Fic: Lighting Rod (McKay/Sheppard PG13)
Title: Lighting Rod
Author: HYPERFocused
Pairing: Sheppard/McKay
Rating: PG13
A/N: For the Amnesty challenge, using Abandonment, Bloody, City Exploration, Culture Clash, Dangling, Darkness, ESP, Enclosed Spaces, First Contact, First Night, Slavefic, Swimming, and Voyeurism. I tried, but I couldn't quite manage it in 38 minutes.
"God damn it," Rodney swore, as he stubbed his toe on the corner of the desk in the room he'd chosen that day for his sleeping quarters on Atlantis. Other than furniture placed just where he'd trip over it, the room was bland but livable; but the lack of an Atlantean Home Depot to pick up curtains and paint meant he'd have to make do.
Not that he was the kind of guy who spent a lot of time picking out paint colors - café-au-lait with chocolate brown trim would do nicely--, but he did like to be comfortable. Perhaps the Ancients had left behind the equivalent of a Pier One, for their psuedo-authentic decorating requirements. That would make the Athosians happy.
All he'd wanted to do with his free time was have a quick but memorable session with his dick and his right hand, before getting a few hours sleep, but it looked like that wasn't going to happen. God, he hated bleeding. He was sure he'd broken something, or sprained it, at least.
Worse than that, he had no idea where he'd packed the band-aids. Manfully ignoring his injuries, he went back to what he was doing. At least he tried to. The swelling in his toe made it hard to concentrate on the swelling that had led him to the bed in the first place.
"You're going to look a pretty sight," he told himself, 'admitting you can't keep up with everyone because you broke your toe trying to masturbate."
It was dark now, and Rodney had yet to figure out how to get the lights to stop flickering on and off at random moments. He'd be happier when he felt more settled here, but he suspected it would take some getting used to. Hell, it was going to be hard enough living with a bunch of "Don't Ask, Don't Tell me you want my ass or I'll kick you in yours" types, not to mention the rejects from the Men Without Hats video.
First nights anywhere reminded him of his first time at overnight camp, but hopefully nobody would be locking him in the supply closet and then forgetting he was there. Man, he'd hated Camp Sci-a-Watcha where they barely allowed him to build balsa-wood rockets and Radio Shack level potato clocks. He was frankly relieved they'd asked him nicely not to return.
When they were introduced, Rodney assumed John would be just that sort of asshole. He was brash and cocky and thought the world of himself, even though he wasn't a world-class scientific genius, and therefore entitled.
But a few weeks actually working with Major Sheppard changed his mind. He saw how kindly John treated everyone, including the noisy little rugrats Rodney half wanted to throttle, and half wanted to train up to do his bidding, and he knew better.
By the time they'd gone through the wormhole to Atlantis, Rodney had gone from thinking John was 'possibly tolerable' to thinking it was too bad he was 'almost probably 100% straight', because God, there were things Rodney would sorely like to do to him.
Undressing with more of a mind on getting down to business, he tossed his clothes haphazardly. Pants on the floor, shirt dangling off the lamp, boxers kicked somewhere near his chair. Then Rodney stretched out on the slab that was almost entirely unlike a real bed and gave in to the images in his head.
Despite Rodney's fantasies, John Sheppard was never going to appear naked in Rodney's bed with warm brownies and an offer to give Rodney a blowjob in exchange for an explanation of String Theory. If Rodney was lucky, he might ask for an explanation of string.
What would a tough military daredevil like John Sheppard see in a geek like him? Rodney was brilliant, but looks wise he knew he was no Daniel Jackson. Nor was John a Jack O'Neill, Rodney pointed out to himself. That was probably a good thing. Anyway, there was no sense in being a slave to his hormones.
"Hey, are you all right?" Speak of the devil. That was John's voice Rodney was hearing, wasn't it? Rodney threw on the clothes that were within reach and hobbled to the door.
"If by 'all right' you mean 'embarrassed and in excruciating pain', then yes, I'm peachy."
"Oh, well, then if there's nothing I can - why are you dressed like that?"
"I don't see how that's any of your business, Major. I'm on my own time in my own quarters."
"Don't bite my head off, Doctor. You're the one who was yelling loud enough to wake the dead."
He was not. He was stoic in his pain. "Well, as long as you're here, could you give me a hand? Maybe use that mutant gene of yours to switch on some lights?"
No sooner had he asked when the dim room grew brighter, and he got a real look at John. "What the hell happened to you? You look like you lost a fight with The Blob."
John was dripping wet, and smelled more than a little ripe. There were globs of blue-green goo in his hair. As far as Rodney knew, he had been off looking for rooms to keep their lesser needed supplies, so he wasn't sure how John had gotten himself into such a state.
"I, um, found the pool."
"We have a pool? We're surrounded by water. Why would we need a pool?"
"People with oceanfront properties have pools, Rodney. Maybe it's a status thing here, too."
"It's probably not really a pool. Maybe it's some ritualistic bathing place."
"With a diving board?"
"Maybe not. But that still doesn't explain why you're - like that." Rodney gestured to the disgusting globules.
"Well, this is where it gets weird. See, I think it might be sentient."
"The pool?"
"No, the funky blue stuff I found floating on top of it. At first I thought it was just algae, since it'd been what, several thousand years since anyone's cleaned the damn thing, but then it started making patterns."
John was nuts. "Patterns," Rodney said doubtfully.
"Yes, like a lava lamp, only more precise. I was watching them when I heard you yelling. When I ran to see what had happened, I tripped and fell in."
"I'm sorry I was so loud. Are you all right?"
"Not much the worse for wear. Just like you, I have to say." John looked him up and down, noting his disheveled state: pants half buttoned, shirt off, and the underwear still hanging off the lamp. He grinned at Rodney, wickedly.
"Why don't you let me use your shower, Rodney? And maybe, if your grave injury will let you, you can join me. I don't have any chocolate with me, and I don't get the thing about strings, but at least I can do one out of three."
'How the hell did you know about…" Rodney said, horrified. "Were you watching me?"
John shook his head, and a little blue-green blob wiggled and shook itself out of his hair. "I think it's these things. They kind of let me see inside your mind."
"And you said the patterns were the weird thing?"
"I'm sure it's only temporary. Besides, I really liked what you were thinking."
"So what am I thinking now?" Rodney asked, as he followed John into the shower.
"That one out of three isn't bad, but you still wish I'd brought you some chocolate."
Author: HYPERFocused
Pairing: Sheppard/McKay
Rating: PG13
A/N: For the Amnesty challenge, using Abandonment, Bloody, City Exploration, Culture Clash, Dangling, Darkness, ESP, Enclosed Spaces, First Contact, First Night, Slavefic, Swimming, and Voyeurism. I tried, but I couldn't quite manage it in 38 minutes.
"God damn it," Rodney swore, as he stubbed his toe on the corner of the desk in the room he'd chosen that day for his sleeping quarters on Atlantis. Other than furniture placed just where he'd trip over it, the room was bland but livable; but the lack of an Atlantean Home Depot to pick up curtains and paint meant he'd have to make do.
Not that he was the kind of guy who spent a lot of time picking out paint colors - café-au-lait with chocolate brown trim would do nicely--, but he did like to be comfortable. Perhaps the Ancients had left behind the equivalent of a Pier One, for their psuedo-authentic decorating requirements. That would make the Athosians happy.
All he'd wanted to do with his free time was have a quick but memorable session with his dick and his right hand, before getting a few hours sleep, but it looked like that wasn't going to happen. God, he hated bleeding. He was sure he'd broken something, or sprained it, at least.
Worse than that, he had no idea where he'd packed the band-aids. Manfully ignoring his injuries, he went back to what he was doing. At least he tried to. The swelling in his toe made it hard to concentrate on the swelling that had led him to the bed in the first place.
"You're going to look a pretty sight," he told himself, 'admitting you can't keep up with everyone because you broke your toe trying to masturbate."
It was dark now, and Rodney had yet to figure out how to get the lights to stop flickering on and off at random moments. He'd be happier when he felt more settled here, but he suspected it would take some getting used to. Hell, it was going to be hard enough living with a bunch of "Don't Ask, Don't Tell me you want my ass or I'll kick you in yours" types, not to mention the rejects from the Men Without Hats video.
First nights anywhere reminded him of his first time at overnight camp, but hopefully nobody would be locking him in the supply closet and then forgetting he was there. Man, he'd hated Camp Sci-a-Watcha where they barely allowed him to build balsa-wood rockets and Radio Shack level potato clocks. He was frankly relieved they'd asked him nicely not to return.
When they were introduced, Rodney assumed John would be just that sort of asshole. He was brash and cocky and thought the world of himself, even though he wasn't a world-class scientific genius, and therefore entitled.
But a few weeks actually working with Major Sheppard changed his mind. He saw how kindly John treated everyone, including the noisy little rugrats Rodney half wanted to throttle, and half wanted to train up to do his bidding, and he knew better.
By the time they'd gone through the wormhole to Atlantis, Rodney had gone from thinking John was 'possibly tolerable' to thinking it was too bad he was 'almost probably 100% straight', because God, there were things Rodney would sorely like to do to him.
Undressing with more of a mind on getting down to business, he tossed his clothes haphazardly. Pants on the floor, shirt dangling off the lamp, boxers kicked somewhere near his chair. Then Rodney stretched out on the slab that was almost entirely unlike a real bed and gave in to the images in his head.
Despite Rodney's fantasies, John Sheppard was never going to appear naked in Rodney's bed with warm brownies and an offer to give Rodney a blowjob in exchange for an explanation of String Theory. If Rodney was lucky, he might ask for an explanation of string.
What would a tough military daredevil like John Sheppard see in a geek like him? Rodney was brilliant, but looks wise he knew he was no Daniel Jackson. Nor was John a Jack O'Neill, Rodney pointed out to himself. That was probably a good thing. Anyway, there was no sense in being a slave to his hormones.
"Hey, are you all right?" Speak of the devil. That was John's voice Rodney was hearing, wasn't it? Rodney threw on the clothes that were within reach and hobbled to the door.
"If by 'all right' you mean 'embarrassed and in excruciating pain', then yes, I'm peachy."
"Oh, well, then if there's nothing I can - why are you dressed like that?"
"I don't see how that's any of your business, Major. I'm on my own time in my own quarters."
"Don't bite my head off, Doctor. You're the one who was yelling loud enough to wake the dead."
He was not. He was stoic in his pain. "Well, as long as you're here, could you give me a hand? Maybe use that mutant gene of yours to switch on some lights?"
No sooner had he asked when the dim room grew brighter, and he got a real look at John. "What the hell happened to you? You look like you lost a fight with The Blob."
John was dripping wet, and smelled more than a little ripe. There were globs of blue-green goo in his hair. As far as Rodney knew, he had been off looking for rooms to keep their lesser needed supplies, so he wasn't sure how John had gotten himself into such a state.
"I, um, found the pool."
"We have a pool? We're surrounded by water. Why would we need a pool?"
"People with oceanfront properties have pools, Rodney. Maybe it's a status thing here, too."
"It's probably not really a pool. Maybe it's some ritualistic bathing place."
"With a diving board?"
"Maybe not. But that still doesn't explain why you're - like that." Rodney gestured to the disgusting globules.
"Well, this is where it gets weird. See, I think it might be sentient."
"The pool?"
"No, the funky blue stuff I found floating on top of it. At first I thought it was just algae, since it'd been what, several thousand years since anyone's cleaned the damn thing, but then it started making patterns."
John was nuts. "Patterns," Rodney said doubtfully.
"Yes, like a lava lamp, only more precise. I was watching them when I heard you yelling. When I ran to see what had happened, I tripped and fell in."
"I'm sorry I was so loud. Are you all right?"
"Not much the worse for wear. Just like you, I have to say." John looked him up and down, noting his disheveled state: pants half buttoned, shirt off, and the underwear still hanging off the lamp. He grinned at Rodney, wickedly.
"Why don't you let me use your shower, Rodney? And maybe, if your grave injury will let you, you can join me. I don't have any chocolate with me, and I don't get the thing about strings, but at least I can do one out of three."
'How the hell did you know about…" Rodney said, horrified. "Were you watching me?"
John shook his head, and a little blue-green blob wiggled and shook itself out of his hair. "I think it's these things. They kind of let me see inside your mind."
"And you said the patterns were the weird thing?"
"I'm sure it's only temporary. Besides, I really liked what you were thinking."
"So what am I thinking now?" Rodney asked, as he followed John into the shower.
"That one out of three isn't bad, but you still wish I'd brought you some chocolate."