Fic: The Break Room Incident (PG)
Title: The Break Room Incident
Author: R. Tom Mato
Rating: PG for a little swearing
Characters: Mensa!Sheppard, Rod McKay
SGA-verse or MENSA-verse: Mensa-verse
Summary: Just an insane piece of the Mensa-verse.
Warnings: No, the summary should be warning enough.
Notes: I...don't know why I wrote this. I have other things I need to be writing, but this image would not leave my head. We need more Mensa!fic written so I don't have to resort to this to amuse myself. :)
The Break Room Incident
John pushed the E and then the 5 on the number pad of the vending machine, leaning his head against the glass as the metal curls turned round and round, gracelessly dropping his prize to the bottom. He retrieved the package of Twinkies and withdrew to a table in the far corner of the empty break room, sitting in one of the cold plastic chairs before tearing into the wrapping.
He was just finishing the first Twinkie when the door swung open. A man stormed in, a slightly crinkled dollar bill in his fist, and headed straight for the vending machine. John licked the excess cream from his fingers and watched with idle interest as the man scanned the rows of items.
“What the…who took the last package of Twinkies?”
The man scowled and turned to leave. Unfortunately, he turned in John’s direction and saw him sitting there with his *fairly-bought* Twinkies. The scowl darkened into a glare which was probably supposed to intimidate him. John raised his eyebrows questioningly.
“That-are you going to finish that?” he asked-no, more demanded, really. John glanced down at the Twinkie, still snug inside the plastic.
“I was thinking about it, yeah,” John drawled, leaning forward and resting his arms on the table. The position had him hovering just slightly over the snack cake protectively.
His answer made the man grimace. “All right, look, I’m very tired and very hungry,” the man explained. “I have been here for…I don’t even know how long, working on a very important project.”
“Me, too,” John agreed, causing the man to falter.
“What? What are you working on?” he asked, actually looking curious.
John shrugged. “I’m on the X-301 project.”
And like that the expression closed off as the man nodded. “All right, look. I need that Twinkie,” he stated and John snorted in response. The man folded his arms over his chest. “No, really, I have hypoglycemia and if I don’t eat very soon, I’ll pass out.”
John tilted his head toward the vending machine. “I think there are cinnamon buns in there.”
He got the glare again, so narrow this time that he could barely see the blue of his eyes. “I don’t want a cinnamon bun.”
John shrugged and carefully pulled the remaining Twinkie out of the plastic. “I’ll tell that to the medical team when they find your unconscious body.”
The man let his arms fall to his sides. “Oh, come on! Wont that put you over your calorie count or something? I don’t want it to go to waste when you throw it up later.”
John didn’t dignify that with an answer. Instead, he met the man’s gaze evenly as he lifted the Twinkie to his mouth and licked a broad stripe down the middle of it.
“That’s disgusting,” the man complained, his face turning red. “Do you have any idea who I am? I’m on the most important project in this entire complex! I’m the most important person in this entire complex!”
Whoever he was. John didn’t admit he didn’t know, because he didn’t really even know the people he worked with on a daily basis. “It’s my Twinkie,” he replied simply. “I bought it.”
“Then I will buy it from you.”
"I don't think that'll work," John said with a shrug. "We've bonded, you see."
The man looked like he wanted to strangle John--a look he was both familiar with and unfazed by at this point in his life. An idea struck him and he again lifted the Twinkie to his lips. The man was watching him like a hawk. He opened his mouth.
The man's lip curled back in a sneer. "Don't. You. Dare."
John held his gaze, the Twinkie hovering just outside of his mouth. The man's fingers twitched and John smirked despite himself. The man lunged forward and John shoved the entire Twinkie in his mouth in one go, trying not to laugh or gag himself as the man shouted and grabbed his shoulders to stop himself in mid-tackle.
"Fine!" the man yelled, lifting one hand to point his finger in John's face and squeezing his shoulder hard with the other. "But this means war."
John sputtered a laugh, cream oozing out from between his lips. It made the man jump back from him.
"That is so disgusting!"
And then he was gone, and John had to rest his head on the table and concentrate on not choking himself on the damn Twinkie. What a complete and total asshole, but that was the most fun he'd had since coming to Area 51.
Author: R. Tom Mato
Rating: PG for a little swearing
Characters: Mensa!Sheppard, Rod McKay
SGA-verse or MENSA-verse: Mensa-verse
Summary: Just an insane piece of the Mensa-verse.
Warnings: No, the summary should be warning enough.
Notes: I...don't know why I wrote this. I have other things I need to be writing, but this image would not leave my head. We need more Mensa!fic written so I don't have to resort to this to amuse myself. :)
The Break Room Incident
John pushed the E and then the 5 on the number pad of the vending machine, leaning his head against the glass as the metal curls turned round and round, gracelessly dropping his prize to the bottom. He retrieved the package of Twinkies and withdrew to a table in the far corner of the empty break room, sitting in one of the cold plastic chairs before tearing into the wrapping.
He was just finishing the first Twinkie when the door swung open. A man stormed in, a slightly crinkled dollar bill in his fist, and headed straight for the vending machine. John licked the excess cream from his fingers and watched with idle interest as the man scanned the rows of items.
“What the…who took the last package of Twinkies?”
The man scowled and turned to leave. Unfortunately, he turned in John’s direction and saw him sitting there with his *fairly-bought* Twinkies. The scowl darkened into a glare which was probably supposed to intimidate him. John raised his eyebrows questioningly.
“That-are you going to finish that?” he asked-no, more demanded, really. John glanced down at the Twinkie, still snug inside the plastic.
“I was thinking about it, yeah,” John drawled, leaning forward and resting his arms on the table. The position had him hovering just slightly over the snack cake protectively.
His answer made the man grimace. “All right, look, I’m very tired and very hungry,” the man explained. “I have been here for…I don’t even know how long, working on a very important project.”
“Me, too,” John agreed, causing the man to falter.
“What? What are you working on?” he asked, actually looking curious.
John shrugged. “I’m on the X-301 project.”
And like that the expression closed off as the man nodded. “All right, look. I need that Twinkie,” he stated and John snorted in response. The man folded his arms over his chest. “No, really, I have hypoglycemia and if I don’t eat very soon, I’ll pass out.”
John tilted his head toward the vending machine. “I think there are cinnamon buns in there.”
He got the glare again, so narrow this time that he could barely see the blue of his eyes. “I don’t want a cinnamon bun.”
John shrugged and carefully pulled the remaining Twinkie out of the plastic. “I’ll tell that to the medical team when they find your unconscious body.”
The man let his arms fall to his sides. “Oh, come on! Wont that put you over your calorie count or something? I don’t want it to go to waste when you throw it up later.”
John didn’t dignify that with an answer. Instead, he met the man’s gaze evenly as he lifted the Twinkie to his mouth and licked a broad stripe down the middle of it.
“That’s disgusting,” the man complained, his face turning red. “Do you have any idea who I am? I’m on the most important project in this entire complex! I’m the most important person in this entire complex!”
Whoever he was. John didn’t admit he didn’t know, because he didn’t really even know the people he worked with on a daily basis. “It’s my Twinkie,” he replied simply. “I bought it.”
“Then I will buy it from you.”
"I don't think that'll work," John said with a shrug. "We've bonded, you see."
The man looked like he wanted to strangle John--a look he was both familiar with and unfazed by at this point in his life. An idea struck him and he again lifted the Twinkie to his lips. The man was watching him like a hawk. He opened his mouth.
The man's lip curled back in a sneer. "Don't. You. Dare."
John held his gaze, the Twinkie hovering just outside of his mouth. The man's fingers twitched and John smirked despite himself. The man lunged forward and John shoved the entire Twinkie in his mouth in one go, trying not to laugh or gag himself as the man shouted and grabbed his shoulders to stop himself in mid-tackle.
"Fine!" the man yelled, lifting one hand to point his finger in John's face and squeezing his shoulder hard with the other. "But this means war."
John sputtered a laugh, cream oozing out from between his lips. It made the man jump back from him.
"That is so disgusting!"
And then he was gone, and John had to rest his head on the table and concentrate on not choking himself on the damn Twinkie. What a complete and total asshole, but that was the most fun he'd had since coming to Area 51.