The Universe Isn't Really Awesome (G)
title: the universe isn't really awesome, but it is, often, not so bad
rating: G, fun for everyone
summary: a companion of sorts to 'The Universe is Awesome, yo'. Sheppard wakes up in the middle of the night and Deep Conversations insue.
notes: *shrugs* Don't ask questions.
It's late and my brain is broke.
And I used spell check this time! woohoo! I win!
word count: 621
Also, I promise not to overpost here anymore. :D
Rodney wakes up to a loud thump, a mumbled curse, and Sheppard kicking him in the shin.
"Don't move," Sheppard says, and Rodney can feel the cold metal of a gun pressing into his gut. "Move and I shoot you."
"Oh my God, you complete maniac!" Rodney says, ignoring the gun and sitting up in the dark room. "Do you always wake up like that?"
"Rodney!"
"Sheppard!" Rodney mocks, raising the lights just enough to see his face and basic shapes of dressers and beds and whatnot. "If that is the way you wake up, this is the last time we're sleeping together."
Sheppard covers his face with his hands (and the gun) and says, "Please tell me you're joking. Did I - I mean, we slept together?"
"Yes," Rodney says. "If you mean you were drunk and passed out on top of me."
"Oh," he says, letting his hands drop away. "That's good. Well, it's not good. But it's better than the other thing."
"The other thing being you asking if you could kiss me and telling me I smelt like science? Which, by the way, what the hell does that mean?"
"No," Sheppard says, crawling away and onto his bed. "We're not discussing this."
The universe, it seems, hates Sheppard. It hates him and likes to metaphorically kick him in the balls and then, when he's on the floor crying, it points at him and laughs. Sheppard can't stand the universe.
"Oh, but we are discussing this," Rodney says, raising the lights enough that it feels like someone is smiling happily as they drill a hole into Sheppard's skull.
Sheppard curls up at the corner of his oh-so-small bed and covers his entire body with a blanket. "If you had even an ounce of decency in you, you would drop this and let me go back to sleep."
"Lucky for both of us, I don't."
"I hate you."
"No, you want to kiss me," he says, pulling the blanket off of Sheppard and tossing it to the floor. "And my question is: Was it just a Drunk and Wanting to get Laid thing, or do you really... you know, now that you're sober?"
"I don't think I'm sober," he says, rolling onto his back. "I still feel fuzzy."
"Okay, less drunk," Rodney huffs.
"Yeah, a little. I really don't want to talk about this."
"A little?"
Sheppard narrow his eyes, concentrates on lowering the lights again and relieving the pressure on his brain. He says, "Is this an interrogation? Should I get a lawyer?"
"John," Rodney says, his voice lighter, somehow. "Just answer the question."
"Yes, it has crossed my sober mind from time to time. It's not a big deal. Don't get all McKay about it."
"What does that mean?" Rodney says, scooting closer on the bed, only mildly insulted.
"Just don't over think it. No theories, okay? It's just there and it doesn't have to mean anything."
And then Rodney is lying on the bed, the very very small, made for Oompa-Loopas bed. His body is warm and solid and more draped across Sheppard's then on actual bed and Rodney says, "No theories. But I don't buy that it doesn't mean anything, you are a lousy liar when you are hungover."
"Yeah," Sheppard says, relaxing under Rodney's comfortable weight. "I'm not at the top of my game."
"Not so much."
Rolling over, just a little, Sheppard presses his face into Rodney's shoulder, takes a deep breath, and Rodney says, "So what does science smell like?"
Sheppard kisses Rodney's neck, the curve of his jaw, and his strong chin, and says, "Possibility."
Which doesn't make sense either, but Rodney sighs contently, and Sheppard is sure he gets it.
rating: G, fun for everyone
summary: a companion of sorts to 'The Universe is Awesome, yo'. Sheppard wakes up in the middle of the night and Deep Conversations insue.
notes: *shrugs* Don't ask questions.
It's late and my brain is broke.
And I used spell check this time! woohoo! I win!
word count: 621
Also, I promise not to overpost here anymore. :D
Rodney wakes up to a loud thump, a mumbled curse, and Sheppard kicking him in the shin.
"Don't move," Sheppard says, and Rodney can feel the cold metal of a gun pressing into his gut. "Move and I shoot you."
"Oh my God, you complete maniac!" Rodney says, ignoring the gun and sitting up in the dark room. "Do you always wake up like that?"
"Rodney!"
"Sheppard!" Rodney mocks, raising the lights just enough to see his face and basic shapes of dressers and beds and whatnot. "If that is the way you wake up, this is the last time we're sleeping together."
Sheppard covers his face with his hands (and the gun) and says, "Please tell me you're joking. Did I - I mean, we slept together?"
"Yes," Rodney says. "If you mean you were drunk and passed out on top of me."
"Oh," he says, letting his hands drop away. "That's good. Well, it's not good. But it's better than the other thing."
"The other thing being you asking if you could kiss me and telling me I smelt like science? Which, by the way, what the hell does that mean?"
"No," Sheppard says, crawling away and onto his bed. "We're not discussing this."
The universe, it seems, hates Sheppard. It hates him and likes to metaphorically kick him in the balls and then, when he's on the floor crying, it points at him and laughs. Sheppard can't stand the universe.
"Oh, but we are discussing this," Rodney says, raising the lights enough that it feels like someone is smiling happily as they drill a hole into Sheppard's skull.
Sheppard curls up at the corner of his oh-so-small bed and covers his entire body with a blanket. "If you had even an ounce of decency in you, you would drop this and let me go back to sleep."
"Lucky for both of us, I don't."
"I hate you."
"No, you want to kiss me," he says, pulling the blanket off of Sheppard and tossing it to the floor. "And my question is: Was it just a Drunk and Wanting to get Laid thing, or do you really... you know, now that you're sober?"
"I don't think I'm sober," he says, rolling onto his back. "I still feel fuzzy."
"Okay, less drunk," Rodney huffs.
"Yeah, a little. I really don't want to talk about this."
"A little?"
Sheppard narrow his eyes, concentrates on lowering the lights again and relieving the pressure on his brain. He says, "Is this an interrogation? Should I get a lawyer?"
"John," Rodney says, his voice lighter, somehow. "Just answer the question."
"Yes, it has crossed my sober mind from time to time. It's not a big deal. Don't get all McKay about it."
"What does that mean?" Rodney says, scooting closer on the bed, only mildly insulted.
"Just don't over think it. No theories, okay? It's just there and it doesn't have to mean anything."
And then Rodney is lying on the bed, the very very small, made for Oompa-Loopas bed. His body is warm and solid and more draped across Sheppard's then on actual bed and Rodney says, "No theories. But I don't buy that it doesn't mean anything, you are a lousy liar when you are hungover."
"Yeah," Sheppard says, relaxing under Rodney's comfortable weight. "I'm not at the top of my game."
"Not so much."
Rolling over, just a little, Sheppard presses his face into Rodney's shoulder, takes a deep breath, and Rodney says, "So what does science smell like?"
Sheppard kisses Rodney's neck, the curve of his jaw, and his strong chin, and says, "Possibility."
Which doesn't make sense either, but Rodney sighs contently, and Sheppard is sure he gets it.