and the paler skin of his wrist. Rodney looks at the beauty of John's hand, elegant despite John's hard use for it. Rodney takes the sandwich and swallows hard.
He thinks about fleeing what is about to become an incredibly awkward situation because he just can't. help. but be mesmerized by watching John like this. Four years of friendship undone by a knobby pair of knees, cargo shorts, no wristband, a bracelet and a crumpled white shirt that does nothing to disguise a well-made chest full of soft, dark hair.
It's like seeing John naked, Rodney finally realizes, without the armor of team leader or military commander. Even in movie night blue jeans, John has an air of command about him, of Team Leader, despite his casual, honking laugh and the way he drives Rodney crazy by digging his toes under Rodney's thigh to keep his feet warm. That is a John that does not wake up all Rodney senses like this one does. That John is still partly a commander.
This is just John, more of - he thinks - the real John than he's ever seen. In shorts and a linen shirt John looks more vulnerable and touchable than he did - as long as realizations are coming - in his (utterly bizarre) jammy shirt and track pants and not that Rodney was looking for vulnerable that night he sure was looking for someone to hang on to and he's thinking, now, maybe he hasn't let go yet. And that he doesn't want to.
When he looks up, John's quizzical smile at him is soft, his face full of light stolen from the sparkling water below them. Rodney recognizes the expression on his face as one very similar to how John looks at baby TJ, full of wonder and acceptance and a fiercely happy affection. It's not exactly how John looks at TJ though. It takes Rodney's breath away.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
That's all I've got right now; I'm about to be overcome by a nap. Please feel free to contribute your own meditations.
Continued by jessebee here!
Continued further as full fic here.
I myself was struck the other day at how adorable John/Joe is even sleep rumpled and befuddled; face soft and full and kind of exhausted; eminently rufflable. It's a different John than John narrow-and-beautiful-as-a-blade soldier John, whose face might be just as puffy and tired, but his whole body has snapped into focus and his eyes are sharp and calculating everything. Different than dress blues John or OMG wearing a suit jacket or suit John. (I firmly believe those are Joe's own clothes.)
When he's all sweet and smiling and sleepy (and sometimes when his face goes like this he's being a little sarcastic-cute) when he gives this close-mouthed genuine smile and his cheeks are round you can kind of see the boy - sweet or mischievous - and I just want to piiiiiinch his cheeks like a not-at-all-auntly type person.
Casual clothes John. Day off John. A John that I think might shuffle around in flip flops, scratch his tummy a lot and pull clean clothes out of of a laundry basket where they were jammed in haste days ago and now have permawrinkles. He looks at the wadded shirt and shrugs and puts it on because it's soft. Buttons just enough buttons (there's one missing between sternum and stomach and one at the bottom) and and pulls on some shorts. He might even take off his sweatband and walk around with that little leather-thong bracelet showing. And Rodney, confronted by John's strong hairy thighs and narrow, vulnerable looking ankles and feet and ridiculous knees, might try to focus on something else as John drags Rodney away from is "recreational work" to "actual recreation," hauling him over to amble out to the pier with a couple of bags of sandwiches and of course, beer.
In a tacky, hilarious t-shirt and pants whose effect other personnel he is completely unaware of, Rodney allows himself to be drug off like some thumped over the head caveperson, bludgeoned by the effect of John Sheppard's bare legs. He wants to gather up one of John's ankles in his hands, or run his hand up the back of his calf under those baggy cargo shorts to cup the curve of muscle on the back of his thigh, and maybe...
Well, he's not so sure what exactly he wants to do, or could do, but he wants to hold those thighs in his hands, hold them open and press his mouth to the vulnerable backs of John's knees and feel John's muscles tremble under his hands. He tries not to think of what might lie between those thighs. He's had a hint of the hairiness of John's belly, and wonders how...and wonders if maybe just at the tops of his legs, if John might have tender, nearly hairless skin right where his thighs curve under and if he'd squirm and moan and beg if Rodney nibbled and kissed and maybe sucked up a few marks there.
By the time they get out to the pier, Rodney's nearly dizzy with the thought, and it's a relief to sit down and have John's legs disappear out of sight for awhile. It's no accident that Rodney sticks his first ice cold beer right between his legs, because he clearly has lost his mind and his dick is trying to make it stays that way.
It's not the first time he's had these thoughts about John, but it's the first time, really, that he's had them while they've hung out deliberately, uniforms off, (God) uniforms discarded, (arrgh!) wearing casual clothes since the shrine.
John passes him a sandwich and Rodney looks down to get it, looks at John's masculine, muscled, strangely graceful forearm. He notices the darkness of John's skin against the rolled back cuff of John's white, soft-looking shirt, observes the thin leather bracelet and the pale skin of John's inner arm and the paler skin of his wrist. Rodney looks at the beauty of John's hand, elegant despite John's hard use for it. Rodney takes the sandwich and swallows hard.
He thinks about fleeing what is about to become an incredibly awkward situation because he just can't. help. but be mesmerized by watching John like this. Four years of friendship undone by a knobby pair of knees, cargo shorts, no wristband, a bracelet and a crumpled white shirt that does nothing to disguise a well-made chest full of soft, dark hair.
It's like seeing John naked, Rodney finally realizes, without the armor of team leader or military commander. Even in movie night blue jeans, John has an air of command about him, of Team Leader, despite his casual, honking laugh and the way he drives Rodney crazy by digging his toes under Rodney's thigh to keep his feet warm. That is a John that does not wake up all Rodney senses like this one does. That John is still partly a commander.
This is just John, more of - he thinks - the real John than he's ever seen. In shorts and a linen shirt John looks more vulnerable and touchable than he did - as long as realizations are coming - in his (utterly bizarre) jammy shirt and track pants and not that Rodney was looking for vulnerable that night he sure was looking for someone to hang on to and he's thinking, now, maybe he hasn't let go yet. And that he doesn't want to.
When he looks up, John's quizzical smile at him is soft, his face full of light stolen from the sparkling water below them. Rodney recognizes the expression on his face as one very similar to how John looks at baby TJ, full of wonder and acceptance and a fiercely happy affection. It's not exactly how John looks at TJ though. It takes Rodney's breath away.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
That's all I've got right now; I'm about to be overcome by a nap. Please feel free to contribute your own meditations.
Continued by jessebee here!
Continued further as full fic here.