there goes my SGA cherry
okay, so it's out. I <3 John. I <3 him THIS MUCH. He's so smilely and incorrigible.
Watched "The Intruder". Didn't finish any of the SGA fics I've started and abandoned, but I did write this ficlet.
Matter of Fact
John has generally been a firm believer that the best way to get anything is to not expect it. It makes getting what you want incredibly easy, for one, because you never know exactly what you want. It’s when you get it, that it hits you. You never really think about it. Things happen, and sometimes they go to ultimate crap, and sometimes they’re pretty fucking awesome.
Being a Lieutenant Colonel is definitely beyond awesome.
He’s cool and laid back about it for the bosses, of course, (who are absolutely not even close to as cool as his real boss - with her tight, funny smile and implacable stubbornness and completely obvious crush on him), when in his head it’s all Queen, all the time, and “We Are The Champions” was totally about him, even if he didn’t have any taste in music then yet. (Not that he has much now, as what people have is what you get, and even that weird Britney song that might be about the beauty of motherhood or possibly masturbation is almost starting to sound good. The electronic tinkle, tinkle is kinda soothing after everything has settled down and people have started to turn on their laptops and lights because they all didn’t end up dying a horrific soul-sappy death. Again.) Inside, though, he’s all twitchy fists and gotta-tell-Rodney. Rodney is going to have to call him something other than Major, and he’s going to screw up possibly twenty or thirty times, and this will also be awesome.
Altantis has forced John to create whole other categories for awesomeness, and he’s pickier now (flying crafts that blend with his brain = so twelve months ago! and mental note on the mind melding sex -- does not actually include orgasms, which rock and are kind of the whole point of sex) but Rodney almost always shoves himself in there.
This is undoubtedly because Rodney is fucking pushy, and also due to the fact that Rodney sleep-jerks like a puppy John had when he was ten, face all smooshed up against the keyboard and ankle twapping against the floor. Rodney is not exactly pet-able, and would probably go about systematically dismantling every aspect of John’s life if he suggested a nice game of Fetch The Deflated, Grass Stained Football, but somehow the comparison still works in his head, and John wants to touch the small of his back when they’re resting their hands on their knees and panting lungs burning deep because they just barely escaped with their lives. Again.
And this is sort of a problem, because John rather likes his life undismantled, thank you very much, but he’s having way too much fun to worry about it much -- and besides, there are unexpected great things like Rodney hugging him after he almost gets run over by a bus (he’s somehow forgotten how dangerous normal stuff is, and has already been hit by a) a fourwheeling six year old, b) an ice cream cart, and c.) a wood beam, three blocks down from a construction site - and what kind of sense does that make, really?).
Rodney said, “God, do you have to be so,” and hugged him, arms tight around his, binding them hard and elbow crushing to John’s sides, and then coughed, moving back and shifting from one foot to another.
It seemed right to say something like, “Hey, thanks”, so John did, even though Rodney hadn’t really done anything, like actually walk into oncoming traffic to save his life or something (that was this old guy, who smelled like sweat and mouthwash), and Rodney snorted when he said it. And made a snotty little sound, when John just shrugged, like, “Hmph.”
It was impossibly endearing, and worth the entire epic space flight to earth, despite the fact that there were no in-flight vegetables and only these little black circular pills instead. The pills made everyone’s breath smell like ass, and it was even worst when you laughed, but John still kept hanging out with Rodney anyway.
He thought he might have a rather obvious crush himself.
He had to tell Rodney, though, he had to, so he did the blah blah blah I’m so honored thing, shut the door politely behind him, and dashed down the hallway.
“Say my name,” he said, strolling in totally casually and not at all brimming with giddy giddy glee, and waited for Rodney to blink, with an expression that could be read as approximately, “Are you an absolute moron?” so John could then say, “Going to have to figure out another thing to call me,” and then they could both scream at the top of their lungs, and bounce around the room while clutching hands like thirteen year old girls in 2003 with tickets to a Backstreet Boys concert.
Okay, maybe skip that part.
But he did grin a lot, and eventually Rodney grinned back him and then couldn’t figure out why he was doing it, and so did do the whole blinking insultingly thing, which made John absolutely have to kiss him softly on the mouth.
He got a “Hmph,” again, but he was expecting that, and also the kissing back part (because everything ever about Rodney was obvious, with his loud snapping fingers and angry stubbled jaw and quiet, unsteady warmth) with sloppy, hitching breaths. Soft like-embarrassment-but-not hot burning at the top of his cheeks, shoulders curved forward, neck aching from it, and somewhere in there a broken pencil.
And sometimes things happening exactly the way you know they will, the way you know to want, isn’t half bad either.
Sometimes it’s the point of wanting them, because you know how good they’ll be.
Watched "The Intruder". Didn't finish any of the SGA fics I've started and abandoned, but I did write this ficlet.
Matter of Fact
John has generally been a firm believer that the best way to get anything is to not expect it. It makes getting what you want incredibly easy, for one, because you never know exactly what you want. It’s when you get it, that it hits you. You never really think about it. Things happen, and sometimes they go to ultimate crap, and sometimes they’re pretty fucking awesome.
Being a Lieutenant Colonel is definitely beyond awesome.
He’s cool and laid back about it for the bosses, of course, (who are absolutely not even close to as cool as his real boss - with her tight, funny smile and implacable stubbornness and completely obvious crush on him), when in his head it’s all Queen, all the time, and “We Are The Champions” was totally about him, even if he didn’t have any taste in music then yet. (Not that he has much now, as what people have is what you get, and even that weird Britney song that might be about the beauty of motherhood or possibly masturbation is almost starting to sound good. The electronic tinkle, tinkle is kinda soothing after everything has settled down and people have started to turn on their laptops and lights because they all didn’t end up dying a horrific soul-sappy death. Again.) Inside, though, he’s all twitchy fists and gotta-tell-Rodney. Rodney is going to have to call him something other than Major, and he’s going to screw up possibly twenty or thirty times, and this will also be awesome.
Altantis has forced John to create whole other categories for awesomeness, and he’s pickier now (flying crafts that blend with his brain = so twelve months ago! and mental note on the mind melding sex -- does not actually include orgasms, which rock and are kind of the whole point of sex) but Rodney almost always shoves himself in there.
This is undoubtedly because Rodney is fucking pushy, and also due to the fact that Rodney sleep-jerks like a puppy John had when he was ten, face all smooshed up against the keyboard and ankle twapping against the floor. Rodney is not exactly pet-able, and would probably go about systematically dismantling every aspect of John’s life if he suggested a nice game of Fetch The Deflated, Grass Stained Football, but somehow the comparison still works in his head, and John wants to touch the small of his back when they’re resting their hands on their knees and panting lungs burning deep because they just barely escaped with their lives. Again.
And this is sort of a problem, because John rather likes his life undismantled, thank you very much, but he’s having way too much fun to worry about it much -- and besides, there are unexpected great things like Rodney hugging him after he almost gets run over by a bus (he’s somehow forgotten how dangerous normal stuff is, and has already been hit by a) a fourwheeling six year old, b) an ice cream cart, and c.) a wood beam, three blocks down from a construction site - and what kind of sense does that make, really?).
Rodney said, “God, do you have to be so,” and hugged him, arms tight around his, binding them hard and elbow crushing to John’s sides, and then coughed, moving back and shifting from one foot to another.
It seemed right to say something like, “Hey, thanks”, so John did, even though Rodney hadn’t really done anything, like actually walk into oncoming traffic to save his life or something (that was this old guy, who smelled like sweat and mouthwash), and Rodney snorted when he said it. And made a snotty little sound, when John just shrugged, like, “Hmph.”
It was impossibly endearing, and worth the entire epic space flight to earth, despite the fact that there were no in-flight vegetables and only these little black circular pills instead. The pills made everyone’s breath smell like ass, and it was even worst when you laughed, but John still kept hanging out with Rodney anyway.
He thought he might have a rather obvious crush himself.
He had to tell Rodney, though, he had to, so he did the blah blah blah I’m so honored thing, shut the door politely behind him, and dashed down the hallway.
“Say my name,” he said, strolling in totally casually and not at all brimming with giddy giddy glee, and waited for Rodney to blink, with an expression that could be read as approximately, “Are you an absolute moron?” so John could then say, “Going to have to figure out another thing to call me,” and then they could both scream at the top of their lungs, and bounce around the room while clutching hands like thirteen year old girls in 2003 with tickets to a Backstreet Boys concert.
Okay, maybe skip that part.
But he did grin a lot, and eventually Rodney grinned back him and then couldn’t figure out why he was doing it, and so did do the whole blinking insultingly thing, which made John absolutely have to kiss him softly on the mouth.
He got a “Hmph,” again, but he was expecting that, and also the kissing back part (because everything ever about Rodney was obvious, with his loud snapping fingers and angry stubbled jaw and quiet, unsteady warmth) with sloppy, hitching breaths. Soft like-embarrassment-but-not hot burning at the top of his cheeks, shoulders curved forward, neck aching from it, and somewhere in there a broken pencil.
And sometimes things happening exactly the way you know they will, the way you know to want, isn’t half bad either.
Sometimes it’s the point of wanting them, because you know how good they’ll be.