[Stargate: Atlantis] Planet of the Inappropriate Trade Boundaries
Title: Planet of the Inappropriate Trade Boundaries
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Genre: CRACK
Summary: He's staring at the headdress, because feathers, when Rodney clears his throat behind him, and oh, but that's just perfect.
Notes: Completely self-indulgent crack based on The Mission mentioned in bits and pieces in One Over the Eight, Aftermath, and Contingency Plans. :D
He's staring at the headdress, because feathers, when Rodney clears his throat behind him, and oh, but that's just perfect.
"What do you want, McKay?"
Rodney doesn't answer, just walks right on in like John's granted him permission to do so just by speaking to him. Watching as Rodney pokes through the pots and jars arrayed on the small table, he realizes that that's probably true enough in McKay's world, so whatever.
"Ionna asked us to check on you." Rodney picks one of the jars up and sniffs its contents, clearly amused by the entire situation. "What with you having locked yourself in here like some kind of damsel in distress and all."
Eyes narrowing, John turns to look at him, trying for dignified although that's a little difficult, considering what he's wearing and -
"You look like a raccoon." Rodney blurts when he finally looks up at him. He takes a step closer, eyes flicking over his face, moving upwards to focus on his hair, eyes widening. "Christ, who did this?"
"Excuse me?" John's used to Rodney being, well, Rodney, but this just takes the goddamn cake. "You did, you bastard! You and your 'Oh, oh wow. These are delicious, kind of like apples, now that I think of it' and your 'We'd be willing to trade for these, if you know what I mean', and your stupid smiling!"
And okay, so maybe that was a bit of an overreaction on his part, but Jesus. He's wearing a dress and some kind of beaded necklace-thing and some kind of - god, please let that be all it is, because otherwise he's not sure he wants to know - plant matter smeared all over his upper body, and there are flowers in his hair.
"I'm getting the feeling you're not happy. You don't look happy." Rodney says with a choked little laugh, only it's not quite so funny because John is this close, this close, to killing him, and - and god, he's losing it. Completely losing it and apparently he wasn't as cool with this whole thing as he thought he was.
"Christ, calm down." Rodney sounds worried and a little frantic as he grabs John by the shoulders and shoves him back down on the stool. "Just...just breathe, okay? Breathe."
Glaring at Rodney, John has the horrible, horrible realization that they've somehow managed to trade roles, and that thought does absolutely nothing for his current state of mind. Rodney's reassuring him and looking concerned because John's having some kind of stupid panic attack.
"You know it's all symbolic, right?" Rodney asks, frowning at him. "The Athosians have traded with these people for generations, Teyla says they're trustworthy."
John knows that, he does. It's just a little difficult to remember when they're decking him out in sacrificial clothing and chanting while flinging some sort of powder at him and covering his body in protective runes and charms.
"Anyway, it's not like they're going to toss you into the nearest volcano to appease their gods or anything." Rodney adds, sounding thoughtful. "I mean, the closest one is all the way on the other continent, and they'd have to - "
"I hate you." John mutters, closing his eyes to focus on breathing and not freaking the hell out. "I hate you so, so much right now."
"No you don't." Rodney says with calm certainty, and John opens his eyes, staring at him and the little smile tugging at one side of his mouth.
"I keep trying to think about how I'm going to write this up in the mission report," He says, breath evening out. "Cross-dressing just doesn't come across in a favorable light, Rodney. Throwing myself on a grenade? Sure! Taking out an enemy stronghold? Terrific! Accessorizing for the strapless gown used in a ritual sacrifice? Surprisingly enough, not the sort of thing the brass likes to hear about!"
"It's not a dress." Rodney frowns at him as he looks at what John's wearing. "It's...actually, I don't know what it is, but it's not a dress."
"Rodney."
Rodney's mouth twitches, and John's just about had enough out of him for one day, but Rodney doesn't say anything. Just...just looks at him like's he's never actually seen him before, eyes tracing the twisting, curling patterns and whorls Ionna's servants had so carefully painted on him.
"You've managed to make a mess of it." Rodney says after a long, long moment. "Ioanna mentioned something about you being...skittish...about them getting too close to your eyes."
John's narrow just that little bit more, because that's not exactly how things went down, but if Rodney's trying to be tactful - and god, how messed up do things have to get when that happens? - John's willing to let things slide.
Besides, he's a pilot, and pilots need their eyes for seeing - he's totally not thinking about the fact that he's starting to sound like Rodney in his own head.
He just really doesn't want anything that small and sharp and nasty looking anywhere near his eyes, and he kind of thinks he's entitled to freak out when alien women try. Even if they're really nothing more than excitable teenagers giggling and whispering to one another when they play dress up with the sacrificial victim.
He pulls back when Rodney reaches for the little brush/pencil-thing the servants had used right before John had stopped being so damn amused by his predicament and Ionna had cleared the room, but doesn't move away. He stands his ground right up until the moment Rodney stretches a hand out to his face with the brush/pencil-thing, and then sort of...leans to one side.
"Trust me." Rodney says, all traces of amusement gone. "Just...trust me, okay?"
John looks at him, and Rodney looks right back, and there's nothing John can say to that, so he closes his eyes and lets Rodney finish adding the final touches. It takes him a while because he has to stop to clean away the smudged and muddled parts and then reapply them. John wants to ask 'How' and 'Why' and really, 'What the hell?', but he doesn't know how.
But it's Rodney, and even though John doesn't know how he does it, he can read John's mind. Not all the time, but often enough that it doesn't matter.
"I told you about Jeannie, right?" Rodney says, not waiting for an answer. "She liked to play with makeup when we were little."
There's a story there, or maybe a lot of stories, but John's not about to ask. Not yet, anyway. He can wait until his own personal hell is over and done with to get started on Rodney's.
"This is basically the same thing, and Teyla convinced the girls to show us how it - you - were supposed to look."
John's positive that's a story in itself, and one he would have paid good money to see play out, but all he does is smile at the thought. Teyla's great with the diplomacy thing, and she's amazing at the kicking ass thing, but she's outright terrifying when she combines the two.
"There, done." John opens his eyes to see Rodney studying him, appraising his work. "Not too bad, if I do say so myself."
Since he isn't sure if Rodney's talking about the whole thing with Rodney's hidden makeup talent or John in makeup or just, god, here's a thought, John, he doesn't throw out the expected line, doesn't try to laugh it off.
Rodney notices after a moment, the pleased look on his face at a job well done fading to that slightly uncertain one he gets when people, don't react the way he expects them to. "What's wrong?"
John shakes his head, because nothing's wrong, well aside from the obvious, anyway. It's just...
"We're going to have a talk when we get back." John says, plans taking form in his head as he watches Rodney, things going click, click click in his mind as everything start falling into place. "A nice, long talk."
"Look, if this is about the whole trade negotiation thing gone horribly wrong," Rodney says, waving a hand at John, the gesture clearly meant to indicate the finery he's wearing, "I'm sorry, okay? Really, really sorry."
John smiles, showing more teeth than is strictly necessary, because it's about damn time.
"How was I supposed to know they'd take it that way? I was thinking -"
He knows what Rodney was thinking, because he was the one to suggest likely trade goods and materials at the mission briefing, but John's not going to let him off that easy.
"Later." John says, relishing the uneasy look on Rodney's face. "A nice, long talk wherein we discuss appropriate items of trade and all sorts of things that do not involve the sale of other human beings. Even temporarily. Understand?"
Rodney swallows and nods, eyes wide. "You're not going to make me write 'I will not sell my teammates for foodstuffs' a hundred times on a whiteboard, are you? Because if you are - "
"Rodney."
It's a bit gratifying when Rodney's mouth snaps shut, and John allows himself a small smile when he sees that Rodney's taking him seriously. "Okay. Good. Now help me with this damn headdress so we can get this over with and go home."
=========
=========
Fortunately for John's peace of mind the ritual goes smoothly and he manages to muddle his way through the ceremonial dance and something eerily like a poetry reading at a coffee house without thoroughly embarrassing himself.
Teyla wisely takes over the negotiating that takes place directly afterwards, working a minor miracle to come to an agreement that's satisfactory to all parties involved. Ionna's father, looking insanely pleased with the trade deal and Atlantis in general declares a party and things get a little out of hand once the alcohol starts flowing.
They return to Atlantis the next morning with surprisingly mild hangovers and after making a brief stop in the infirmary for their post-mission exams they go into the conference room for the mission debriefing. When they get to the part where Rodney tried his hand at negotiating and John wound up paying for it, they all pretend that Elizabeth had some sort of coughing fit and agree to never speak of the mission again, under the threat of unspeakable torment or some such.
Once they're dismissed John makes a beeline for his quarters. He's determined to avoid all human contact for the foreseeable future, or at least until the rumors taper off, and doesn't notice that Rodney's following him. In fact, he doesn't even know he's there at all until the door to John's quarters slides shut behind them and he starts talking.
Then, oh, then he just won't stop talking. Telling John he's 'Really, really sorry' and 'Hey, at least we have new trading partners, right?' and 'Oh my god, you looked really, really hot last night' and 'Please don't kill me' right before he pushes John up against the wall and starts kissing him, hands all over the place.
John draws back and stares at him, trying to figure out just what this is because this is not something he wants to have to apologize for.
"It totally wasn't the dress." Rodney says, eyes locked with his. "Although that might have helped."
He...okay, that's something he really doesn't want to look too closely at, but -
"You told me it wasn't a dress." And they have got to be the most messed up people in two galaxies, because fashion is just not something people should be talking about in this kind of situation.
"I..." Rodney frowns, eyes narrowing. "Why are we talking about your dubious choice in clothing?"
John was perfectly willing to let bygones be bygones because he had Rodney right where he wanted him, but that was a little too much, and Jesus, he's really going to hate himself for this later.
But it's Rodney, and even though John doesn't know how he does it, he can read John's mind. Not all the time, but often enough that it doesn't matter.
"God, don't be an idiot." Rodney snaps, reaching up to grab John's face and kissing him like he's maybe trying to make a really good, really thorough point, or just can't believe John's going to kick him out because Rodney's a spectacular bastard.
Which he really should, but later. Much, much later.
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Genre: CRACK
Summary: He's staring at the headdress, because feathers, when Rodney clears his throat behind him, and oh, but that's just perfect.
Notes: Completely self-indulgent crack based on The Mission mentioned in bits and pieces in One Over the Eight, Aftermath, and Contingency Plans. :D
He's staring at the headdress, because feathers, when Rodney clears his throat behind him, and oh, but that's just perfect.
"What do you want, McKay?"
Rodney doesn't answer, just walks right on in like John's granted him permission to do so just by speaking to him. Watching as Rodney pokes through the pots and jars arrayed on the small table, he realizes that that's probably true enough in McKay's world, so whatever.
"Ionna asked us to check on you." Rodney picks one of the jars up and sniffs its contents, clearly amused by the entire situation. "What with you having locked yourself in here like some kind of damsel in distress and all."
Eyes narrowing, John turns to look at him, trying for dignified although that's a little difficult, considering what he's wearing and -
"You look like a raccoon." Rodney blurts when he finally looks up at him. He takes a step closer, eyes flicking over his face, moving upwards to focus on his hair, eyes widening. "Christ, who did this?"
"Excuse me?" John's used to Rodney being, well, Rodney, but this just takes the goddamn cake. "You did, you bastard! You and your 'Oh, oh wow. These are delicious, kind of like apples, now that I think of it' and your 'We'd be willing to trade for these, if you know what I mean', and your stupid smiling!"
And okay, so maybe that was a bit of an overreaction on his part, but Jesus. He's wearing a dress and some kind of beaded necklace-thing and some kind of - god, please let that be all it is, because otherwise he's not sure he wants to know - plant matter smeared all over his upper body, and there are flowers in his hair.
"I'm getting the feeling you're not happy. You don't look happy." Rodney says with a choked little laugh, only it's not quite so funny because John is this close, this close, to killing him, and - and god, he's losing it. Completely losing it and apparently he wasn't as cool with this whole thing as he thought he was.
"Christ, calm down." Rodney sounds worried and a little frantic as he grabs John by the shoulders and shoves him back down on the stool. "Just...just breathe, okay? Breathe."
Glaring at Rodney, John has the horrible, horrible realization that they've somehow managed to trade roles, and that thought does absolutely nothing for his current state of mind. Rodney's reassuring him and looking concerned because John's having some kind of stupid panic attack.
"You know it's all symbolic, right?" Rodney asks, frowning at him. "The Athosians have traded with these people for generations, Teyla says they're trustworthy."
John knows that, he does. It's just a little difficult to remember when they're decking him out in sacrificial clothing and chanting while flinging some sort of powder at him and covering his body in protective runes and charms.
"Anyway, it's not like they're going to toss you into the nearest volcano to appease their gods or anything." Rodney adds, sounding thoughtful. "I mean, the closest one is all the way on the other continent, and they'd have to - "
"I hate you." John mutters, closing his eyes to focus on breathing and not freaking the hell out. "I hate you so, so much right now."
"No you don't." Rodney says with calm certainty, and John opens his eyes, staring at him and the little smile tugging at one side of his mouth.
"I keep trying to think about how I'm going to write this up in the mission report," He says, breath evening out. "Cross-dressing just doesn't come across in a favorable light, Rodney. Throwing myself on a grenade? Sure! Taking out an enemy stronghold? Terrific! Accessorizing for the strapless gown used in a ritual sacrifice? Surprisingly enough, not the sort of thing the brass likes to hear about!"
"It's not a dress." Rodney frowns at him as he looks at what John's wearing. "It's...actually, I don't know what it is, but it's not a dress."
"Rodney."
Rodney's mouth twitches, and John's just about had enough out of him for one day, but Rodney doesn't say anything. Just...just looks at him like's he's never actually seen him before, eyes tracing the twisting, curling patterns and whorls Ionna's servants had so carefully painted on him.
"You've managed to make a mess of it." Rodney says after a long, long moment. "Ioanna mentioned something about you being...skittish...about them getting too close to your eyes."
John's narrow just that little bit more, because that's not exactly how things went down, but if Rodney's trying to be tactful - and god, how messed up do things have to get when that happens? - John's willing to let things slide.
Besides, he's a pilot, and pilots need their eyes for seeing - he's totally not thinking about the fact that he's starting to sound like Rodney in his own head.
He just really doesn't want anything that small and sharp and nasty looking anywhere near his eyes, and he kind of thinks he's entitled to freak out when alien women try. Even if they're really nothing more than excitable teenagers giggling and whispering to one another when they play dress up with the sacrificial victim.
He pulls back when Rodney reaches for the little brush/pencil-thing the servants had used right before John had stopped being so damn amused by his predicament and Ionna had cleared the room, but doesn't move away. He stands his ground right up until the moment Rodney stretches a hand out to his face with the brush/pencil-thing, and then sort of...leans to one side.
"Trust me." Rodney says, all traces of amusement gone. "Just...trust me, okay?"
John looks at him, and Rodney looks right back, and there's nothing John can say to that, so he closes his eyes and lets Rodney finish adding the final touches. It takes him a while because he has to stop to clean away the smudged and muddled parts and then reapply them. John wants to ask 'How' and 'Why' and really, 'What the hell?', but he doesn't know how.
But it's Rodney, and even though John doesn't know how he does it, he can read John's mind. Not all the time, but often enough that it doesn't matter.
"I told you about Jeannie, right?" Rodney says, not waiting for an answer. "She liked to play with makeup when we were little."
There's a story there, or maybe a lot of stories, but John's not about to ask. Not yet, anyway. He can wait until his own personal hell is over and done with to get started on Rodney's.
"This is basically the same thing, and Teyla convinced the girls to show us how it - you - were supposed to look."
John's positive that's a story in itself, and one he would have paid good money to see play out, but all he does is smile at the thought. Teyla's great with the diplomacy thing, and she's amazing at the kicking ass thing, but she's outright terrifying when she combines the two.
"There, done." John opens his eyes to see Rodney studying him, appraising his work. "Not too bad, if I do say so myself."
Since he isn't sure if Rodney's talking about the whole thing with Rodney's hidden makeup talent or John in makeup or just, god, here's a thought, John, he doesn't throw out the expected line, doesn't try to laugh it off.
Rodney notices after a moment, the pleased look on his face at a job well done fading to that slightly uncertain one he gets when people, don't react the way he expects them to. "What's wrong?"
John shakes his head, because nothing's wrong, well aside from the obvious, anyway. It's just...
"We're going to have a talk when we get back." John says, plans taking form in his head as he watches Rodney, things going click, click click in his mind as everything start falling into place. "A nice, long talk."
"Look, if this is about the whole trade negotiation thing gone horribly wrong," Rodney says, waving a hand at John, the gesture clearly meant to indicate the finery he's wearing, "I'm sorry, okay? Really, really sorry."
John smiles, showing more teeth than is strictly necessary, because it's about damn time.
"How was I supposed to know they'd take it that way? I was thinking -"
He knows what Rodney was thinking, because he was the one to suggest likely trade goods and materials at the mission briefing, but John's not going to let him off that easy.
"Later." John says, relishing the uneasy look on Rodney's face. "A nice, long talk wherein we discuss appropriate items of trade and all sorts of things that do not involve the sale of other human beings. Even temporarily. Understand?"
Rodney swallows and nods, eyes wide. "You're not going to make me write 'I will not sell my teammates for foodstuffs' a hundred times on a whiteboard, are you? Because if you are - "
"Rodney."
It's a bit gratifying when Rodney's mouth snaps shut, and John allows himself a small smile when he sees that Rodney's taking him seriously. "Okay. Good. Now help me with this damn headdress so we can get this over with and go home."
=========
=========
Fortunately for John's peace of mind the ritual goes smoothly and he manages to muddle his way through the ceremonial dance and something eerily like a poetry reading at a coffee house without thoroughly embarrassing himself.
Teyla wisely takes over the negotiating that takes place directly afterwards, working a minor miracle to come to an agreement that's satisfactory to all parties involved. Ionna's father, looking insanely pleased with the trade deal and Atlantis in general declares a party and things get a little out of hand once the alcohol starts flowing.
They return to Atlantis the next morning with surprisingly mild hangovers and after making a brief stop in the infirmary for their post-mission exams they go into the conference room for the mission debriefing. When they get to the part where Rodney tried his hand at negotiating and John wound up paying for it, they all pretend that Elizabeth had some sort of coughing fit and agree to never speak of the mission again, under the threat of unspeakable torment or some such.
Once they're dismissed John makes a beeline for his quarters. He's determined to avoid all human contact for the foreseeable future, or at least until the rumors taper off, and doesn't notice that Rodney's following him. In fact, he doesn't even know he's there at all until the door to John's quarters slides shut behind them and he starts talking.
Then, oh, then he just won't stop talking. Telling John he's 'Really, really sorry' and 'Hey, at least we have new trading partners, right?' and 'Oh my god, you looked really, really hot last night' and 'Please don't kill me' right before he pushes John up against the wall and starts kissing him, hands all over the place.
John draws back and stares at him, trying to figure out just what this is because this is not something he wants to have to apologize for.
"It totally wasn't the dress." Rodney says, eyes locked with his. "Although that might have helped."
He...okay, that's something he really doesn't want to look too closely at, but -
"You told me it wasn't a dress." And they have got to be the most messed up people in two galaxies, because fashion is just not something people should be talking about in this kind of situation.
"I..." Rodney frowns, eyes narrowing. "Why are we talking about your dubious choice in clothing?"
John was perfectly willing to let bygones be bygones because he had Rodney right where he wanted him, but that was a little too much, and Jesus, he's really going to hate himself for this later.
But it's Rodney, and even though John doesn't know how he does it, he can read John's mind. Not all the time, but often enough that it doesn't matter.
"God, don't be an idiot." Rodney snaps, reaching up to grab John's face and kissing him like he's maybe trying to make a really good, really thorough point, or just can't believe John's going to kick him out because Rodney's a spectacular bastard.
Which he really should, but later. Much, much later.