Fic: Everlong, a futurefic
TITLE: Everlong
Written for: McSmooch
Rating: pg-13
Spoilers: 1,995 words; A Post Atlantis futurefic
He pretty much blows the whole thing before six o’clock.
Dinner is chicken parmigiana, salad and garlic bread and it smells fantastic. Rodney doesn’t cook on a whim so John tries his best to eat it. But every bite sticks in his throat until finally, he has to push his plate away or risk an embarrassing choking incident.
When he feels Rodney’s gaze on him, John pretends like he doesn’t. “What?” John finally asks when Rodney’s eyes narrow.
“You’re not eating.”
“I’m - I guess I’m not that hungry.” John desperately wants to play it cool but sweat pops out on his forehead and he prays that Rodney reads it as possible food poisoning and not fear and panic.
Rodney drops his cutlery onto his plate with a clatter and John’s stomach starts to hurt for real. Rodney’s been testier than usual lately and he should have realized that before refusing to eat.
“It’s your favorite,” Rodney says, in the same tone of voice he used to say, “Another alien priestess, Colonel?” And before can John reconsider that choking strategy, Rodney digs back into his meal, this time with more aggression.
“Fine. Try to do something nice for someone,” Rodney mutters sourly. There’s a little dot of marinara at the corner of Rodney’s frowning mouth and John thinks about leaning over and licking it off but he has a feeling that won’t go over so well tonight.
He tries to grab Rodney’s hand but Rodney moves it out of his reach. “Rodney, come on,” John says and he probably sounds a little whiny but damn, this is going off the rails fast.
“If you’re done, you can start the dishes. Since you’re watching your weight, you can burn off an easy 75 calories that way.”
John sighs and looks put upon but Rodney doesn’t even look up so John slinks off to the kitchen to clean up. Rodney brings his plate in the kitchen some time later and leaves without a word or more importantly, without helping. John looks helplessly at the mound of dishes he has left to wash and put away and with a sigh, gets to work.
By the time John’s done, the door to Rodney’s office is closed and there’s a flurry of typing going on behind it. John stares for a couple minutes, thinking. Maybe he could put this off. He’s already messed things up with the not eating and Rodney’s pissed now, so waiting another day could only improve things.
Except it wouldn’t improve things. And John wants this done tonight.
He wipes his damp palms on his thighs. No, you wuss, you’re doing this. Right now.
Before he can change his mind, John throws open the door and Rodney jumps and falls half out of his desk chair.
John rushes toward him and Rodney angrily brushes off his touch. “Do you have to come bursting in here like that? How about a little warning, like maybe a knock? What the hell is your problem tonight?”
John gives up and rubs both hands over his face. “Oh, God, this is a disaster,” he says, mostly to himself. Almost immediately, the tap-tap-tap of Rodney’s keyboard resumes and the tether holding John’s sanity finally snaps. “Okay, that’s it. Stop typing and turn around. We have to talk.”
Rodney goes still and turns and just that quickly, all the tension and anger in his face is suddenly gone, replaced by a stark, pale mask of unhappiness.
Rodney gets up, twisting his hands into a nervous bundle in front of him. “No, John. Wait. Don’t - don’t say it. Not yet.” Rodney looks closed in on himself, his big shoulders slumped forward and his gaze down.
“I know I haven’t been very - well, let’s face it, I never am but that doesn’t mean - I watch it happen and even then - it’s like I can’t stop. It’s a defense mechanism, really and I thought you knew that but - maybe not.”
John blinks a couple of times and starts to speak but Rodney interrupts.
“No, just - give me a minute. I know what you’re about to say. I could tell there’s been something on your mind for days now. That’s why I’ve been staying so late at the lab and why I’ve been even more unpleasant than usual and believe it or not, that’s why I cooked dinner tonight. I thought I could -- “ Rodney smiles at him, a lopsided, self-conscious smile that causes a rush of hot feeling to John’s chest. “I thought a good meal might prevent this whole conversation but then, you didn’t eat and I lost my temper all over again.”
“What are you - “
“John, I don’t want to do this. I really, really don’t. Things have been busy lately, I know, but I - I’ll take some time off. I know I’ve said that before but this time, I mean it. We’ll go somewhere, just the two of us - no laptops, no cell phones - well, maybe one cell phone but just for emergency purposes, I swear.”
“O-kay. That sounds - ”
Rodney moves in until they’re almost touching. “Give me another chance, okay?” Rodney swallows hard, then puts his hands on John’s waist, his touch tentative and very un-Rodney like. “We’re good together, John. You remember that, don’t you?”
He doesn’t move - can’t move - as Rodney kisses him. It’s tender, almost chaste and John frowns when the kiss doesn’t move on from there. Rodney pulls away and looks at him with big, wounded blue eyes, as if waiting for something.
John waits for something, too and when he doesn’t get it, he loses it for the second time in five minutes. “Rodney, what the hell are you talking about?”
Rodney falls back a couple of steps, his expression slack with surprise. “I - I - th-thought you were - are you saying you aren’t going to leave me?” he asks in a breathless voice.
”What?”
“Well, what was I supposed to think? You’ve been all quiet and weird this week. Weirder than usual,” Rodney adds sullenly, sounding more like himself.
“That’s because I live with you, asshole.” John walks out into the den and throws himself down on the couch because the whole thing is ruined now. The plans he’d made, the script he’d written - they’re all for shit. Maybe he should break up with the prick.
John looks at the floor. There’s a stack of books down there, under the coffee table - science journals and a two-week-old TV Guide he’s been meaning to throw away. There’s a paper plate down there, too, because Rodney likes to eat on the couch, even though John’s asked him not to.
For a minute, he thinks about living here alone again. He tries to remember how it was before Atlantis, before he knew about Stargates and wormholes. Before he knew there was anybody like Rodney McKay. And all John comes up with is emptiness and distance and a silence that wasn’t peaceful in the least.
Rodney stomps into the room and stands in front of John, once again looking furious and strangely hot. “Are you going to tell me what this is all about or do I have to drag you around by your stupid hair until you do?”
“You and what air force?” John mutters under his breath.
“What’s that?”
John crosses his arms and slouches down lower. “Shut up and go back to your office,” John says darkly. “I don’t want to talk to you.”
“Oh, for God’s sake.” Rodney sits down next to him, making John bounce a little on the cushions. “Enough with the pouting, already. Would you please put me out of my misery and tell me what’s on your mind?”
John turns his head and glares at him. “I can’t believe you thought I was breaking up with you. And you made me clean the kitchen.”
“Look, I told you I was bad at this before I moved in. I warned you.”
“Yeah, well,” John sputters, outraged by the entire turn of events, “you just - really blew it this time, mister.”
“Mister? John. Out with it.”
“I was going to ask you to marry me, dickhead.”
The gobsmacked look on Rodney’s face is savagely satisfying. His cheeks turn a rosy pink and for a time, he can utter nothing but a jumble of disjointed consonants. When Rodney can finally string a few words together, though, it’s not much more coherent. “S-so. D-did - I - uh. Really?”
John makes a growly noise that’s all the answer he intends to give and unfortunately, a grin makes its way across Rodney’s face. “You want to marry me?” He points a finger at John. “You? Want to marry me? Huh. How about that?”
Sitting up quickly, John feels both his anger and control of the situation slipping away. “No. I changed my mind. Forget it.”
“Oh, no, you said it. You can’t take it back now.”
Rodney’s eyes are doing the very blue, very shiny thing now, the thing that always makes John warm and tingly and dammit, he’s such a wimp. “I can, too. It’s taken back,” John says weakly.
“Uh, yeah, no. It’s too late. You can’t take it back. I win.”
John starts to get up but Rodney has his hands on him, shoving John onto his back and crawling on top of him. Rodney’s wide mouth covers his and John gives into the sweet, passionate kiss that Rodney gives him. He slings an arm around Rodney’s neck and moments later, Rodney pulls back enough to rest his forehead against John’s.
“Jesus, John,” Rodney tells him, his voice rough. “Yes. Did I say that yet? It’s yes.”
John can’t believe it’s happened, that he did it, that it worked, even after his spectacular fail and he kisses Rodney - oh, God, his fiancé - until they’re both breathless and hard.
Then Rodney shifts over on one elbow and slaps John upside the head.
“Hey!”
“’I was going to ask you to marry me, dickhead?’ What kind of proposal is that?”
“That wasn’t going to be the proposal. I had a whole thing planned.” John glares up at him while rubbing his head. “Of course, that was before you went insane.”
“Oh. Will you still do it? The thing? I’ll behave this time.”
“Well, maybe if you hadn’t hit me in the head.”
“Picky, picky.”
They push and pull each other upright again and sit there for a couple of minutes in stunned silence. John starts when Rodney suddenly bolts upright and points a finger at John.
“No tuxes.”
“Well, duh.”
Rodney sags back in relief. “Oh. Good.”
John nods and then points a finger of his own. “And I’m not dancing with you in public.”
“But - ”
“No, Rodney.”
Rodney looks mildly offended. “Fine.”
John stares at Rodney’s profile, at his ridiculous eyelashes and his vaguely frowning mouth and stands up. “But I will do this,” he says and goes into Rodney’s office. It takes a couple of clicks of the mouse and when John emerges, the first strains of an epic piece of music waft on the air.
He grins and holds his hand out to Rodney. “Come on.”
Rodney sighs. “Foo Fighters? And it’s not even a slow one.”
John narrows his eyes. “Do you want to do this or not?”
“Yes, yes, coming. And it’s my turn to lead.”
Rodney’s arms go around him and John takes the girl position without complaint because he’s never going to complain about being pressed against Rodney’s warm, solid body. He rests his cheek against Rodney’s and they slowly sway to the driving rock beat.
Rodney brushes a kiss against John’s temple. “We’re getting married,” he whispers, like he still can’t believe it, like he’s happy, like he’s wanted this as long as John has.
John closes his eyes and laces his fingers with Rodney’s and thinks that maybe this was his plan all along.
Written for: McSmooch
Rating: pg-13
Spoilers: 1,995 words; A Post Atlantis futurefic
He pretty much blows the whole thing before six o’clock.
Dinner is chicken parmigiana, salad and garlic bread and it smells fantastic. Rodney doesn’t cook on a whim so John tries his best to eat it. But every bite sticks in his throat until finally, he has to push his plate away or risk an embarrassing choking incident.
When he feels Rodney’s gaze on him, John pretends like he doesn’t. “What?” John finally asks when Rodney’s eyes narrow.
“You’re not eating.”
“I’m - I guess I’m not that hungry.” John desperately wants to play it cool but sweat pops out on his forehead and he prays that Rodney reads it as possible food poisoning and not fear and panic.
Rodney drops his cutlery onto his plate with a clatter and John’s stomach starts to hurt for real. Rodney’s been testier than usual lately and he should have realized that before refusing to eat.
“It’s your favorite,” Rodney says, in the same tone of voice he used to say, “Another alien priestess, Colonel?” And before can John reconsider that choking strategy, Rodney digs back into his meal, this time with more aggression.
“Fine. Try to do something nice for someone,” Rodney mutters sourly. There’s a little dot of marinara at the corner of Rodney’s frowning mouth and John thinks about leaning over and licking it off but he has a feeling that won’t go over so well tonight.
He tries to grab Rodney’s hand but Rodney moves it out of his reach. “Rodney, come on,” John says and he probably sounds a little whiny but damn, this is going off the rails fast.
“If you’re done, you can start the dishes. Since you’re watching your weight, you can burn off an easy 75 calories that way.”
John sighs and looks put upon but Rodney doesn’t even look up so John slinks off to the kitchen to clean up. Rodney brings his plate in the kitchen some time later and leaves without a word or more importantly, without helping. John looks helplessly at the mound of dishes he has left to wash and put away and with a sigh, gets to work.
By the time John’s done, the door to Rodney’s office is closed and there’s a flurry of typing going on behind it. John stares for a couple minutes, thinking. Maybe he could put this off. He’s already messed things up with the not eating and Rodney’s pissed now, so waiting another day could only improve things.
Except it wouldn’t improve things. And John wants this done tonight.
He wipes his damp palms on his thighs. No, you wuss, you’re doing this. Right now.
Before he can change his mind, John throws open the door and Rodney jumps and falls half out of his desk chair.
John rushes toward him and Rodney angrily brushes off his touch. “Do you have to come bursting in here like that? How about a little warning, like maybe a knock? What the hell is your problem tonight?”
John gives up and rubs both hands over his face. “Oh, God, this is a disaster,” he says, mostly to himself. Almost immediately, the tap-tap-tap of Rodney’s keyboard resumes and the tether holding John’s sanity finally snaps. “Okay, that’s it. Stop typing and turn around. We have to talk.”
Rodney goes still and turns and just that quickly, all the tension and anger in his face is suddenly gone, replaced by a stark, pale mask of unhappiness.
Rodney gets up, twisting his hands into a nervous bundle in front of him. “No, John. Wait. Don’t - don’t say it. Not yet.” Rodney looks closed in on himself, his big shoulders slumped forward and his gaze down.
“I know I haven’t been very - well, let’s face it, I never am but that doesn’t mean - I watch it happen and even then - it’s like I can’t stop. It’s a defense mechanism, really and I thought you knew that but - maybe not.”
John blinks a couple of times and starts to speak but Rodney interrupts.
“No, just - give me a minute. I know what you’re about to say. I could tell there’s been something on your mind for days now. That’s why I’ve been staying so late at the lab and why I’ve been even more unpleasant than usual and believe it or not, that’s why I cooked dinner tonight. I thought I could -- “ Rodney smiles at him, a lopsided, self-conscious smile that causes a rush of hot feeling to John’s chest. “I thought a good meal might prevent this whole conversation but then, you didn’t eat and I lost my temper all over again.”
“What are you - “
“John, I don’t want to do this. I really, really don’t. Things have been busy lately, I know, but I - I’ll take some time off. I know I’ve said that before but this time, I mean it. We’ll go somewhere, just the two of us - no laptops, no cell phones - well, maybe one cell phone but just for emergency purposes, I swear.”
“O-kay. That sounds - ”
Rodney moves in until they’re almost touching. “Give me another chance, okay?” Rodney swallows hard, then puts his hands on John’s waist, his touch tentative and very un-Rodney like. “We’re good together, John. You remember that, don’t you?”
He doesn’t move - can’t move - as Rodney kisses him. It’s tender, almost chaste and John frowns when the kiss doesn’t move on from there. Rodney pulls away and looks at him with big, wounded blue eyes, as if waiting for something.
John waits for something, too and when he doesn’t get it, he loses it for the second time in five minutes. “Rodney, what the hell are you talking about?”
Rodney falls back a couple of steps, his expression slack with surprise. “I - I - th-thought you were - are you saying you aren’t going to leave me?” he asks in a breathless voice.
”What?”
“Well, what was I supposed to think? You’ve been all quiet and weird this week. Weirder than usual,” Rodney adds sullenly, sounding more like himself.
“That’s because I live with you, asshole.” John walks out into the den and throws himself down on the couch because the whole thing is ruined now. The plans he’d made, the script he’d written - they’re all for shit. Maybe he should break up with the prick.
John looks at the floor. There’s a stack of books down there, under the coffee table - science journals and a two-week-old TV Guide he’s been meaning to throw away. There’s a paper plate down there, too, because Rodney likes to eat on the couch, even though John’s asked him not to.
For a minute, he thinks about living here alone again. He tries to remember how it was before Atlantis, before he knew about Stargates and wormholes. Before he knew there was anybody like Rodney McKay. And all John comes up with is emptiness and distance and a silence that wasn’t peaceful in the least.
Rodney stomps into the room and stands in front of John, once again looking furious and strangely hot. “Are you going to tell me what this is all about or do I have to drag you around by your stupid hair until you do?”
“You and what air force?” John mutters under his breath.
“What’s that?”
John crosses his arms and slouches down lower. “Shut up and go back to your office,” John says darkly. “I don’t want to talk to you.”
“Oh, for God’s sake.” Rodney sits down next to him, making John bounce a little on the cushions. “Enough with the pouting, already. Would you please put me out of my misery and tell me what’s on your mind?”
John turns his head and glares at him. “I can’t believe you thought I was breaking up with you. And you made me clean the kitchen.”
“Look, I told you I was bad at this before I moved in. I warned you.”
“Yeah, well,” John sputters, outraged by the entire turn of events, “you just - really blew it this time, mister.”
“Mister? John. Out with it.”
“I was going to ask you to marry me, dickhead.”
The gobsmacked look on Rodney’s face is savagely satisfying. His cheeks turn a rosy pink and for a time, he can utter nothing but a jumble of disjointed consonants. When Rodney can finally string a few words together, though, it’s not much more coherent. “S-so. D-did - I - uh. Really?”
John makes a growly noise that’s all the answer he intends to give and unfortunately, a grin makes its way across Rodney’s face. “You want to marry me?” He points a finger at John. “You? Want to marry me? Huh. How about that?”
Sitting up quickly, John feels both his anger and control of the situation slipping away. “No. I changed my mind. Forget it.”
“Oh, no, you said it. You can’t take it back now.”
Rodney’s eyes are doing the very blue, very shiny thing now, the thing that always makes John warm and tingly and dammit, he’s such a wimp. “I can, too. It’s taken back,” John says weakly.
“Uh, yeah, no. It’s too late. You can’t take it back. I win.”
John starts to get up but Rodney has his hands on him, shoving John onto his back and crawling on top of him. Rodney’s wide mouth covers his and John gives into the sweet, passionate kiss that Rodney gives him. He slings an arm around Rodney’s neck and moments later, Rodney pulls back enough to rest his forehead against John’s.
“Jesus, John,” Rodney tells him, his voice rough. “Yes. Did I say that yet? It’s yes.”
John can’t believe it’s happened, that he did it, that it worked, even after his spectacular fail and he kisses Rodney - oh, God, his fiancé - until they’re both breathless and hard.
Then Rodney shifts over on one elbow and slaps John upside the head.
“Hey!”
“’I was going to ask you to marry me, dickhead?’ What kind of proposal is that?”
“That wasn’t going to be the proposal. I had a whole thing planned.” John glares up at him while rubbing his head. “Of course, that was before you went insane.”
“Oh. Will you still do it? The thing? I’ll behave this time.”
“Well, maybe if you hadn’t hit me in the head.”
“Picky, picky.”
They push and pull each other upright again and sit there for a couple of minutes in stunned silence. John starts when Rodney suddenly bolts upright and points a finger at John.
“No tuxes.”
“Well, duh.”
Rodney sags back in relief. “Oh. Good.”
John nods and then points a finger of his own. “And I’m not dancing with you in public.”
“But - ”
“No, Rodney.”
Rodney looks mildly offended. “Fine.”
John stares at Rodney’s profile, at his ridiculous eyelashes and his vaguely frowning mouth and stands up. “But I will do this,” he says and goes into Rodney’s office. It takes a couple of clicks of the mouse and when John emerges, the first strains of an epic piece of music waft on the air.
He grins and holds his hand out to Rodney. “Come on.”
Rodney sighs. “Foo Fighters? And it’s not even a slow one.”
John narrows his eyes. “Do you want to do this or not?”
“Yes, yes, coming. And it’s my turn to lead.”
Rodney’s arms go around him and John takes the girl position without complaint because he’s never going to complain about being pressed against Rodney’s warm, solid body. He rests his cheek against Rodney’s and they slowly sway to the driving rock beat.
Rodney brushes a kiss against John’s temple. “We’re getting married,” he whispers, like he still can’t believe it, like he’s happy, like he’s wanted this as long as John has.
John closes his eyes and laces his fingers with Rodney’s and thinks that maybe this was his plan all along.