The Nokia Tablets, or: a succession of fictional smidgeons (some parts elided).
Fuck it. I'm sick of myself with the whole can't-write-can't-post thing that I seem to have going on, so I'm just going to... force myself to grin and bear it and put some stuff out there. (Please don't, like, defriend me if it's really not-good? Also, please don't be all 'omg no you don't suck' and blind/false reassurance either, just- um. Put up with me and I'll get better? Or less whiny, at least, hopefully. ...my self-doubt. Let me show you it. *facepalm*) So. Yes. Clearing some snippets off my phone, for starters. (ETA: This is an interesting exercise, actually, in terms of boy howdy, do the words/phrases you're in the habit of over-using jump right on out at you. Hrm. *mental notes*)
Disclaimer overall: these are all either not true or a LIE. And I don't claim any rights to them, nor am I making any money from this. Blah blah blah disclaimercakes, we all know the drill. Although, Rodney McKay? OMG, please google yourself. Everyone else? DON'T. :D Square brackets imply elisions/clarification of the original text. (And yes, that is my natural sentence length. I don't know how I got through university either.)
Firstly, for pearl_o for inspiring it and tshirtgirl for being my daily go-to bandom fix:
text to tshirtgirl, 15/02/2008:
[...blather about work being stressful...] but that's boring, so instead let's think about Bob hip-checking Mikey up against the wall of some nameless little afterparty venue, because Mikey's been looking at him from behind his glasses all night, openly speculative in a way Mikey usually isn't, and okay, sure, maybe he can't say he was expecting any different from people when he got the lip ring - which he has to prod with his tongue again, still not used to it, still sensitive, and Mikey tilts his eyebrow at him and fuck it, okay, Bob isn't made of stone, whatever some people might think, but he maybe really didn't think this through, because yeah, Mikey feels good against him, upright and solid (bony) against his chest and thighs, warm hands and hot mouth, and it stings when their lips meet, the good kind of hurt, where Bob just wants to keep going, let the tip of Mikey's tongue push against the piercing, the pressure of their lips feeling sharp and good, contradictory, and he's not sure whether he wants to push into it more or back off and pant through it.
Mikey makes the choice for him when Bob's knuckles go white where they're curled into his shirt, though, disengaging carefully (like he's done this before, and Bob doesn't examine that thought too closely), and then biting at Bob's jaw, skin scratching against beard and stubble. Bob just presses him harder into the wall, thinks about equal and opposite reactions and then lets his hands slide down and in.
* * *
For katrin, on the occasion of her, you know, existing, (as she does), and me being bored. Unashamedly inspired past the point of being appropriate to post anywhere else by having just been rereading "Faking It". (Also, wow, this is like the most outright explicit thing I've ever written. Heh.)
text to Kat, 23/11/2007
(if this snippet was a greek vase it would totally be entered into the scholarship as "from the school of the J. Crusie painter". /dork joke)
John froze up for a second as he heard Dr Halcyon call from the front of the beach house. Rodney squirmed and tried to sit up, and John shook his head at him, a wicked smile creasing his lips as he let his thumbs dig into the hollows of Rodney's hips, holding him still as he slid deeper into him. Rodney's instinctive whine of protest skittered down a register, shifting into a helpless moan. Quite a loud moan. John hissed shushing motions at him and rocked forward. Rodney moaned again, his expression promising payback for this whenever he recovered from John doing his best to make him come his brains out. The noises at the front of the house got more distinct, came closer, and John clapped a hand over Rodney's mouth, felt the vibration of his cry against his skin. He shot him a smug look and picked up the pace. Rodney recovered a little composure and gave John a look he recognised well enough to feel a flicker of unease.
And then Dr Halcyon was calling their names enquiringly right outside the bedroom door, the unlocked bedroom door, and Rodney met his gaze and did the only thing he could- licked lewdly across John's palm and tilted his hips up, and John went wide-eyed and hot-cold all over and sighed out, "Jesus, Rodney," at a volume that completely failed to even approach 'discreet', and came hard.
"Oh. I'll come back later," Dr H. called in an entirely too understanding tone, and he could tell she was trying not to laugh, and he would've been indignant, except that Rodney had fair and square beaten him at his own game, and he was still squirming under John, panting and obviously desperate on the edge of orgasm, and John put aside the tiny flutter of pique to concentrate on stroking Rodney hot and fast, till Rodney was boneless and post-coital underneath him, making happy noises and playing idly with his chest hair.
"God, you're such an exhibitionist," Rodney told him, and John tried to look outraged, but was pretty sure all he managed was dopey. "Says the man who just made me have semi-public sex," he pointed out.
"Oh, like you didn't enjoy it," Rodney said smugly, and then dragged him into the shower so they could be once again fit for company.
A few more that were for katrin. (This is kind of a theme, okay?)
text to kat, 27/08/2007
In better news, I keep thinking about Rodney ranting at John and asking how he knows just how flexible Sam is, and it's not even as if she's his type, and being a Tokra host for all of about five minutes isn't even close to being that impressive and he's come closer to ascending than she ever will and frankly he thinks that he's more- um. Never mind. He's got something back at the lab he needs to check before the minions-- and then John is all 'not so fast, McKay, what did you mean by that crack?' And how he doesn't think Rodney can honestly hold something that happened at the academy against him since it's not like he even knew Rodney at the time or he would never- and then there is an awkward manly silence until Ronon interrupts... [and presumably tells them to just go make out already because I've lost the end of this entirely. Damnit.]
text to kat, 01/12/2006
They'd been crawling around in the duct work for four hours before Rodney found the problem and fixed it. Covered in grime and dust and god knew what else, back aching, jaw tight from trying not to sneeze (or snap at Rodney for his worst-case-scenarios), all John could think as they slithered back into the hall was how badly he wanted a shower. He hadn't quite expected Rodney to follow him in, talking a mile a minute, no more so than he had expected the awkward moment of joint realisation that they were both naked to end with him frantically mouthing Rodney's hip, breathing hotly over his dick as water pelted aching muscles clean.
SGA/the OC. Kind of. Um. Look. Don't ask, okay?
text to kat, 05/01/2007
Um. Think about John secretly having a thing for Seth (?) and having to blow Rodney inside of the ad break so he doesn't miss the final while Rodney makes fun of him and John is all "hey, shut up, you're the one getting head here" while his thumbs leave marks on Rodney's hips and thighs and the couch is so never the same again.
Disclaimer overall: these are all either not true or a LIE. And I don't claim any rights to them, nor am I making any money from this. Blah blah blah disclaimercakes, we all know the drill. Although, Rodney McKay? OMG, please google yourself. Everyone else? DON'T. :D Square brackets imply elisions/clarification of the original text. (And yes, that is my natural sentence length. I don't know how I got through university either.)
Firstly, for pearl_o for inspiring it and tshirtgirl for being my daily go-to bandom fix:
text to tshirtgirl, 15/02/2008:
[...blather about work being stressful...] but that's boring, so instead let's think about Bob hip-checking Mikey up against the wall of some nameless little afterparty venue, because Mikey's been looking at him from behind his glasses all night, openly speculative in a way Mikey usually isn't, and okay, sure, maybe he can't say he was expecting any different from people when he got the lip ring - which he has to prod with his tongue again, still not used to it, still sensitive, and Mikey tilts his eyebrow at him and fuck it, okay, Bob isn't made of stone, whatever some people might think, but he maybe really didn't think this through, because yeah, Mikey feels good against him, upright and solid (bony) against his chest and thighs, warm hands and hot mouth, and it stings when their lips meet, the good kind of hurt, where Bob just wants to keep going, let the tip of Mikey's tongue push against the piercing, the pressure of their lips feeling sharp and good, contradictory, and he's not sure whether he wants to push into it more or back off and pant through it.
Mikey makes the choice for him when Bob's knuckles go white where they're curled into his shirt, though, disengaging carefully (like he's done this before, and Bob doesn't examine that thought too closely), and then biting at Bob's jaw, skin scratching against beard and stubble. Bob just presses him harder into the wall, thinks about equal and opposite reactions and then lets his hands slide down and in.
* * *
For katrin, on the occasion of her, you know, existing, (as she does), and me being bored. Unashamedly inspired past the point of being appropriate to post anywhere else by having just been rereading "Faking It". (Also, wow, this is like the most outright explicit thing I've ever written. Heh.)
text to Kat, 23/11/2007
(if this snippet was a greek vase it would totally be entered into the scholarship as "from the school of the J. Crusie painter". /dork joke)
John froze up for a second as he heard Dr Halcyon call from the front of the beach house. Rodney squirmed and tried to sit up, and John shook his head at him, a wicked smile creasing his lips as he let his thumbs dig into the hollows of Rodney's hips, holding him still as he slid deeper into him. Rodney's instinctive whine of protest skittered down a register, shifting into a helpless moan. Quite a loud moan. John hissed shushing motions at him and rocked forward. Rodney moaned again, his expression promising payback for this whenever he recovered from John doing his best to make him come his brains out. The noises at the front of the house got more distinct, came closer, and John clapped a hand over Rodney's mouth, felt the vibration of his cry against his skin. He shot him a smug look and picked up the pace. Rodney recovered a little composure and gave John a look he recognised well enough to feel a flicker of unease.
And then Dr Halcyon was calling their names enquiringly right outside the bedroom door, the unlocked bedroom door, and Rodney met his gaze and did the only thing he could- licked lewdly across John's palm and tilted his hips up, and John went wide-eyed and hot-cold all over and sighed out, "Jesus, Rodney," at a volume that completely failed to even approach 'discreet', and came hard.
"Oh. I'll come back later," Dr H. called in an entirely too understanding tone, and he could tell she was trying not to laugh, and he would've been indignant, except that Rodney had fair and square beaten him at his own game, and he was still squirming under John, panting and obviously desperate on the edge of orgasm, and John put aside the tiny flutter of pique to concentrate on stroking Rodney hot and fast, till Rodney was boneless and post-coital underneath him, making happy noises and playing idly with his chest hair.
"God, you're such an exhibitionist," Rodney told him, and John tried to look outraged, but was pretty sure all he managed was dopey. "Says the man who just made me have semi-public sex," he pointed out.
"Oh, like you didn't enjoy it," Rodney said smugly, and then dragged him into the shower so they could be once again fit for company.
A few more that were for katrin. (This is kind of a theme, okay?)
text to kat, 27/08/2007
In better news, I keep thinking about Rodney ranting at John and asking how he knows just how flexible Sam is, and it's not even as if she's his type, and being a Tokra host for all of about five minutes isn't even close to being that impressive and he's come closer to ascending than she ever will and frankly he thinks that he's more- um. Never mind. He's got something back at the lab he needs to check before the minions-- and then John is all 'not so fast, McKay, what did you mean by that crack?' And how he doesn't think Rodney can honestly hold something that happened at the academy against him since it's not like he even knew Rodney at the time or he would never- and then there is an awkward manly silence until Ronon interrupts... [and presumably tells them to just go make out already because I've lost the end of this entirely. Damnit.]
text to kat, 01/12/2006
They'd been crawling around in the duct work for four hours before Rodney found the problem and fixed it. Covered in grime and dust and god knew what else, back aching, jaw tight from trying not to sneeze (or snap at Rodney for his worst-case-scenarios), all John could think as they slithered back into the hall was how badly he wanted a shower. He hadn't quite expected Rodney to follow him in, talking a mile a minute, no more so than he had expected the awkward moment of joint realisation that they were both naked to end with him frantically mouthing Rodney's hip, breathing hotly over his dick as water pelted aching muscles clean.
SGA/the OC. Kind of. Um. Look. Don't ask, okay?
text to kat, 05/01/2007
Um. Think about John secretly having a thing for Seth (?) and having to blow Rodney inside of the ad break so he doesn't miss the final while Rodney makes fun of him and John is all "hey, shut up, you're the one getting head here" while his thumbs leave marks on Rodney's hips and thighs and the couch is so never the same again.