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A wee snippet for sheafrotherdon's very very cool Skin Hunger Challenge!
Hands Off (~400 words, spoilers for Adrift/Lifeline)
John's been cranky a lot since everything with Elizabeth, everything with their big move to a whole other planet, and Rodney gets it, he does, burden of command and burden of guilt (Rodney gets it), and sure, flying a whole city through space toward uncertain doom probably takes a lot out of a person, Rodney figures. So he understands why John would be short-tempered and even more closed-off than usual-but when Rodney claps a sympathetic hand on John's bicep and John shrugs it off, well. That kind of pisses Rodney off.
And he does it again-Rodney puts a hand over John's arm at the end of a meeting, just barely brushes hairy skin and the fuzz of John's wristband before John yanks his arm away, and his glare gets even darker, and his voice gets tighter, and he scrubs his hand over where Rodney touched him, like they're in third grade and Rodney has cooties. And again-they're out on one of the balconies, frayed after there'd been an alarm, some yelling, Rodney rooting around frantically in the guts of an Ancient console, more yelling. And now they're both gazing tensely out at a different ocean, standing shoulder to shoulder . . . or at least they were, for the second before John very deliberately sidestepped and put the wall of space back up between them, and it's a good thing he turns and goes back inside after that, because Rodney was having to work really hard to resist the urge to kick him, to shove him right over the edge.
Rodney finds him in the empty mess at the end of yet another long, bleak day, slumped in a chair, head bowed, arms braced on his knees and hands hanging loose between them. John doesn't even look up when Rodney sits down, and Rodney just stares at him. The collar of his black pullover's gapping, and the curve of his neck looks pale and vulnerable, dark hair creeping down his nape because he really needs a haircut, bony knobs of his spine stretching the skin, and Rodney can't help cupping his palm against it. John immediately tries to straighten up, but Rodney presses down, holds him there, and all of the resistance melts right out of him. John's muttering, "Okay, okay, okay, Jesus," but the bend of his neck deepens, and his skin's warming under Rodney's hand, and Rodney lets out his own shaky sigh when a shiver judders down John's back, and they sit like that for a long time.
Hands Off (~400 words, spoilers for Adrift/Lifeline)
John's been cranky a lot since everything with Elizabeth, everything with their big move to a whole other planet, and Rodney gets it, he does, burden of command and burden of guilt (Rodney gets it), and sure, flying a whole city through space toward uncertain doom probably takes a lot out of a person, Rodney figures. So he understands why John would be short-tempered and even more closed-off than usual-but when Rodney claps a sympathetic hand on John's bicep and John shrugs it off, well. That kind of pisses Rodney off.
And he does it again-Rodney puts a hand over John's arm at the end of a meeting, just barely brushes hairy skin and the fuzz of John's wristband before John yanks his arm away, and his glare gets even darker, and his voice gets tighter, and he scrubs his hand over where Rodney touched him, like they're in third grade and Rodney has cooties. And again-they're out on one of the balconies, frayed after there'd been an alarm, some yelling, Rodney rooting around frantically in the guts of an Ancient console, more yelling. And now they're both gazing tensely out at a different ocean, standing shoulder to shoulder . . . or at least they were, for the second before John very deliberately sidestepped and put the wall of space back up between them, and it's a good thing he turns and goes back inside after that, because Rodney was having to work really hard to resist the urge to kick him, to shove him right over the edge.
Rodney finds him in the empty mess at the end of yet another long, bleak day, slumped in a chair, head bowed, arms braced on his knees and hands hanging loose between them. John doesn't even look up when Rodney sits down, and Rodney just stares at him. The collar of his black pullover's gapping, and the curve of his neck looks pale and vulnerable, dark hair creeping down his nape because he really needs a haircut, bony knobs of his spine stretching the skin, and Rodney can't help cupping his palm against it. John immediately tries to straighten up, but Rodney presses down, holds him there, and all of the resistance melts right out of him. John's muttering, "Okay, okay, okay, Jesus," but the bend of his neck deepens, and his skin's warming under Rodney's hand, and Rodney lets out his own shaky sigh when a shiver judders down John's back, and they sit like that for a long time.