Ficlet: Business
Business by sheafrotherdon
~400 words. The effect of John Sheppard upon one Rodney McKay. PG.
It seems worth stating, Rodney thinks - mentally, silently, and entirely for his own benefit - that he was just minding his own business, ambling along the corridor, indulging in a spot-check of the coolant systems on the experimental naquadah-powered long-range telemetry satellite from his datapad, the universe-rending implications of which pale beside the very important point that he was minding his business, since experimental naquadah-powder long-range telemetry satellites are his business, and he minds his own business all the time, very frequently, almost constantly, contrary to whatever the folkore of Atlantis would have anyone believe, and he was minding his business and he was ambushed.
Which is why he's presently completely unable to string a sentence together - because being ambushed is always an unexpected thing, what with surprise being part of the point, and it's especially unexpected when one is minding one's own business, and even more so when it's John Sheppard who ambushes one, using insider knowledge of the way in which one might mind one's own business along corridor 14-E, section F, west quadrant, and therefore having an entirely unfair advantage when it comes to, well, having his way with business-minding scientists named McKay who are now very rumpled, panting slightly, potentially cross-eyed, and at least partially dumbfounded by the way a certain Lt. Colonel walks with that loose-limbed thingamy that means there are probably some excellent erections in a person's future if that person is a McKay of the Sheppard-bedding variety whose business got thoroughly and tumultuously turned inside out and back to front by a spot of incredibly effective open-mouthed kissing, right up against the strut that supports the beam that once creaked ominously when the Marines took the stairs three at a time the Saturday after . . .
"Coming?"
And there is business, and there is business, and the business about the naquadah-powered thing with the stuff on the hoojiwotsit can probably wait until after there's business with the hand and the mouth and the skin and the hips and the long, sleek stretch of the guy with the hair and the sheets and the . .
"Uh-huh."
Which is just to say it was an ambush and now he should go exact revenge and business with if you and if with the running okay then.
~400 words. The effect of John Sheppard upon one Rodney McKay. PG.
It seems worth stating, Rodney thinks - mentally, silently, and entirely for his own benefit - that he was just minding his own business, ambling along the corridor, indulging in a spot-check of the coolant systems on the experimental naquadah-powered long-range telemetry satellite from his datapad, the universe-rending implications of which pale beside the very important point that he was minding his business, since experimental naquadah-powder long-range telemetry satellites are his business, and he minds his own business all the time, very frequently, almost constantly, contrary to whatever the folkore of Atlantis would have anyone believe, and he was minding his business and he was ambushed.
Which is why he's presently completely unable to string a sentence together - because being ambushed is always an unexpected thing, what with surprise being part of the point, and it's especially unexpected when one is minding one's own business, and even more so when it's John Sheppard who ambushes one, using insider knowledge of the way in which one might mind one's own business along corridor 14-E, section F, west quadrant, and therefore having an entirely unfair advantage when it comes to, well, having his way with business-minding scientists named McKay who are now very rumpled, panting slightly, potentially cross-eyed, and at least partially dumbfounded by the way a certain Lt. Colonel walks with that loose-limbed thingamy that means there are probably some excellent erections in a person's future if that person is a McKay of the Sheppard-bedding variety whose business got thoroughly and tumultuously turned inside out and back to front by a spot of incredibly effective open-mouthed kissing, right up against the strut that supports the beam that once creaked ominously when the Marines took the stairs three at a time the Saturday after . . .
"Coming?"
And there is business, and there is business, and the business about the naquadah-powered thing with the stuff on the hoojiwotsit can probably wait until after there's business with the hand and the mouth and the skin and the hips and the long, sleek stretch of the guy with the hair and the sheets and the . .
"Uh-huh."
Which is just to say it was an ambush and now he should go exact revenge and business with if you and if with the running okay then.