SGA slash - Finding Home - McKay/Sheppard
Author: lillyjk
Title: Finding Home
Fandom/Pairing: SGA - McKay/Sheppard - Season 1-ish
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: @1200
Author’s Notes: Just a short little John character piece written for the Gotta Have Cash Ficathon - My song prompt was In My Life - Lyric snippet: All these places have their moments with lovers and friends - I still can recall - Some are dead and some are living also for fanfic100 - Family prompt ETA *face-palm* thanks to frogy for the fast and dirty beta!
MP3 of In My Life
John had lived a lot of places over the course of his life. Growing up, it was a series of military bases - more than he could count on fingers and toes combined. Only a few of them stuck out in his mind, the rest were a blur. None of them were home, just temporary shelter along the way.
He was a teenager when his father moved them to Biloxi. Mississippi meant fried food and girls with blonde ponytails and bright red lipstick. Everybody moved slowly in deference to the lush heat and to this day the sound of a Southern drawl made him remember sweet tea and Sissy Parker. Sissy had dark eyes and skin the color of fresh cream and the sweetest tits he’d ever seen. When she’d broken up with him he’d spent a month writing horrible poetry and listening to The Thrill is Gone.
Texas was flat and harsh and he couldn’t get a date until he earned a spot on the football team. The dates evaporated when he’d gotten kicked off the team and a three-day suspension for beating the shit out of Bobby McKinney. It was the first time he’d ever been called a faggot, the price of his gaze lingering a little too long in the locker room. He’d hated Texas with a passion, but it was the last time he remembered his mother laughing. She hadn’t wanted to move again but John had been glad to leave Texas in the dust when his father got reassigned.
There were a couple of golden years in California. He’d learned to surf and spent a summer restoring the ’67 Mustang he’d rescued from a junkyard. The car was silver with cracked leather interior that stuck to his bare legs in the heat. He’d gotten his first blowjob from Laura Roberts in the back seat and two weeks later they’d lost their virginity together on a blanket spread out on the beach. He’d cried when they moved again, but the tears were more for the Mustang than the girl.
In Germany he’d gotten his first taste of real beer, not that watered down shit they had in the states. His mother was gone by then, and John and his father passed the time in uncomfortable silence punctuated by furious arguments. John spent all his free time on an ancient Triumph motorcycle, driving too fast along curvy roads with the wind in his face. He’d proven Bobby McKinney right in Germany. Travis was another Air Force brat. They’d fumbled their way through hand jobs and blowjobs for three months before John had let himself get fucked.
He’d said goodbye to Travis and Germany when he was accepted into the Academy. There’d been one last fight with his father and then John had boarded the plane without looking back. Somewhere between Germany and New York, John joined the mile-high club with a woman old enough to be his mother. It made it surprisingly easy to chalk Travis up as a one-time thing.
Colorado was glorious. He’d learned to fly. Soaring through blue skies that seemed to go on forever made everything else fade away. The smell of jet fuel was sweeter than any perfume and his dick took a back seat to the thrill of flight. He’d liked the curves and slick pink folds of women well enough that ignoring the subtle propositions whispered from one of the other cadets wasn’t a hardship. His time in Colorado passed too quickly and graduation was bittersweet.
He hadn’t minded Afghanistan at first. It was his third assignment out of the Academy, and the first time he’d really seen action. The men he served with seemed more like family than his parents ever had and good company made the hot days and cold nights pass quickly.
In the end though, Afghanistan was sand and heat and the smell of charred flesh.
He’d asked for McMurdo. After his fuck up in the desert the powers that be were happy to ship him to the ends of the earth. John just wanted out - away - distance from everything and every place he’d ever known. Antarctica was cold and bitter and there was nothing to remind him of Afghanistan except the nightmares that woke him up screaming. John decided that true happiness meant no attachments, no chance of loss, no worries, and no regrets. He made a sort of peace with himself and renewed his relationship with his right hand. John became comfortably numb and Antarctica suited his purposes just fine.
It all got fucked with Atlantis.
One day he was insulated by the snow and ice of Antarctica, the next day he was responsible for the lives of the entire Atlantis expedition. The first few weeks were a blur of near-disasters and extraordinary discoveries. New nightmares replaced Afghanistan and John started sleeping with his P-90 beside the bed.
Atlantis meant Ancient technology, the coolest city ever and ocean as far as the eye could see. Puddlejumpers made him forget all about helicopters and jets. And the Stargate, well, he still hadn’t wrapped his mind around the Stargate.
In Atlantis, John had a family again whether he liked it or not. The tight line of Elizabeth’s mouth made him feel more like a recalcitrant child than his own mother ever had. Ford was like a combination of kid brother and puppy, full of enthusiasm and promise. Carson was gentle and efficient and doled out compassion along with medicine and bandages. Teyla was in a category all her own. He’d stopped seeing her as hot after she kicked his ass a dozen times. He liked her and respected her, and was more than a little scared of her.
And then there was Rodney. Somewhere along the way Rodney had become his best friend, his co-conspirator, his sidekick. After a particularly hard mission, John found himself seeking Rodney out and more often than not Rodney would be looking for him too. They’d spend a few hours playing cards or watching movies on Rodney’s laptop or just sitting out on the east balcony and staring at the stars while Rodney bitched and John cracked jokes.
When things were really bad - like the night that Kolya took over the city - they wouldn’t talk at all. Rodney showed up at John’s quarters with a bottle of Athosian wine and they drank it in silence. Rodney’s eyes were red-rimmed and huge in his pale face.
When John had looked at the stark white bandage wrapped around Rodney’s arm something in his chest tightened. He’d opened his mouth to say something, he wasn’t sure what. Words didn’t come though, and instead he’d leaned over and gently pressed his lips to Rodney’s forehead.
When Rodney kissed him back, the gentleness was gone. Rodney’s kisses had tasted like desperation and sweet Athosian wine and something else. Later, when Rodney was snoring softly beside him and the tightness in John’s chest was gone, he’d figured it out. Rodney’s kisses tasted like home.
THE END
x-posted mckay_sheppard, atlantis_slash, fanfic100 and my lj
click for all my fanfic100 entries
Title: Finding Home
Fandom/Pairing: SGA - McKay/Sheppard - Season 1-ish
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: @1200
Author’s Notes: Just a short little John character piece written for the Gotta Have Cash Ficathon - My song prompt was In My Life - Lyric snippet: All these places have their moments with lovers and friends - I still can recall - Some are dead and some are living also for fanfic100 - Family prompt ETA *face-palm* thanks to frogy for the fast and dirty beta!
MP3 of In My Life
John had lived a lot of places over the course of his life. Growing up, it was a series of military bases - more than he could count on fingers and toes combined. Only a few of them stuck out in his mind, the rest were a blur. None of them were home, just temporary shelter along the way.
He was a teenager when his father moved them to Biloxi. Mississippi meant fried food and girls with blonde ponytails and bright red lipstick. Everybody moved slowly in deference to the lush heat and to this day the sound of a Southern drawl made him remember sweet tea and Sissy Parker. Sissy had dark eyes and skin the color of fresh cream and the sweetest tits he’d ever seen. When she’d broken up with him he’d spent a month writing horrible poetry and listening to The Thrill is Gone.
Texas was flat and harsh and he couldn’t get a date until he earned a spot on the football team. The dates evaporated when he’d gotten kicked off the team and a three-day suspension for beating the shit out of Bobby McKinney. It was the first time he’d ever been called a faggot, the price of his gaze lingering a little too long in the locker room. He’d hated Texas with a passion, but it was the last time he remembered his mother laughing. She hadn’t wanted to move again but John had been glad to leave Texas in the dust when his father got reassigned.
There were a couple of golden years in California. He’d learned to surf and spent a summer restoring the ’67 Mustang he’d rescued from a junkyard. The car was silver with cracked leather interior that stuck to his bare legs in the heat. He’d gotten his first blowjob from Laura Roberts in the back seat and two weeks later they’d lost their virginity together on a blanket spread out on the beach. He’d cried when they moved again, but the tears were more for the Mustang than the girl.
In Germany he’d gotten his first taste of real beer, not that watered down shit they had in the states. His mother was gone by then, and John and his father passed the time in uncomfortable silence punctuated by furious arguments. John spent all his free time on an ancient Triumph motorcycle, driving too fast along curvy roads with the wind in his face. He’d proven Bobby McKinney right in Germany. Travis was another Air Force brat. They’d fumbled their way through hand jobs and blowjobs for three months before John had let himself get fucked.
He’d said goodbye to Travis and Germany when he was accepted into the Academy. There’d been one last fight with his father and then John had boarded the plane without looking back. Somewhere between Germany and New York, John joined the mile-high club with a woman old enough to be his mother. It made it surprisingly easy to chalk Travis up as a one-time thing.
Colorado was glorious. He’d learned to fly. Soaring through blue skies that seemed to go on forever made everything else fade away. The smell of jet fuel was sweeter than any perfume and his dick took a back seat to the thrill of flight. He’d liked the curves and slick pink folds of women well enough that ignoring the subtle propositions whispered from one of the other cadets wasn’t a hardship. His time in Colorado passed too quickly and graduation was bittersweet.
He hadn’t minded Afghanistan at first. It was his third assignment out of the Academy, and the first time he’d really seen action. The men he served with seemed more like family than his parents ever had and good company made the hot days and cold nights pass quickly.
In the end though, Afghanistan was sand and heat and the smell of charred flesh.
He’d asked for McMurdo. After his fuck up in the desert the powers that be were happy to ship him to the ends of the earth. John just wanted out - away - distance from everything and every place he’d ever known. Antarctica was cold and bitter and there was nothing to remind him of Afghanistan except the nightmares that woke him up screaming. John decided that true happiness meant no attachments, no chance of loss, no worries, and no regrets. He made a sort of peace with himself and renewed his relationship with his right hand. John became comfortably numb and Antarctica suited his purposes just fine.
It all got fucked with Atlantis.
One day he was insulated by the snow and ice of Antarctica, the next day he was responsible for the lives of the entire Atlantis expedition. The first few weeks were a blur of near-disasters and extraordinary discoveries. New nightmares replaced Afghanistan and John started sleeping with his P-90 beside the bed.
Atlantis meant Ancient technology, the coolest city ever and ocean as far as the eye could see. Puddlejumpers made him forget all about helicopters and jets. And the Stargate, well, he still hadn’t wrapped his mind around the Stargate.
In Atlantis, John had a family again whether he liked it or not. The tight line of Elizabeth’s mouth made him feel more like a recalcitrant child than his own mother ever had. Ford was like a combination of kid brother and puppy, full of enthusiasm and promise. Carson was gentle and efficient and doled out compassion along with medicine and bandages. Teyla was in a category all her own. He’d stopped seeing her as hot after she kicked his ass a dozen times. He liked her and respected her, and was more than a little scared of her.
And then there was Rodney. Somewhere along the way Rodney had become his best friend, his co-conspirator, his sidekick. After a particularly hard mission, John found himself seeking Rodney out and more often than not Rodney would be looking for him too. They’d spend a few hours playing cards or watching movies on Rodney’s laptop or just sitting out on the east balcony and staring at the stars while Rodney bitched and John cracked jokes.
When things were really bad - like the night that Kolya took over the city - they wouldn’t talk at all. Rodney showed up at John’s quarters with a bottle of Athosian wine and they drank it in silence. Rodney’s eyes were red-rimmed and huge in his pale face.
When John had looked at the stark white bandage wrapped around Rodney’s arm something in his chest tightened. He’d opened his mouth to say something, he wasn’t sure what. Words didn’t come though, and instead he’d leaned over and gently pressed his lips to Rodney’s forehead.
When Rodney kissed him back, the gentleness was gone. Rodney’s kisses had tasted like desperation and sweet Athosian wine and something else. Later, when Rodney was snoring softly beside him and the tightness in John’s chest was gone, he’d figured it out. Rodney’s kisses tasted like home.
THE END
x-posted mckay_sheppard, atlantis_slash, fanfic100 and my lj
click for all my fanfic100 entries