oh, hell.
So, I'm at it again. Shiny new story idea, couldn't resist. Only I'm not letting this turn into a story. For one, I don't have the patience. And for two, well, I don't want to. So this isn't a story. It's a 'verse. The Blue-verse, for how very frequently that word will be used. SGA, futurefic, AU after "Conversion." You (and I) will figure out the rest as it's written. This exists because retrovirus-Sheppard in "Conversion" was... disturbingly hot, to say the least. So. Here we go. First segment of Blue. These aren't in chronological order by a long shot, or any sort of order really- they're just sort of there, as the idea comes to me. Have fun.
I.
In the beginning, not everyone agreed with him, but Rodney loved the way John looked. He loved it because it was John, and there was nothing about John that wasn’t beautiful, human or otherwise. To Rodney, John was just the same as he ever was, unruly hair, offbeat sense of humor, and maybe he looked different, and his voice was a little rougher and he was a lot quiet, but he was still Sheppard. And Rodney loved him.
Eventually everyone else in Atlantis got used to his appearance, too. Now, three years later, no one batted an eye at the sight of John on his morning run, the cloak he sometimes still wore to hide his face shed in favor of leather pants and a loose, long-sleeved shirt sown for him by the Athosians. It had been a very long three years and almost all of the official uniform clothes were stored away for a rainy day, while everyone dressed in homespun or leather shirts, tunics, vests, and trousers. Most wore undyed materials, but Rodney had an in on the trading market, and he always made sure to get pitch black everything for John, because it looked good against the dusky blue of his skin and the gold of his eyes.
Rodney liked looking at John. The stark black clothing made the experience even more enjoyable, especially on mornings like this, when John and Ronon detoured by their lab during the morning run.
They crowded around him when they saw that he was working on a Wraith stunner, curious and questioning, pressing against his back and shoulders. Rodney swatted aside poking fingers and tilted his head back to glare at them both, met with identical innocent smiles.
“Go away,” he told them. Sometimes, if he spoke plainly enough, it even worked. “I’m working.”
“I can see that,” John said. His hand was sneaking up under the back of Rodney’s untucked shirt, fingers tickling along the sensitive cluster of nerves at the base of Rodney’s spine, secure in the knowledge that the solid bulk of Ronon’s body hid what he was doing from prying eyes.
Ronon didn’t say anything, just laid one broad, calloused hand possessively on the nape of Rodney’s neck. A couple of looks were directed their way, curious and a little titillated, but one fierce glare sent them back to their own projects in a hurry. It had been almost six months, so they should be used to it by now, anyway, even if Rodney wasn’t. Even if the feeling of John and Ronon’s hands on him was still almost a novelty, even now.
“Which means go away,” Rodney clarified, and John chuckled before withdrawing his hand, getting in one last sneaking caress as he did. Ronon laughed, too, and squeezed his neck affectionately before backing away.
“Later,” he said, in his low rumble of a voice, and then they were on their way out the door, hands raised in farewell. Rodney looked after them for a moment, letting his eyes linger on the empty doorway far longer than he should, long enough to hear whispers start on the other side of the lab, but he just directed a glare in their general direction to shut them up and turned his focus back to the Wraith stunner he was modifying.
Continued here.
I.
In the beginning, not everyone agreed with him, but Rodney loved the way John looked. He loved it because it was John, and there was nothing about John that wasn’t beautiful, human or otherwise. To Rodney, John was just the same as he ever was, unruly hair, offbeat sense of humor, and maybe he looked different, and his voice was a little rougher and he was a lot quiet, but he was still Sheppard. And Rodney loved him.
Eventually everyone else in Atlantis got used to his appearance, too. Now, three years later, no one batted an eye at the sight of John on his morning run, the cloak he sometimes still wore to hide his face shed in favor of leather pants and a loose, long-sleeved shirt sown for him by the Athosians. It had been a very long three years and almost all of the official uniform clothes were stored away for a rainy day, while everyone dressed in homespun or leather shirts, tunics, vests, and trousers. Most wore undyed materials, but Rodney had an in on the trading market, and he always made sure to get pitch black everything for John, because it looked good against the dusky blue of his skin and the gold of his eyes.
Rodney liked looking at John. The stark black clothing made the experience even more enjoyable, especially on mornings like this, when John and Ronon detoured by their lab during the morning run.
They crowded around him when they saw that he was working on a Wraith stunner, curious and questioning, pressing against his back and shoulders. Rodney swatted aside poking fingers and tilted his head back to glare at them both, met with identical innocent smiles.
“Go away,” he told them. Sometimes, if he spoke plainly enough, it even worked. “I’m working.”
“I can see that,” John said. His hand was sneaking up under the back of Rodney’s untucked shirt, fingers tickling along the sensitive cluster of nerves at the base of Rodney’s spine, secure in the knowledge that the solid bulk of Ronon’s body hid what he was doing from prying eyes.
Ronon didn’t say anything, just laid one broad, calloused hand possessively on the nape of Rodney’s neck. A couple of looks were directed their way, curious and a little titillated, but one fierce glare sent them back to their own projects in a hurry. It had been almost six months, so they should be used to it by now, anyway, even if Rodney wasn’t. Even if the feeling of John and Ronon’s hands on him was still almost a novelty, even now.
“Which means go away,” Rodney clarified, and John chuckled before withdrawing his hand, getting in one last sneaking caress as he did. Ronon laughed, too, and squeezed his neck affectionately before backing away.
“Later,” he said, in his low rumble of a voice, and then they were on their way out the door, hands raised in farewell. Rodney looked after them for a moment, letting his eyes linger on the empty doorway far longer than he should, long enough to hear whispers start on the other side of the lab, but he just directed a glare in their general direction to shut them up and turned his focus back to the Wraith stunner he was modifying.
Continued here.