Fanfic: "Office Hours" by TrinityOfOne . [Mcshep, academic AU, prof!Sheppard] . [N8]
"Office Hours" by TrinityOfOne
Read:
31.03.2009
09.11.2010
26.01.2012
Summary: Professor John Sheppard had a gift: by the end of the first class, he could always tell exactly who that semester's troublemaker was going to be.
Comments: 11.000 words. The author says this is a WIP but for once I don't agree. I mean, I would LOVE to see more because it's brilliant. But as it stands it's a story that goes somewhere, character wise. Academic AUs are, of course, a great idea, and academic AUs about English professors and students are obviously even better, in this one the ages are all mixed up so McKay can be John's student and quite younger than him, as are all his classmates, but Elizabeth, Ronon and Radek are John's age. Anyway, John's the loner he would always be with the same self-sacrificial streak but without such a heroic cause and Rodney is not bent on discovering the secrets of the cosmos but of the human mind, he is, of couse, really scarily good at it and John doesn't stand a chance.
Quotes (spoilers):
♪ "There was a story I wanted to tell," he said, and shrugged, like it was no big deal, like he still felt stories flowing all around him. Like he still had the courage to try to tell them.
McKay looked like he had a lot to say: his whole body was thrumming with it, energy and youth and a sense of endless possibility. His lips parted, and John noticed that they were crooked. Not peacekeeper's lips.
♪ McKay's chin tilted up, calmly defiant. "There is no one right answer, I'll grant you that. But there are plenty of blatantly wrong ones, and you're all displaying an impressive array of them today." He turned to Kavanagh. "You don't seriously think that Twain was trying to make some deep statement about post-colonialism, do you? Or about feminism? Please. He was trying to be funny. I know senses of humor are thin on the ground at this university, but could we cut the crap already? You might actually learn something."
♪ "Have I missed your turn? You have to tell me where you live."
"Why?" Rodney asked.
It was a question he asked a lot, an expression of his perpetual dissatisfaction with the accepted way of looking at things. John usually liked to hear it, but now it just confused him. "So I can take you home?"
"But why?" Rodney asked, and though John was staring straight ahead, he could feel Rodney's breath on his neck, slow exhale slipping under his collar. He-he had to be imagining it, and if he looked over at Rodney, if he just looked over, he'd-
Then Rodney's hand was squeezing his thigh and John nearly crashed the car into the big red tuning fork.
♪ John followed, trying to think of a way he could politely put Rodney off. He'd come this far and he felt silly, but the idea of, of actually having sex with Rodney, with a student , was even more ridiculous. John stared at Rodney's back, at his skinny legs and almost invisible ass-he was just a boy, and John wasn't attracted to boys. He wasn't attracted to anybody, really.
"In here," said Rodney, and opened the door to his room.
John's breath caught. "Oh," he said, fingers twitching at his sides. " Oh ."
Books. Books everywhere. They were on the shelves, which lined three of the four walls, almost every inch of space that wasn't taken up by the bed (large) and the dresser (small). In places they were double-stacked, and they were in teetering, Pisa-like towers on the floor. Old books, new books; books in excellent condition with static-free plastic covers in place over their dustjackets; books bare and stained and with pages crumbling, spreading the smell of bookdust, musty and delicious, around the room. John made an incoherent noise. Dimly, he was aware of Rodney taking a seat on the bed, toeing off his shoes, grinning all the while. "It's all right," he said. "Feel free to browse."
John wanted to move in . It was an extremely impressive, if messy and uncoordinated, collection. John liked that about it, kind of. And he'd be willing to bet that Rodney had his own unique system for finding things, a complete catalogue stored away in his brain.
His fingers skimmed randomly over the shelves, and blindly, he pulled away the first book that snagged against his nail. It was an old copy of Alice in Wonderland . He opened it up: the pages were yellowing with age, but on the first sheet, he could clearly see a child's careful scrawl. This book belongs to Rodney I. McKay .
2009, 2009: sga fic, sga fic, fanfic-2009, @read in english, fanfiction, sga fic: McKay/Sheppard, author: trinityofone, sga fic: au, -au: alternate universe, *fanfic-novelette-2009, sga fic: recs, -entry with quotes, 2012, fanfic-2012, *fanfic-novelette-2012, [quotes] fanfiction, [quotes] sga
Read:
31.03.2009
09.11.2010
26.01.2012
Summary: Professor John Sheppard had a gift: by the end of the first class, he could always tell exactly who that semester's troublemaker was going to be.
Comments: 11.000 words. The author says this is a WIP but for once I don't agree. I mean, I would LOVE to see more because it's brilliant. But as it stands it's a story that goes somewhere, character wise. Academic AUs are, of course, a great idea, and academic AUs about English professors and students are obviously even better, in this one the ages are all mixed up so McKay can be John's student and quite younger than him, as are all his classmates, but Elizabeth, Ronon and Radek are John's age. Anyway, John's the loner he would always be with the same self-sacrificial streak but without such a heroic cause and Rodney is not bent on discovering the secrets of the cosmos but of the human mind, he is, of couse, really scarily good at it and John doesn't stand a chance.
Quotes (spoilers):
♪ "There was a story I wanted to tell," he said, and shrugged, like it was no big deal, like he still felt stories flowing all around him. Like he still had the courage to try to tell them.
McKay looked like he had a lot to say: his whole body was thrumming with it, energy and youth and a sense of endless possibility. His lips parted, and John noticed that they were crooked. Not peacekeeper's lips.
♪ McKay's chin tilted up, calmly defiant. "There is no one right answer, I'll grant you that. But there are plenty of blatantly wrong ones, and you're all displaying an impressive array of them today." He turned to Kavanagh. "You don't seriously think that Twain was trying to make some deep statement about post-colonialism, do you? Or about feminism? Please. He was trying to be funny. I know senses of humor are thin on the ground at this university, but could we cut the crap already? You might actually learn something."
♪ "Have I missed your turn? You have to tell me where you live."
"Why?" Rodney asked.
It was a question he asked a lot, an expression of his perpetual dissatisfaction with the accepted way of looking at things. John usually liked to hear it, but now it just confused him. "So I can take you home?"
"But why?" Rodney asked, and though John was staring straight ahead, he could feel Rodney's breath on his neck, slow exhale slipping under his collar. He-he had to be imagining it, and if he looked over at Rodney, if he just looked over, he'd-
Then Rodney's hand was squeezing his thigh and John nearly crashed the car into the big red tuning fork.
♪ John followed, trying to think of a way he could politely put Rodney off. He'd come this far and he felt silly, but the idea of, of actually having sex with Rodney, with a student , was even more ridiculous. John stared at Rodney's back, at his skinny legs and almost invisible ass-he was just a boy, and John wasn't attracted to boys. He wasn't attracted to anybody, really.
"In here," said Rodney, and opened the door to his room.
John's breath caught. "Oh," he said, fingers twitching at his sides. " Oh ."
Books. Books everywhere. They were on the shelves, which lined three of the four walls, almost every inch of space that wasn't taken up by the bed (large) and the dresser (small). In places they were double-stacked, and they were in teetering, Pisa-like towers on the floor. Old books, new books; books in excellent condition with static-free plastic covers in place over their dustjackets; books bare and stained and with pages crumbling, spreading the smell of bookdust, musty and delicious, around the room. John made an incoherent noise. Dimly, he was aware of Rodney taking a seat on the bed, toeing off his shoes, grinning all the while. "It's all right," he said. "Feel free to browse."
John wanted to move in . It was an extremely impressive, if messy and uncoordinated, collection. John liked that about it, kind of. And he'd be willing to bet that Rodney had his own unique system for finding things, a complete catalogue stored away in his brain.
His fingers skimmed randomly over the shelves, and blindly, he pulled away the first book that snagged against his nail. It was an old copy of Alice in Wonderland . He opened it up: the pages were yellowing with age, but on the first sheet, he could clearly see a child's careful scrawl. This book belongs to Rodney I. McKay .
2009, 2009: sga fic, sga fic, fanfic-2009, @read in english, fanfiction, sga fic: McKay/Sheppard, author: trinityofone, sga fic: au, -au: alternate universe, *fanfic-novelette-2009, sga fic: recs, -entry with quotes, 2012, fanfic-2012, *fanfic-novelette-2012, [quotes] fanfiction, [quotes] sga