Emotionally Stuntedly Every After (John/Rodney, PG-13)
Title: Emotionally Stuntedly Every After
Word Count: ~1,000
Warnings/Spoilers: None that I'm aware of
Summary: "John?" Rodney asked for the third time, his expression grown from curious to worried with every time John had opened his mouth to speak, only to close it again, coming up blank.
Notes: Weird little comment!fic for neevebrody. Unbeta'ed.
~~~
John fell in love with Rodney on a perfectly ordinary Tuesday.
They were all sitting in the mess, Teyla telling the story of how she'd used Charin's ceremonial colours to paint on her spotless tent walls, and John looked from her to Rodney at the sound of Rodney's gleeful snigger when Teyla described just what exactly she'd painted. He'd intended to share a grin, maybe throw in a comment of his own to see if he could make Rodney laugh… but instead he stopped, grape paused halfway to his mouth as the world seemed to click into a whole new place and everything made a different kind of sense.
Making Rodney laugh had never been so much about Rodney as it had been about John having fun. Yesterday, he couldn't have said what colour Rodney's eyes were even if he'd had a Genii gun pressed against his temple. Now, they seemed impossibly blue.
John found himself thinking things like sparkling with laughter and pretty and whoa, what the hell just happened here?
The grape fell from his fingers and rolled across the table. Rodney immediately snatched it up and popped it into his own mouth.
"Getting too old to hold your solid food, Sheppard?" he asked with mock concern. "Should we go find some nice mashed potatoes for you?"
"He'd still have to hold the fork," Ronon pointed out.
John blinked.
"Hey!" he said belatedly, and threw another grape at Ronon's head. Ronon, predictably, snatched it out of the air and ate it.
"You should not tease John like this," Teyla said, and John nodded at her.
"Thanks."
"You are welcome, John." She nodded back at him, then grinned mischievously. "A man your age should of course use a spoon."
The table dissolved into laughter as John told her what exactly she could do with her spoon.
~~~
He drove a whole bucketful of golf balls into the ocean that day. Read the same surfing magazine twice and had no idea what it said. Threw his football down the length of the East Pier until it too landed in the water. Paced his quarters he didn't know how long, chugged down two beers, and went to find Rodney.
John was the first person to admit he was good at compartmentalising, but the important things, the really big stuff, he had never been able to keep inside.
He'd never been able to put them into words, either. Not really.
"John?" Rodney asked for the third time, his expression grown from curious to worried with every time John had opened his mouth to speak, only to close it again, coming up blank.
Finally, out of patience with himself, John swallowed, reached out to cradle Rodney's face with his hands, and pulled him in. Rodney went without resistance, guileless, mouth lax with what John figured was utter surprise as John kissed him as gently as he could. Heart pounding so fast he felt dizzy from the rush, breath escaping him in a helpless little noise, he still kept it soft, careful, no matter how his hands were shaking.
"Just… think about it," he said hoarsely as he pulled away, daring a brief glance at Rodney's slack-jawed face before he walked away very quickly, which wasn't at all the same as running away.
~~~
"I don't understand what you're asking," Rodney told him two days later, one hand fluttering in an awkward half-circle that, to those who knew Rodney, spoke of his helpless confusion.
"Yeah," John said, which didn't seem enough so he added, "me neither."
He didn't know what he was asking. He had no fucking clue.
~~~
Rodney kept watching him. John tried not to watch him back, but somehow, some part of him always had to know if Rodney was there, if Rodney was looking at him, how Rodney was looking at him. Most of the time, Rodney was looking at him with a puzzled frown, as if he was trying to see something he knew was there but couldn't quite make out. But while John didn't quite know what he was hoping for, he knew that curiosity wasn't it.
P5X-983 changed everything.
They'd been on this world before, had returned to celebrate the birth of the crown princess, and if these people had anything worth trading for, it had to be the wine. It was a damn good wine. There was a lot of it. So maybe John had indulged at bit too much. And maybe he'd tried to distract himself from watching Rodney watching him by flirting with the flushed, pretty, young-enough-to-be-his-daughter waitress, which in hindsight might not have been his wisest decision ever.
That was no reason for Rodney to grab him by the arm, haul him out of his very comfortable chair, and drag him out of the reception hall so fast that all John could do was stumble after him and hope he wouldn't faceplant on the cobblestones outside, or the stairs up to their rooms when they reached the nearby guest house.
"Rodney, wha-" he started to ask, only to be interrupted by Rodney slapping a hand over his mouth.
"I've thought about it," Rodney said darkly, and it took John a moment to figure out what Rodney was talking about. Then his heart went from beating fast from rushing down the street and up the stairs to racing from a sudden attack of nerves. He wiped his palms on his pants, all at once hyperaware of how close Rodney was standing, of how warm his hand felt over John's lips.
As if reading John's thoughts, Rodney pulled his hand away. John licked his lips.
They tasted salty.
"So," he said, trying for light. His voice came out husky instead, sounding nothing like his own. "Reach any conclusions?"
"Yes," Rodney said, staring at John's mouth. "The answer is yes."
And then they were kissing, hungry and messy and kind of bad, because John wasn't the only one who had been drinking too much of the wine. He didn't care, though, his senses swimming with Rodney, his taste, his scent, the little sounds he made, until John was sure he was going to drown in him and die happy.
"Still don't know what I was… Jesus, Rodney… what I was asking," he gasped as Rodney unceremoniously tilted his chin up to start biting at John's Adam's apple.
"You'll figure it out," Rodney said, and shoved him towards the bed.
John wasn't all that sure about that. He figured he'd just have to keep trying.
As plans went, that sounded like a damn good one.
Word Count: ~1,000
Warnings/Spoilers: None that I'm aware of
Summary: "John?" Rodney asked for the third time, his expression grown from curious to worried with every time John had opened his mouth to speak, only to close it again, coming up blank.
Notes: Weird little comment!fic for neevebrody. Unbeta'ed.
~~~
John fell in love with Rodney on a perfectly ordinary Tuesday.
They were all sitting in the mess, Teyla telling the story of how she'd used Charin's ceremonial colours to paint on her spotless tent walls, and John looked from her to Rodney at the sound of Rodney's gleeful snigger when Teyla described just what exactly she'd painted. He'd intended to share a grin, maybe throw in a comment of his own to see if he could make Rodney laugh… but instead he stopped, grape paused halfway to his mouth as the world seemed to click into a whole new place and everything made a different kind of sense.
Making Rodney laugh had never been so much about Rodney as it had been about John having fun. Yesterday, he couldn't have said what colour Rodney's eyes were even if he'd had a Genii gun pressed against his temple. Now, they seemed impossibly blue.
John found himself thinking things like sparkling with laughter and pretty and whoa, what the hell just happened here?
The grape fell from his fingers and rolled across the table. Rodney immediately snatched it up and popped it into his own mouth.
"Getting too old to hold your solid food, Sheppard?" he asked with mock concern. "Should we go find some nice mashed potatoes for you?"
"He'd still have to hold the fork," Ronon pointed out.
John blinked.
"Hey!" he said belatedly, and threw another grape at Ronon's head. Ronon, predictably, snatched it out of the air and ate it.
"You should not tease John like this," Teyla said, and John nodded at her.
"Thanks."
"You are welcome, John." She nodded back at him, then grinned mischievously. "A man your age should of course use a spoon."
The table dissolved into laughter as John told her what exactly she could do with her spoon.
~~~
He drove a whole bucketful of golf balls into the ocean that day. Read the same surfing magazine twice and had no idea what it said. Threw his football down the length of the East Pier until it too landed in the water. Paced his quarters he didn't know how long, chugged down two beers, and went to find Rodney.
John was the first person to admit he was good at compartmentalising, but the important things, the really big stuff, he had never been able to keep inside.
He'd never been able to put them into words, either. Not really.
"John?" Rodney asked for the third time, his expression grown from curious to worried with every time John had opened his mouth to speak, only to close it again, coming up blank.
Finally, out of patience with himself, John swallowed, reached out to cradle Rodney's face with his hands, and pulled him in. Rodney went without resistance, guileless, mouth lax with what John figured was utter surprise as John kissed him as gently as he could. Heart pounding so fast he felt dizzy from the rush, breath escaping him in a helpless little noise, he still kept it soft, careful, no matter how his hands were shaking.
"Just… think about it," he said hoarsely as he pulled away, daring a brief glance at Rodney's slack-jawed face before he walked away very quickly, which wasn't at all the same as running away.
~~~
"I don't understand what you're asking," Rodney told him two days later, one hand fluttering in an awkward half-circle that, to those who knew Rodney, spoke of his helpless confusion.
"Yeah," John said, which didn't seem enough so he added, "me neither."
He didn't know what he was asking. He had no fucking clue.
~~~
Rodney kept watching him. John tried not to watch him back, but somehow, some part of him always had to know if Rodney was there, if Rodney was looking at him, how Rodney was looking at him. Most of the time, Rodney was looking at him with a puzzled frown, as if he was trying to see something he knew was there but couldn't quite make out. But while John didn't quite know what he was hoping for, he knew that curiosity wasn't it.
P5X-983 changed everything.
They'd been on this world before, had returned to celebrate the birth of the crown princess, and if these people had anything worth trading for, it had to be the wine. It was a damn good wine. There was a lot of it. So maybe John had indulged at bit too much. And maybe he'd tried to distract himself from watching Rodney watching him by flirting with the flushed, pretty, young-enough-to-be-his-daughter waitress, which in hindsight might not have been his wisest decision ever.
That was no reason for Rodney to grab him by the arm, haul him out of his very comfortable chair, and drag him out of the reception hall so fast that all John could do was stumble after him and hope he wouldn't faceplant on the cobblestones outside, or the stairs up to their rooms when they reached the nearby guest house.
"Rodney, wha-" he started to ask, only to be interrupted by Rodney slapping a hand over his mouth.
"I've thought about it," Rodney said darkly, and it took John a moment to figure out what Rodney was talking about. Then his heart went from beating fast from rushing down the street and up the stairs to racing from a sudden attack of nerves. He wiped his palms on his pants, all at once hyperaware of how close Rodney was standing, of how warm his hand felt over John's lips.
As if reading John's thoughts, Rodney pulled his hand away. John licked his lips.
They tasted salty.
"So," he said, trying for light. His voice came out husky instead, sounding nothing like his own. "Reach any conclusions?"
"Yes," Rodney said, staring at John's mouth. "The answer is yes."
And then they were kissing, hungry and messy and kind of bad, because John wasn't the only one who had been drinking too much of the wine. He didn't care, though, his senses swimming with Rodney, his taste, his scent, the little sounds he made, until John was sure he was going to drown in him and die happy.
"Still don't know what I was… Jesus, Rodney… what I was asking," he gasped as Rodney unceremoniously tilted his chin up to start biting at John's Adam's apple.
"You'll figure it out," Rodney said, and shoved him towards the bed.
John wasn't all that sure about that. He figured he'd just have to keep trying.
As plans went, that sounded like a damn good one.