aesc
in
mcshep_angst
One LTC + one astrophysicist + one interview
I had my interview questions all ready to go, but then someone swiped my damn memory key.
He hadn't realized it wasn't his memory key until too late, after he'd opened the mysterious document marked INTERVIEW.
He had Sheppard up in his quarters in thirty seconds, which was sensible as 1) Sheppard could protect him, and 2) he needed to be made aware of the fact that psychotic deviants had infiltrated Atlantis. Either that or the botanists had been bringing back the crazy pollen again, but Elizabeth had laid down the law on that last time.
And anyway, pollen couldn't account for this.
"Oh, my God," Rodney muttered. "Can you believe this? I mean, granted we're out in the middle of the Pegasus galaxy so everyone -- except for you, Colonel -- is having to go without, but can you imagine being so sex-deprived that you'd do... you'd do..." Words failed him and he waved an agitated hand at his laptop screen.
Sheppard's face scrunched up in confusion/puzzlement/curiosity as he looked over Rodney's shoulder. "'How long have you been writing fanfiction?'"
"She's like a hardened criminal," Rodney said. "Since 1999, can you believe it? And they let her come on this mission. I thought the SGC required psych exams, but even if they did, I'm sure she's the kind of person who'd know how to fake sanity." He slanted a meaningful look at Sheppard, who pretended to ignore it.
"'Have you participated in any other fandoms?'" Sheppard leaned a little closer. "This doesn't look like one of the science department reviews."
"Really?" Rodney snapped. "What tipped you off? The part where she admits to imagining men in multiple television shows, books, and movies having sex with each other? She's a serial pervert! Cowboys? FBI agents? Wizards? Rangers and Elves?" He shuddered elaborately. "And apparently other people do this -- it's not just her. There has to be a diagnosis in the DSM for that."
"And you would know, wouldn't you?"
Sheppard shifted and bent in, the curve of his torso warm where it hovered scant inches from Rodney's back. Rodney swallowed and wanted to suggest that maybe Sheppard get a chair, because he hated having people read over his shoulder, but couldn't say anything.
"What's SGA stand for?" Sheppard asked.
"Sick and Gross..." Rodney struggled to find something for A. "I'm sure whatever it is, it's probably illegal in most countries. No wonder she had to come to the Pegasus galaxy -- there was probably, like, an international task force hunting for her and even Switzerland wasn't going to take her in so she managed to fake her way past Jack O'Neill -- which, let's face it, isn't that hard to do -- "
"Whatever it is, she definitely seems to like it," Sheppard said, and his breath was soft and hot across Rodney's cheek. "She says she loves the possibilities SGA offers, but she really loves the people, the sense of community, and um, what's 'squeeing'?"
"Do I look like a member of Sick and Gross Anonymous or whatever?" Rodney made himself look at his laptop and not at John's lower lip, which was moist and which was illuminated by the light from the computer screen. "It's probably a depraved sex act."
"What's the obsession with depraved sex acts?" And Sheppard was looking at him from under his thatch of dark, unruly hair, and Rodney had seen that look enough times to know what it meant, but just when he was about to burst out with Oh my God you're one of them!, that look melted off John's face and was replaced by seriousness again.
"She bats for Team Angst," Sheppard said, like he hadn't just been thinking sex straight into Rodney's brain. "I wonder what they do."
"I'm sure it's -- "
"A depraved sex act," Sheppard finished, and looked at him again. Rodney swallowed around the dry heat in his throat. "She says she's always been drawn to angst, though she likes romance as much as the next girl -- but she, and I quote, 'likes her boys a bit battered and broken at the end of things.'"
"Sadist! That's what the S stands for." Rodney leaned back from the computer as though the woman on the other end might materialize through the screen and tie him up. He ended up leaning back into Sheppard, who was warm and solid and not going anywhere. "Sadistic Girls Anonymous! That's it!" He paused. "Oh my God, what if it's a secret society? Have you ever noticed how Teyla never gets angry? And how Elizabeth gets angry but never stays angry? And Heightmeyer! She's a psychologist, so she'd know all about sex-related psychopathy and she'd have all kinds of advice. They're plotting, Colonel -- " and they had to be, it was a goddamn conspiracy and the next thing he knew he was going to -- "and I'm going to wake up tied to my bed with, with gags and handcuffs and whips, and I like sex as much as the next person but I'm really not into pain, especially my own -- and oh God, what if there's hot wax?"
"The hot wax is a good idea." Sheppard sounded somewhat choked.
"Oh, my God," Rodney whimpered. "They've gotten to you already."
"Hey," Sheppard said, and he was closer this time, snaking one arm around Rodney to splay his fingers on the laptop's touchpad, a warm, strong arm that curved past Rodney's cheek and between that and Sheppard's other arm, which braced him upright on the back of Rodney's chair, Rodney couldn't move.
"Hey," Sheppard said again, "there's a link here," and oh God his lips weren't on Rodney's neck, not teasing the soft skin there, they were not they were not they were not, "wonder where that goes to."
He hadn't realized it wasn't his memory key until too late, after he'd opened the mysterious document marked INTERVIEW.
He had Sheppard up in his quarters in thirty seconds, which was sensible as 1) Sheppard could protect him, and 2) he needed to be made aware of the fact that psychotic deviants had infiltrated Atlantis. Either that or the botanists had been bringing back the crazy pollen again, but Elizabeth had laid down the law on that last time.
And anyway, pollen couldn't account for this.
"Oh, my God," Rodney muttered. "Can you believe this? I mean, granted we're out in the middle of the Pegasus galaxy so everyone -- except for you, Colonel -- is having to go without, but can you imagine being so sex-deprived that you'd do... you'd do..." Words failed him and he waved an agitated hand at his laptop screen.
Sheppard's face scrunched up in confusion/puzzlement/curiosity as he looked over Rodney's shoulder. "'How long have you been writing fanfiction?'"
"She's like a hardened criminal," Rodney said. "Since 1999, can you believe it? And they let her come on this mission. I thought the SGC required psych exams, but even if they did, I'm sure she's the kind of person who'd know how to fake sanity." He slanted a meaningful look at Sheppard, who pretended to ignore it.
"'Have you participated in any other fandoms?'" Sheppard leaned a little closer. "This doesn't look like one of the science department reviews."
"Really?" Rodney snapped. "What tipped you off? The part where she admits to imagining men in multiple television shows, books, and movies having sex with each other? She's a serial pervert! Cowboys? FBI agents? Wizards? Rangers and Elves?" He shuddered elaborately. "And apparently other people do this -- it's not just her. There has to be a diagnosis in the DSM for that."
"And you would know, wouldn't you?"
Sheppard shifted and bent in, the curve of his torso warm where it hovered scant inches from Rodney's back. Rodney swallowed and wanted to suggest that maybe Sheppard get a chair, because he hated having people read over his shoulder, but couldn't say anything.
"What's SGA stand for?" Sheppard asked.
"Sick and Gross..." Rodney struggled to find something for A. "I'm sure whatever it is, it's probably illegal in most countries. No wonder she had to come to the Pegasus galaxy -- there was probably, like, an international task force hunting for her and even Switzerland wasn't going to take her in so she managed to fake her way past Jack O'Neill -- which, let's face it, isn't that hard to do -- "
"Whatever it is, she definitely seems to like it," Sheppard said, and his breath was soft and hot across Rodney's cheek. "She says she loves the possibilities SGA offers, but she really loves the people, the sense of community, and um, what's 'squeeing'?"
"Do I look like a member of Sick and Gross Anonymous or whatever?" Rodney made himself look at his laptop and not at John's lower lip, which was moist and which was illuminated by the light from the computer screen. "It's probably a depraved sex act."
"What's the obsession with depraved sex acts?" And Sheppard was looking at him from under his thatch of dark, unruly hair, and Rodney had seen that look enough times to know what it meant, but just when he was about to burst out with Oh my God you're one of them!, that look melted off John's face and was replaced by seriousness again.
"She bats for Team Angst," Sheppard said, like he hadn't just been thinking sex straight into Rodney's brain. "I wonder what they do."
"I'm sure it's -- "
"A depraved sex act," Sheppard finished, and looked at him again. Rodney swallowed around the dry heat in his throat. "She says she's always been drawn to angst, though she likes romance as much as the next girl -- but she, and I quote, 'likes her boys a bit battered and broken at the end of things.'"
"Sadist! That's what the S stands for." Rodney leaned back from the computer as though the woman on the other end might materialize through the screen and tie him up. He ended up leaning back into Sheppard, who was warm and solid and not going anywhere. "Sadistic Girls Anonymous! That's it!" He paused. "Oh my God, what if it's a secret society? Have you ever noticed how Teyla never gets angry? And how Elizabeth gets angry but never stays angry? And Heightmeyer! She's a psychologist, so she'd know all about sex-related psychopathy and she'd have all kinds of advice. They're plotting, Colonel -- " and they had to be, it was a goddamn conspiracy and the next thing he knew he was going to -- "and I'm going to wake up tied to my bed with, with gags and handcuffs and whips, and I like sex as much as the next person but I'm really not into pain, especially my own -- and oh God, what if there's hot wax?"
"The hot wax is a good idea." Sheppard sounded somewhat choked.
"Oh, my God," Rodney whimpered. "They've gotten to you already."
"Hey," Sheppard said, and he was closer this time, snaking one arm around Rodney to splay his fingers on the laptop's touchpad, a warm, strong arm that curved past Rodney's cheek and between that and Sheppard's other arm, which braced him upright on the back of Rodney's chair, Rodney couldn't move.
"Hey," Sheppard said again, "there's a link here," and oh God his lips weren't on Rodney's neck, not teasing the soft skin there, they were not they were not they were not, "wonder where that goes to."