Fic: The Ideal Trapezoid Function
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Title: The Ideal Trapezoid Function
Author: Quasar
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard preslash
Spoilers: Rising, Hide and Seek
Length: ~1200 words
Summary: When he was thirteen, Rodney had tried to develop a
mathematical formula to describe the shape of the ideal female breast.
Notes: Could be construed as a sequel to Team Building. No plot --
not even any dialogue!
Rodney McKay loved women. He loved their soft curves and smooth skin and their delicate scent. He loved how short women made him feel big and strong when he held them or even stood next to them. He loved how (in the ideal case) a woman would listen to his explanations even if she didn't understand them, instead of using sarcasm to excuse away ignorance the way a man would.
He especially loved breasts. In a world of many wonders (which a brilliant astrophysicist could appreciate in far more detail than the average street-corner dunce), Rodney had found few to match the magnificence of a pair of full breasts with pert nipples.
When he was thirteen, Rodney had tried to develop a mathematical formula to describe the shape of the ideal female breast. He'd found it unexpectedly difficult, though -- not the math (although the higher-order terms required to model the shape of a nipple would doubtless have proved tricky), but the research itself. He was already in secondary school by then and had no shortage of models available to study, but they turned out to be unsympathetic to his cause. One girl reported him to the teacher for staring. The gym instructor bawled him out in front of the entire class for trying to get a look in the girls' locker room. And April Bingham, the most level-headed of the lot, had first been shocked when he asked her to take off her shirt and then even more offended when he tried to explain that it was only for the advancement of science.
He'd bought a Playboy from the top shelf of the drugstore magazine rack and took it home for further study. But the store owner knew his mother and phoned her, and she interrupted him when he'd barely had fifteen minutes to look at the magazine in private. He got lectured for two hours over the kitchen table while the semen in his underwear dried to itchiness and his penis still throbbed unrepentantly. His mother (who should know him better) didn't believe him when he told her that it was pure mathematical research.
The Optimal Mammary Curve never was developed, which was really a shame. He'd been planning to work out a time-dependent formula next to describe the motion of a woman's breast, which was even more fascinating than the basic shape. And he'd also hoped to model what breasts would look like in micro-gravity environments -- a mystery that no one could answer at that time. A couple years later, he wrote to Sally Ride asking for photographs and perhaps a few observational notes, but she never wrote back.
Clearly, Rodney was physically attracted to women and unquestionably straight. But he'd known since that same year in school that he was sometimes emotionally attracted to men. Where women's reactions were baffling, men were straightforward. Some part of Rodney had always secretly wanted the approval of his fellow men -- especially men who were good at things Rodney was bad at, the kinds of things men were supposed to be good at in movies and books.
He'd tried to impress the captain of the hockey team with his prowess at math years beyond his class level, but the older boy just took the completed homework and never spoke to him again. All his work only earned Rodney one ticket out of a small, dark, smelly locker. After that, he learned not to show his longing to be like -- and be liked by -- the jocks and the cool kids.
He was honest with himself, though, so it came as no real surprise when he developed a little crush on Major Sheppard. He'd thought the man just another arrogant pilot when they first met, and though he might be jealous of the Ancient gene, it wasn't anything very personal. Then there was a flicker of common feeling when they explored Atlantis together, and Rodney caught a whiff of the Major's scent -- strong but not rank, pleasant but not the least flowery -- as they looked out the window at the surrounding ocean.
And then Sheppard quoted six factorial at him with a challenging lift of his eyebrows, and Rodney felt it like a punch in his gut. The man understood math -- not enough to be a threat to Rodney, of course, but maybe enough to appreciate some of his brilliance, unlike the other unimaginative grunts on the team. Rodney found himself watching the Major rather than the technology itself when he showed him the Gateships. He saw Sheppard's eyes light up, and he wanted to see it again -- preferably directed at him.
And when Sheppard pulled off a miracle and brought all their captured people except one back from an alien prison on a strange planet -- after an outer-space dogfight against multiple alien ships, no less -- Rodney felt his of interest turn into a full-blown hero-worshipping crush.
He wasn't going to have enough contact with Sheppard for anyone to notice his little infatuation, and he knew that it would fade away over time. So he indulged himself during the celebration party with some Sheppard-watching. Let others think he was staring at that pretty alien woman who was -- surprise, surprise -- hanging out with Sheppard. She probably had near-optimal mammary curves, but Rodney's gaze was on Sheppard: his stubbled jaw, his expressive eyebrows, his ridiculous hair.
Less than two days later he found himself walking into a black cloud that might have killed him, because it was the only thing to do. It wasn't that he had never wanted to be a hero (he did, with a fervent passion that he would never admit to anyone), but his extremely efficient brain was much too good at figuring out exactly what could go wrong and how likely it was. Just as tightrope walkers couldn't look down, heroes couldn't afford to consider the possibility of failure -- but Rodney was too smart to ignore basic facts. So he only did the hero thing when it was truly the only viable alternative, and probably safer than doing nothing.
And then he saw how Weir and Grodin looked at him. For the first time he learned how much better a little admiration could make him feel compared to the exasperated smirks and rolled eyes they'd been giving him earlier. Sheppard gave him the same admiring look -- okay, with a little smirk, but it seemed more fond than exasperated -- and his heart thumped harder than it had when he was walking down those stairs. He began to see how the hero thing could get addictive, even for someone who couldn't ignore the possibility of disaster.
When Sheppard asked him to join his team, Rodney could almost feel the quantum wave function teetering on the brink of collapse, one way or the other. Two eigenfutures stretched before him: one future where he was (mostly) safe in an environment where his genius would do the most good, where his crush on the Major would fade away for lack of fuel, where he would be the same Rodney McKay he had always been; and one future where he was a different man, a hero, getting admiring looks sometimes and pleas for rescue other times -- one where he would see Sheppard every day at his most dashing, and would never get over the crush, and might embarrass himself with an emotional declaration one day. He knew which was the sensible choice, and he knew even as he opened his mouth that it wasn't what he would choose.
The next day he found himself standing behind Sheppard, contemplating the perfect trapezoid of his back (strong shoulders tapering down to slim hips, and don't keep looking there because someone will notice) and considering what mathematical formula would describe it best.
End
Title: The Ideal Trapezoid Function
Author: Quasar
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard preslash
Spoilers: Rising, Hide and Seek
Length: ~1200 words
Summary: When he was thirteen, Rodney had tried to develop a
mathematical formula to describe the shape of the ideal female breast.
Notes: Could be construed as a sequel to Team Building. No plot --
not even any dialogue!
Rodney McKay loved women. He loved their soft curves and smooth skin and their delicate scent. He loved how short women made him feel big and strong when he held them or even stood next to them. He loved how (in the ideal case) a woman would listen to his explanations even if she didn't understand them, instead of using sarcasm to excuse away ignorance the way a man would.
He especially loved breasts. In a world of many wonders (which a brilliant astrophysicist could appreciate in far more detail than the average street-corner dunce), Rodney had found few to match the magnificence of a pair of full breasts with pert nipples.
When he was thirteen, Rodney had tried to develop a mathematical formula to describe the shape of the ideal female breast. He'd found it unexpectedly difficult, though -- not the math (although the higher-order terms required to model the shape of a nipple would doubtless have proved tricky), but the research itself. He was already in secondary school by then and had no shortage of models available to study, but they turned out to be unsympathetic to his cause. One girl reported him to the teacher for staring. The gym instructor bawled him out in front of the entire class for trying to get a look in the girls' locker room. And April Bingham, the most level-headed of the lot, had first been shocked when he asked her to take off her shirt and then even more offended when he tried to explain that it was only for the advancement of science.
He'd bought a Playboy from the top shelf of the drugstore magazine rack and took it home for further study. But the store owner knew his mother and phoned her, and she interrupted him when he'd barely had fifteen minutes to look at the magazine in private. He got lectured for two hours over the kitchen table while the semen in his underwear dried to itchiness and his penis still throbbed unrepentantly. His mother (who should know him better) didn't believe him when he told her that it was pure mathematical research.
The Optimal Mammary Curve never was developed, which was really a shame. He'd been planning to work out a time-dependent formula next to describe the motion of a woman's breast, which was even more fascinating than the basic shape. And he'd also hoped to model what breasts would look like in micro-gravity environments -- a mystery that no one could answer at that time. A couple years later, he wrote to Sally Ride asking for photographs and perhaps a few observational notes, but she never wrote back.
Clearly, Rodney was physically attracted to women and unquestionably straight. But he'd known since that same year in school that he was sometimes emotionally attracted to men. Where women's reactions were baffling, men were straightforward. Some part of Rodney had always secretly wanted the approval of his fellow men -- especially men who were good at things Rodney was bad at, the kinds of things men were supposed to be good at in movies and books.
He'd tried to impress the captain of the hockey team with his prowess at math years beyond his class level, but the older boy just took the completed homework and never spoke to him again. All his work only earned Rodney one ticket out of a small, dark, smelly locker. After that, he learned not to show his longing to be like -- and be liked by -- the jocks and the cool kids.
He was honest with himself, though, so it came as no real surprise when he developed a little crush on Major Sheppard. He'd thought the man just another arrogant pilot when they first met, and though he might be jealous of the Ancient gene, it wasn't anything very personal. Then there was a flicker of common feeling when they explored Atlantis together, and Rodney caught a whiff of the Major's scent -- strong but not rank, pleasant but not the least flowery -- as they looked out the window at the surrounding ocean.
And then Sheppard quoted six factorial at him with a challenging lift of his eyebrows, and Rodney felt it like a punch in his gut. The man understood math -- not enough to be a threat to Rodney, of course, but maybe enough to appreciate some of his brilliance, unlike the other unimaginative grunts on the team. Rodney found himself watching the Major rather than the technology itself when he showed him the Gateships. He saw Sheppard's eyes light up, and he wanted to see it again -- preferably directed at him.
And when Sheppard pulled off a miracle and brought all their captured people except one back from an alien prison on a strange planet -- after an outer-space dogfight against multiple alien ships, no less -- Rodney felt his of interest turn into a full-blown hero-worshipping crush.
He wasn't going to have enough contact with Sheppard for anyone to notice his little infatuation, and he knew that it would fade away over time. So he indulged himself during the celebration party with some Sheppard-watching. Let others think he was staring at that pretty alien woman who was -- surprise, surprise -- hanging out with Sheppard. She probably had near-optimal mammary curves, but Rodney's gaze was on Sheppard: his stubbled jaw, his expressive eyebrows, his ridiculous hair.
Less than two days later he found himself walking into a black cloud that might have killed him, because it was the only thing to do. It wasn't that he had never wanted to be a hero (he did, with a fervent passion that he would never admit to anyone), but his extremely efficient brain was much too good at figuring out exactly what could go wrong and how likely it was. Just as tightrope walkers couldn't look down, heroes couldn't afford to consider the possibility of failure -- but Rodney was too smart to ignore basic facts. So he only did the hero thing when it was truly the only viable alternative, and probably safer than doing nothing.
And then he saw how Weir and Grodin looked at him. For the first time he learned how much better a little admiration could make him feel compared to the exasperated smirks and rolled eyes they'd been giving him earlier. Sheppard gave him the same admiring look -- okay, with a little smirk, but it seemed more fond than exasperated -- and his heart thumped harder than it had when he was walking down those stairs. He began to see how the hero thing could get addictive, even for someone who couldn't ignore the possibility of disaster.
When Sheppard asked him to join his team, Rodney could almost feel the quantum wave function teetering on the brink of collapse, one way or the other. Two eigenfutures stretched before him: one future where he was (mostly) safe in an environment where his genius would do the most good, where his crush on the Major would fade away for lack of fuel, where he would be the same Rodney McKay he had always been; and one future where he was a different man, a hero, getting admiring looks sometimes and pleas for rescue other times -- one where he would see Sheppard every day at his most dashing, and would never get over the crush, and might embarrass himself with an emotional declaration one day. He knew which was the sensible choice, and he knew even as he opened his mouth that it wasn't what he would choose.
The next day he found himself standing behind Sheppard, contemplating the perfect trapezoid of his back (strong shoulders tapering down to slim hips, and don't keep looking there because someone will notice) and considering what mathematical formula would describe it best.
End