14 Valentines 7: Possibly Maybe Probably (McKay/Sheppard, R)
Title: Possibly Maybe Probably
Rating: R
Word Count: ~1,000
Warnings: Schmoop.
Summary: John thinks it's just possible that he might love Rodney.
Notes: Beta-read by liresius and broet-chan. Title from a song by Björk.
14 Valentines Essay: Day 7: Sexual Assault
~~~
John thinks it's just possible that he might love Rodney. And not in the way a friend feels about another friend. It's more like... well, he doesn't know exactly, but it's more than that. Deeper, maybe, and it's been that way for a while now.
Although, come to think of it… they've been drifting toward each other from the moment they met. Like John, Rodney knows what it's like to be considered too maladjusted to ever be 'one of the guys'. Like John, Rodney accepts at face-value. Like John, Rodney has an insane love for bad old movies and improbable comic book heroes. And like John, Rodney holds loyalty above everything else, although John thinks he taught him that one. The important thing is that no one gets left behind with Rodney McKay, and John finds a strange kind of comfort in that.
And he thinks it's just possible that he might love the guy. You know, for real. After all, there are enough things about him he loves already.
He loves the way Rodney loves Dr. Who but hates Back to the Future, even though they're both about time travel. John suspects that Rodney's aversion isn't at all rational, but then again, very little about Rodney is rational. For a self-proclaimed (and, okay, proven) genius, a man of physics and numbers, John thinks that's actually pretty fascinating. Rodney would probably eat John's breakfast orange before he'd admit that most of the stuff he comes up with is based on intuition rather than research. Maybe that's what makes him a genius. Rodney is scary-smart and can spout numbers and equations till his face turns blue, but it's his outside-the-box thinking that has saved their asses more than once. He'll just suddenly snap his fingers and go, "Ooh!" and come up with the solution for whatever problem he's faced with like it's nothing big. John loves it when Rodney does that. Besides making his entire face light up, it's also pretty damn impressive to watch. Not that John will ever tell him that.
John also loves how easy it is to annoy Rodney, and he can spend hours winding him up and then listening to the sputtering rant, letting it run its course before winding him up some more. It's a delicate balance sometimes. There's a fine line between smugly-irritated Rodney and seriously-pissed-off-pouting Rodney. The latter has been known not to talk to John for hours at a time. John pretends to ignore that when it happens, but honestly? It sucks. John is bad at apologies and Rodney's bad at accepting them, and usually they both end up petulant and unhappy before they somehow get their act together and make up again. They always do, though, even after the really big screw-ups - like when Rodney blew up a solar system or John made that one joke about girls' names that had Rodney's eyes going flinty - and John loves that they can just pick up where they left off. It means that their friendship is strong, really strong, and he needs to be able to rely on that.
He loves it that when he has a bad day, Rodney will be there for him. A hovering, uncertain kind of 'there' that more often than not ends up in either shouting matches or a sullen silence, but it's the thought that counts. And with Rodney, John always knows exactly where he stands. It's all right there, on his face.
John loves that face. It's expressive and familiar and home, in a way... though John would be hard-pressed to explain that last one. He also loves Rodney's ever-gesturing hands, his nice biceps, his broad shoulders. Rodney's entire body, actually. Rodney's exactly the right kind of sturdy; someone to press against the mattress without having to fear he might hurt them, someone to kind of not-really-cuddle-up-to when John wakes up from a nightmare. He loves Rodney's ass, pale and fleshy and round, two nice handfuls. It's impossible not to touch, lick, and nibble, to bite down and suck until he's left a mark. Rodney always squirms when John does that, like he's not used to someone wanting to worship his body, and it always makes John feel strangely tender towards him.
Speaking of squirming, though, he loves the breathy, hitching little moans Rodney makes when John moves inside him, and the way his fingers keep twisting the blanket even when John tells him to lie still. He loves the way Rodney's pale skin flushes and his eyes go wide and disbelieving when he comes. He loves the way Rodney says his name, reverently and awed when John sucks him off, or exasperated and resentful when John makes him lie in the wet spot. And he loves, absolutely loves the way they both relax into sleep. Together.
Waking up next to Rodney is pretty great, too: bodies sleep-warm and limbs heavy, their kisses slow, unhurried and, okay, mostly closed-mouthed. Because, yeah, kissing. Rodney has the most amazing mouth, crooked and wide and fitting nicely against John's own. Kissing it is a pleasure, sometimes languid and sometimes wild, but always, always good. Rodney's tongue isn't as fast and pushy as one might think but that's okay, because John gets to play at his own speed. And he gets to breathe Rodney in, to revel in that comforting, familiar scent that speaks of trust and home and… and, well… love.
And it might just be a small thing, but John marvels at the way his thoughts always spiral back to Rodney, no matter what tangents they go off on. It's like that poem about one's working week and Sunday rest, because that's exactly what Rodney is to him. Work and rest.
Yeah, John is pretty sure he loves Rodney.
Maybe one day, he'll tell him.
~~~
End.
Rating: R
Word Count: ~1,000
Warnings: Schmoop.
Summary: John thinks it's just possible that he might love Rodney.
Notes: Beta-read by liresius and broet-chan. Title from a song by Björk.
14 Valentines Essay: Day 7: Sexual Assault
~~~
John thinks it's just possible that he might love Rodney. And not in the way a friend feels about another friend. It's more like... well, he doesn't know exactly, but it's more than that. Deeper, maybe, and it's been that way for a while now.
Although, come to think of it… they've been drifting toward each other from the moment they met. Like John, Rodney knows what it's like to be considered too maladjusted to ever be 'one of the guys'. Like John, Rodney accepts at face-value. Like John, Rodney has an insane love for bad old movies and improbable comic book heroes. And like John, Rodney holds loyalty above everything else, although John thinks he taught him that one. The important thing is that no one gets left behind with Rodney McKay, and John finds a strange kind of comfort in that.
And he thinks it's just possible that he might love the guy. You know, for real. After all, there are enough things about him he loves already.
He loves the way Rodney loves Dr. Who but hates Back to the Future, even though they're both about time travel. John suspects that Rodney's aversion isn't at all rational, but then again, very little about Rodney is rational. For a self-proclaimed (and, okay, proven) genius, a man of physics and numbers, John thinks that's actually pretty fascinating. Rodney would probably eat John's breakfast orange before he'd admit that most of the stuff he comes up with is based on intuition rather than research. Maybe that's what makes him a genius. Rodney is scary-smart and can spout numbers and equations till his face turns blue, but it's his outside-the-box thinking that has saved their asses more than once. He'll just suddenly snap his fingers and go, "Ooh!" and come up with the solution for whatever problem he's faced with like it's nothing big. John loves it when Rodney does that. Besides making his entire face light up, it's also pretty damn impressive to watch. Not that John will ever tell him that.
John also loves how easy it is to annoy Rodney, and he can spend hours winding him up and then listening to the sputtering rant, letting it run its course before winding him up some more. It's a delicate balance sometimes. There's a fine line between smugly-irritated Rodney and seriously-pissed-off-pouting Rodney. The latter has been known not to talk to John for hours at a time. John pretends to ignore that when it happens, but honestly? It sucks. John is bad at apologies and Rodney's bad at accepting them, and usually they both end up petulant and unhappy before they somehow get their act together and make up again. They always do, though, even after the really big screw-ups - like when Rodney blew up a solar system or John made that one joke about girls' names that had Rodney's eyes going flinty - and John loves that they can just pick up where they left off. It means that their friendship is strong, really strong, and he needs to be able to rely on that.
He loves it that when he has a bad day, Rodney will be there for him. A hovering, uncertain kind of 'there' that more often than not ends up in either shouting matches or a sullen silence, but it's the thought that counts. And with Rodney, John always knows exactly where he stands. It's all right there, on his face.
John loves that face. It's expressive and familiar and home, in a way... though John would be hard-pressed to explain that last one. He also loves Rodney's ever-gesturing hands, his nice biceps, his broad shoulders. Rodney's entire body, actually. Rodney's exactly the right kind of sturdy; someone to press against the mattress without having to fear he might hurt them, someone to kind of not-really-cuddle-up-to when John wakes up from a nightmare. He loves Rodney's ass, pale and fleshy and round, two nice handfuls. It's impossible not to touch, lick, and nibble, to bite down and suck until he's left a mark. Rodney always squirms when John does that, like he's not used to someone wanting to worship his body, and it always makes John feel strangely tender towards him.
Speaking of squirming, though, he loves the breathy, hitching little moans Rodney makes when John moves inside him, and the way his fingers keep twisting the blanket even when John tells him to lie still. He loves the way Rodney's pale skin flushes and his eyes go wide and disbelieving when he comes. He loves the way Rodney says his name, reverently and awed when John sucks him off, or exasperated and resentful when John makes him lie in the wet spot. And he loves, absolutely loves the way they both relax into sleep. Together.
Waking up next to Rodney is pretty great, too: bodies sleep-warm and limbs heavy, their kisses slow, unhurried and, okay, mostly closed-mouthed. Because, yeah, kissing. Rodney has the most amazing mouth, crooked and wide and fitting nicely against John's own. Kissing it is a pleasure, sometimes languid and sometimes wild, but always, always good. Rodney's tongue isn't as fast and pushy as one might think but that's okay, because John gets to play at his own speed. And he gets to breathe Rodney in, to revel in that comforting, familiar scent that speaks of trust and home and… and, well… love.
And it might just be a small thing, but John marvels at the way his thoughts always spiral back to Rodney, no matter what tangents they go off on. It's like that poem about one's working week and Sunday rest, because that's exactly what Rodney is to him. Work and rest.
Yeah, John is pretty sure he loves Rodney.
Maybe one day, he'll tell him.
~~~
End.