FIC: North is East
North is East
SGA | John/Rodney | PG | 665 words | Thank you to maverick4oz for her awesomeness and for the story idea. Sly nods to Who and HHGttG found within. | Written for mcsmooch
“That’s it, I am never, ever, letting you fly a city ever again,” Rodney said by way of a greeting.
North is East
“That’s it, I am never, ever, letting you fly a city ever again,” Rodney said by way of a greeting.
John had been waiting at the pier for a good twenty minutes before he could hear the agitated footsteps that could only belong to Rodney.
“Beer?” John offered, pulling one of the cans from the six-pack and holding it as Rodney walked closer.
“I know you’re going to say you had other things on your mind, namely how to land a city on a new body of water after having just traveled from one galaxy to the next. And yes, I might not have been able to figure out in time how to pull up the schematics for New New Lantea so you could properly orient yourself.”
Rodney was pacing now, his hands moving in an agitated, animated fashion. After the fourth circuit, John gave up and set the (now) five-pack on the edge of the dock and sat down, his legs extending over the edge.
“Rodney,” John said, looking over his shoulder. “Rodney, sit down and tell me what the hell you’re talking about.”
“But couldn’t you have at least taken into consideration the cardinal directions and orientation of Atlantis before deciding to say ‘Geronimo’ and ‘splash’?” Rodney continued.
“Rodney.” John was louder this time and either the irritation in his voice, or the volume, finally achieved its goal in pushing through Rodney’s tirade and stopping him in his tracks. “Please. Sit. Drink. And tell me what you are moaning on about?”
Rodney, thankfully, listened and sat down. He took the offered beer and his sigh matched the hiss of the beer opening. “Do you realize that this isn’t the east pier anymore? It’s now the north pier, and so when you say ‘let’s meet at the pier’ and you mean our pier, it’s not the east pier anymore.”
John hadn’t realized that. When he’d told Rodney to meet him so they could have a celebratory drink (and maybe, hopefully, probably a nice, long makeout session) at their pier, he’d just walked directly to the pier closest to the room with the neon green door, not even taking the cardinal directions into consideration.
“I...” he started to say, but Rodney cut him off.
“I went to the east pier, which used to be south pier but isn’t anymore, but is apparently where Radek does sunset yoga. Which I never need to see again. Really, I shouldn’t have to worry about these things when I should be thinking about more important things like--”
“Like how we’re finally back home, and we’re back on our pier--whatever pier you want to call it--and no one is going to need us for the next... hours... and we can finally do this again,” John filled in, tugging on Rodney’s shirt.
John can almost see the symphony of Rodney’s thoughts come to a cymbal crashing halt, but in less than a beat he’s changed tunes.
“Yes, this exactly,” Rodney agreed, his mouth curling into a easy smile as he leaned toward John and kissed him.
In the pantheon of great kisses, this one probably wouldn’t have even made it into the also-rans--which wasn’t to say it wasn’t good, because it was--for skill and knock-your-socks-off intensity. But, John thought as he cupped Rodney’s jaw, for the sheer monumentalness of it all, this one could make it into at least the honorable mentions.
“Tell you what,” John said, stealing one more, quick kiss. “While I can’t pick up Atlantis and put her back down so she’s facing the right direction. I can do this.”
He reached into the thigh pocket of his BDUs and pulled out his Swiss Army knife. Opening up one of the blades he carved two digits into the plank of wood between them
“There. Now, no matter where the pier lines up on the compass. This will always be ours.” He said, closing knife up again.
For that, Rodney had to kiss him again.
SGA | John/Rodney | PG | 665 words | Thank you to maverick4oz for her awesomeness and for the story idea. Sly nods to Who and HHGttG found within. | Written for mcsmooch
“That’s it, I am never, ever, letting you fly a city ever again,” Rodney said by way of a greeting.
North is East
“That’s it, I am never, ever, letting you fly a city ever again,” Rodney said by way of a greeting.
John had been waiting at the pier for a good twenty minutes before he could hear the agitated footsteps that could only belong to Rodney.
“Beer?” John offered, pulling one of the cans from the six-pack and holding it as Rodney walked closer.
“I know you’re going to say you had other things on your mind, namely how to land a city on a new body of water after having just traveled from one galaxy to the next. And yes, I might not have been able to figure out in time how to pull up the schematics for New New Lantea so you could properly orient yourself.”
Rodney was pacing now, his hands moving in an agitated, animated fashion. After the fourth circuit, John gave up and set the (now) five-pack on the edge of the dock and sat down, his legs extending over the edge.
“Rodney,” John said, looking over his shoulder. “Rodney, sit down and tell me what the hell you’re talking about.”
“But couldn’t you have at least taken into consideration the cardinal directions and orientation of Atlantis before deciding to say ‘Geronimo’ and ‘splash’?” Rodney continued.
“Rodney.” John was louder this time and either the irritation in his voice, or the volume, finally achieved its goal in pushing through Rodney’s tirade and stopping him in his tracks. “Please. Sit. Drink. And tell me what you are moaning on about?”
Rodney, thankfully, listened and sat down. He took the offered beer and his sigh matched the hiss of the beer opening. “Do you realize that this isn’t the east pier anymore? It’s now the north pier, and so when you say ‘let’s meet at the pier’ and you mean our pier, it’s not the east pier anymore.”
John hadn’t realized that. When he’d told Rodney to meet him so they could have a celebratory drink (and maybe, hopefully, probably a nice, long makeout session) at their pier, he’d just walked directly to the pier closest to the room with the neon green door, not even taking the cardinal directions into consideration.
“I...” he started to say, but Rodney cut him off.
“I went to the east pier, which used to be south pier but isn’t anymore, but is apparently where Radek does sunset yoga. Which I never need to see again. Really, I shouldn’t have to worry about these things when I should be thinking about more important things like--”
“Like how we’re finally back home, and we’re back on our pier--whatever pier you want to call it--and no one is going to need us for the next... hours... and we can finally do this again,” John filled in, tugging on Rodney’s shirt.
John can almost see the symphony of Rodney’s thoughts come to a cymbal crashing halt, but in less than a beat he’s changed tunes.
“Yes, this exactly,” Rodney agreed, his mouth curling into a easy smile as he leaned toward John and kissed him.
In the pantheon of great kisses, this one probably wouldn’t have even made it into the also-rans--which wasn’t to say it wasn’t good, because it was--for skill and knock-your-socks-off intensity. But, John thought as he cupped Rodney’s jaw, for the sheer monumentalness of it all, this one could make it into at least the honorable mentions.
“Tell you what,” John said, stealing one more, quick kiss. “While I can’t pick up Atlantis and put her back down so she’s facing the right direction. I can do this.”
He reached into the thigh pocket of his BDUs and pulled out his Swiss Army knife. Opening up one of the blades he carved two digits into the plank of wood between them
“There. Now, no matter where the pier lines up on the compass. This will always be ours.” He said, closing knife up again.
For that, Rodney had to kiss him again.