Keeping the World at Bay
Title: Keeping the World at Bay
Author: Lantean_drift
Pairing: McShep
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The easy silence that you make for me, it’s okay when there’s nothing more to say to me, and the peaceful quiet you create for me and the way you keep the world at bay for me.
Ahem, this is not song!fic, the lyrics above were just a leaping off point.
Disclaimer: Yes they’re mine, all mine, I own all of it, everything, the entire world is mine! Okay, you got me I don’t own a damn thing, please don’t sue me.
Notes: This little ficlet is for the beautiful, talented, wonderful bluespirit_star because it’s her birthday! Happy birthday, sweetheart, wishing you a fabulous day.
All my love.xx.
This used to be John’s sanctuary.
His quarters, guitar propped up in the corner - he used to swear that sometimes it would sigh when he walked past it rather than picked it up. That was back when he had nothing to play for. These days he reaches for it more often, even sings along sometimes, he’s not great but he has a reason to do it now.
The surfboard stands against the wall, it used to look faded to John, but the yellow and orange flames are alive again, more vivid now than ever. Now that he’s taken it out on the water a few times, ridden the waves and learned to appreciate the Lantean oceans.
A picture of The Man in Black hangs on the wall by John’s bed. Looking at it used to make him sigh and cause something to ache in his chest, made his heart thump painfully like the beat of steel wheels on railway tracks. Now looking at it makes him hum ‘A Thing Called Love’ or ‘Walk the Line’ and his heart trips with the rhythm of the train.
His skateboard, his surfboard, his pictures and his narrow bed, the flow of soft green Lantean light and the quiet nights used to soothe him. No one ever came in here, not Elizabeth, nor Carson or Teyla. It was his space and it gave him peace - it still did, it just didn’t need to so much now.
John knew as soon as Rodney had invited himself in, and John hadn’t stopped him, that things had changed.
Now when Rodney wasn’t in the room it felt empty, kind of barren.
This used to be Rodney’s sanctuary.
His lab, flawlessly smooth surface of a polished metallic table on which he tapped his fingertips endlessly, a laptop that hummed in front of him, taunting him deliciously with one problem after another. The comforting feel of an idiot lurking just out of sight giving him endless problems to solve, reasons to get out of bed in the morning. Not that he needs that now; he has reason enough these days.
The screens washing information over the walls of the lab in streaks of Lantean blue and green. They used to be meaningless until he began to understand the way the city talked to him. Now Rodney sees it all and the colours are lively and beautiful.
A plant in the corner, left there by one of the botanists over a year ago - just to irritate him, he’s sure of it. He re-potted it, late one night when no one else was around and he couldn’t concentrate because all he could hear in his head was ‘so long, Rodney’. He was determined that the plant wouldn’t die because it was crammed into a stupid little pot. Now he feeds it and talks to it - when there’s no one else around, of course. He’s found that he likes it right where it is, its leaves are beautiful and it makes him smile.
People always come and go through here, asking stupid questions and demanding complex solutions to simple problems. It’s a melee of activity, the reassuring flash of blinking green and red lights cheerfully telling him that their city is working as she should be, a rush of loud Czech and Ancient objects floating, futzing and falling on work benches.
Rodney knew the first time John had physically bundled him out of the lab, to take a break and re-charge, that things had changed.
Now if John didn’t come and fetch him every so often, the lab got loud and irritating and unbearably chaotic.
This was his sanctuary now, hands that spoke for themselves, a brain that never stopped, and eyes that couldn’t hide a thing. A leg pressed against his in the mess, a hand casually leaning over the back of his chair, fingertips pressed against his spine where no one could see.
A touch that was more powerful than the feeling of flying.
A freefall in the turbulence of the unpredictable strength and chaos that is McKay.
This was his sanctuary now, a smile that echoed the warmth of Atlantis, stupid hair that made him laugh first thing in the morning and he grabbed hold of last thing at night. A hand on his back as he walked the halls, a whisper in his ear on a private frequency.
A kiss that was hotter than the rush in the moment of discovery.
A harbour in the storm of the infuriating, complex havoc that is Sheppard.
John looked down at Rodney, face pressed indelicately to John’s chest, he smiled as Rodney groaned with the very air of one thoroughly and most satisfyingly sated. One hand played idly in Rodney’s hair; the other tracing the line of his bare shoulders as John just lay there and looked.
Rodney finally felt his gaze or something registered in the unnatural quiet because he tilted his head to peer up at John.
“You have a look,” he mumbled, lips in the general vicinity of John’s chest.
“What kind of a look?” John asked, scratching his nails lightly against Rodney’s scalp.
“The kind that makes me want to ask what you’re thinking?”
John grinned. “You probably don’t want to know.”
“No, no I think I do. I think it’s about time we…you know, said what we were thinking. Both of us, because I’ve been thinking too.”
“You never stop thinking,” John snorted.
“Not about you, anyway - ah, I mean this - us…not about you.” Rodney sighed and looked so unsure for a second.
“Come here,” he pulled Rodney up to settle next to him on the pillow. John threw a leg over his hip, an arm round his waist and pulled him in tight, pushing a soft kiss to his mouth. God, he loved that mouth.
“Tell me how you feel,” John demanded, his words hot against Rodney’s cheek.
“A flyboy asking me how I feel?”
John leaned down and bit the side of his neck.
“Ow!”
“So, tell me how you feel.”
“Safe,” Rodney’s hand came up to John’s cheek and brought them face to face kissing one eyelid, “happy,” he kissed the other and John gave in to a goofy smile, “and
l-loved.”
John groaned as Rodney’s lips brushed his.
“That’s,” John cleared his throat and tried again, “that’s good, cause I was feeling kinda loved too,” John was pretty certain he was blushing, he was also pretty certain that it sucked if he was.
“You are loved,” Rodney whispered.
“Yeah, you too.”
John accepted Rodney’s mouth when it leaned into his, welcomed it and begged for more, tasting and drowning in everything he was offered. After a blissfully long moment he broke the kiss, closed his eyes and let his mouth breathe against the warm skin of his sanctuary.
.xx.
Author: Lantean_drift
Pairing: McShep
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The easy silence that you make for me, it’s okay when there’s nothing more to say to me, and the peaceful quiet you create for me and the way you keep the world at bay for me.
Ahem, this is not song!fic, the lyrics above were just a leaping off point.
Disclaimer: Yes they’re mine, all mine, I own all of it, everything, the entire world is mine! Okay, you got me I don’t own a damn thing, please don’t sue me.
Notes: This little ficlet is for the beautiful, talented, wonderful bluespirit_star because it’s her birthday! Happy birthday, sweetheart, wishing you a fabulous day.
All my love.xx.
This used to be John’s sanctuary.
His quarters, guitar propped up in the corner - he used to swear that sometimes it would sigh when he walked past it rather than picked it up. That was back when he had nothing to play for. These days he reaches for it more often, even sings along sometimes, he’s not great but he has a reason to do it now.
The surfboard stands against the wall, it used to look faded to John, but the yellow and orange flames are alive again, more vivid now than ever. Now that he’s taken it out on the water a few times, ridden the waves and learned to appreciate the Lantean oceans.
A picture of The Man in Black hangs on the wall by John’s bed. Looking at it used to make him sigh and cause something to ache in his chest, made his heart thump painfully like the beat of steel wheels on railway tracks. Now looking at it makes him hum ‘A Thing Called Love’ or ‘Walk the Line’ and his heart trips with the rhythm of the train.
His skateboard, his surfboard, his pictures and his narrow bed, the flow of soft green Lantean light and the quiet nights used to soothe him. No one ever came in here, not Elizabeth, nor Carson or Teyla. It was his space and it gave him peace - it still did, it just didn’t need to so much now.
John knew as soon as Rodney had invited himself in, and John hadn’t stopped him, that things had changed.
Now when Rodney wasn’t in the room it felt empty, kind of barren.
This used to be Rodney’s sanctuary.
His lab, flawlessly smooth surface of a polished metallic table on which he tapped his fingertips endlessly, a laptop that hummed in front of him, taunting him deliciously with one problem after another. The comforting feel of an idiot lurking just out of sight giving him endless problems to solve, reasons to get out of bed in the morning. Not that he needs that now; he has reason enough these days.
The screens washing information over the walls of the lab in streaks of Lantean blue and green. They used to be meaningless until he began to understand the way the city talked to him. Now Rodney sees it all and the colours are lively and beautiful.
A plant in the corner, left there by one of the botanists over a year ago - just to irritate him, he’s sure of it. He re-potted it, late one night when no one else was around and he couldn’t concentrate because all he could hear in his head was ‘so long, Rodney’. He was determined that the plant wouldn’t die because it was crammed into a stupid little pot. Now he feeds it and talks to it - when there’s no one else around, of course. He’s found that he likes it right where it is, its leaves are beautiful and it makes him smile.
People always come and go through here, asking stupid questions and demanding complex solutions to simple problems. It’s a melee of activity, the reassuring flash of blinking green and red lights cheerfully telling him that their city is working as she should be, a rush of loud Czech and Ancient objects floating, futzing and falling on work benches.
Rodney knew the first time John had physically bundled him out of the lab, to take a break and re-charge, that things had changed.
Now if John didn’t come and fetch him every so often, the lab got loud and irritating and unbearably chaotic.
This was his sanctuary now, hands that spoke for themselves, a brain that never stopped, and eyes that couldn’t hide a thing. A leg pressed against his in the mess, a hand casually leaning over the back of his chair, fingertips pressed against his spine where no one could see.
A touch that was more powerful than the feeling of flying.
A freefall in the turbulence of the unpredictable strength and chaos that is McKay.
This was his sanctuary now, a smile that echoed the warmth of Atlantis, stupid hair that made him laugh first thing in the morning and he grabbed hold of last thing at night. A hand on his back as he walked the halls, a whisper in his ear on a private frequency.
A kiss that was hotter than the rush in the moment of discovery.
A harbour in the storm of the infuriating, complex havoc that is Sheppard.
John looked down at Rodney, face pressed indelicately to John’s chest, he smiled as Rodney groaned with the very air of one thoroughly and most satisfyingly sated. One hand played idly in Rodney’s hair; the other tracing the line of his bare shoulders as John just lay there and looked.
Rodney finally felt his gaze or something registered in the unnatural quiet because he tilted his head to peer up at John.
“You have a look,” he mumbled, lips in the general vicinity of John’s chest.
“What kind of a look?” John asked, scratching his nails lightly against Rodney’s scalp.
“The kind that makes me want to ask what you’re thinking?”
John grinned. “You probably don’t want to know.”
“No, no I think I do. I think it’s about time we…you know, said what we were thinking. Both of us, because I’ve been thinking too.”
“You never stop thinking,” John snorted.
“Not about you, anyway - ah, I mean this - us…not about you.” Rodney sighed and looked so unsure for a second.
“Come here,” he pulled Rodney up to settle next to him on the pillow. John threw a leg over his hip, an arm round his waist and pulled him in tight, pushing a soft kiss to his mouth. God, he loved that mouth.
“Tell me how you feel,” John demanded, his words hot against Rodney’s cheek.
“A flyboy asking me how I feel?”
John leaned down and bit the side of his neck.
“Ow!”
“So, tell me how you feel.”
“Safe,” Rodney’s hand came up to John’s cheek and brought them face to face kissing one eyelid, “happy,” he kissed the other and John gave in to a goofy smile, “and
l-loved.”
John groaned as Rodney’s lips brushed his.
“That’s,” John cleared his throat and tried again, “that’s good, cause I was feeling kinda loved too,” John was pretty certain he was blushing, he was also pretty certain that it sucked if he was.
“You are loved,” Rodney whispered.
“Yeah, you too.”
John accepted Rodney’s mouth when it leaned into his, welcomed it and begged for more, tasting and drowning in everything he was offered. After a blissfully long moment he broke the kiss, closed his eyes and let his mouth breathe against the warm skin of his sanctuary.
.xx.