Soft by taste_is_sweet (M)
Show: SGA
Rec Category: Sheppard/McKay
Characters: Rodney McKay, John Sheppard, Ronon Dex, Teyla Emmagan
Pairings: Sheppard/McKay
Categories: Slash, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, Angst
Warnings: None
Author on LJ: taste_is_sweet
Author's Website:
Link: Soft
Why This Must Be Read:
It's Rodney's turn to be furry in this story, a blue-eyed, cranky, human-sized, white cat - as only Rodney could be. There's some lovely hurt/comfort with a hypothermic John and a warm fuzzy ending.
Somewhere, deep in the ancient lizard-part of his brain still vaguely occupied with his survival, John Sheppard knew this was a bad thing. A very bad thing. He couldn't remember why, though.
He couldn't remember what he was doing here, either, or where 'here' was, or anything much beyond the steadfast certainty that if he stopped moving he was toast. No, not toast. Toast was warm.
Dead meat, then. Frozen, dead meat. Yeah, that was better; that worked. Rodney always appreciated descriptive accuracy...
John stopped, teetering in the knee-deep snow. Something about Rodney had triggered a soft but insistent alarm in the same part of his brain that was keeping him upright. Rodney should be with him--that was it. Rodney should have been with John, and he wasn't, and that was another Very Bad Thing that John knew he should remember.
"Teyla," John murmured experimentally. "Ronon." Their names didn't set off any alarms, so maybe they were all right. Because John wasn't all right, he knew that much. He was so cold he couldn't feel his feet or his hands and he wasn't shivering. And his head hurt badly. And if he was worrying about Rodney, maybe that meant Rodney was somewhere not-shivering and hurting, too.
That was the worst of all the Very Bad Things. If Rodney was somewhere that John wasn't and hurt and not shivering, then John had to find him. But when John tried to take another step, his foot didn't move but the rest of him did: face forward right into the snow.
The same sort-of functioning lizard brain made him roll over so he could breathe, but it kind of gave up after that. John lay on his back looking up at the leaden grey sky; pretty sure he should be trying to get up but completely lost as to how to do that. He watched, mesmerized, as the snowflakes drifted down in the perfectly still air, landing softly as kisses on his forehead and cheeks and lips. His skin was so cold he couldn't feel them touch his face. He wondered how long it would take to be buried here, and if anyone would ever find him.
He woke up shivering violently and in terrible pain, buried in something that was white as snow but was soft and warm--unbelievably, horribly warm. Every part of him hurt like white-hot cables were threading through his veins, but his hands and feet were the worst. It felt like his feet were clamped between two branding irons and his hands had been shoved into an oven. He was burning. Someone was burning him alive.
The scream crawling out of his throat barely qualified as a whisper, but the soft thing just held him more tightly when he wanted to pull away. John struggled harder, trying to get his all-but useless muscles to obey him and get him away from the pain.
"Stop it! For The love of God, John, cut it out! I swear, only you could be easier to deal with when you're unconscious!" John heard a sound like an angry yowl and then he was held more tightly still, like being clutched in the arms of a bear. "Do you want your fingers and toes to fall off? Because they will if you don't stop moving and let me warm them up!"
John stopped moving, trying blearily to focus past the pain. He knew that voice. "Rodney?" He blinked, trying to see him, but there was only the white everywhere. It felt like he was sinking in it, boiling. "Where are you?"
"I'm right here, you nitwit," Rodney said. "Who do you think is keeping you from freezing to death, despite your own efforts otherwise? How on earth did you manage to get a concussion during an avalanche, anyway? Weren't you in enough danger already? You didn't have to play dodge ball with a rock for bonus points!"
Rec Category: Sheppard/McKay
Characters: Rodney McKay, John Sheppard, Ronon Dex, Teyla Emmagan
Pairings: Sheppard/McKay
Categories: Slash, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, Angst
Warnings: None
Author on LJ: taste_is_sweet
Author's Website:
Link: Soft
Why This Must Be Read:
It's Rodney's turn to be furry in this story, a blue-eyed, cranky, human-sized, white cat - as only Rodney could be. There's some lovely hurt/comfort with a hypothermic John and a warm fuzzy ending.
Somewhere, deep in the ancient lizard-part of his brain still vaguely occupied with his survival, John Sheppard knew this was a bad thing. A very bad thing. He couldn't remember why, though.
He couldn't remember what he was doing here, either, or where 'here' was, or anything much beyond the steadfast certainty that if he stopped moving he was toast. No, not toast. Toast was warm.
Dead meat, then. Frozen, dead meat. Yeah, that was better; that worked. Rodney always appreciated descriptive accuracy...
John stopped, teetering in the knee-deep snow. Something about Rodney had triggered a soft but insistent alarm in the same part of his brain that was keeping him upright. Rodney should be with him--that was it. Rodney should have been with John, and he wasn't, and that was another Very Bad Thing that John knew he should remember.
"Teyla," John murmured experimentally. "Ronon." Their names didn't set off any alarms, so maybe they were all right. Because John wasn't all right, he knew that much. He was so cold he couldn't feel his feet or his hands and he wasn't shivering. And his head hurt badly. And if he was worrying about Rodney, maybe that meant Rodney was somewhere not-shivering and hurting, too.
That was the worst of all the Very Bad Things. If Rodney was somewhere that John wasn't and hurt and not shivering, then John had to find him. But when John tried to take another step, his foot didn't move but the rest of him did: face forward right into the snow.
The same sort-of functioning lizard brain made him roll over so he could breathe, but it kind of gave up after that. John lay on his back looking up at the leaden grey sky; pretty sure he should be trying to get up but completely lost as to how to do that. He watched, mesmerized, as the snowflakes drifted down in the perfectly still air, landing softly as kisses on his forehead and cheeks and lips. His skin was so cold he couldn't feel them touch his face. He wondered how long it would take to be buried here, and if anyone would ever find him.
He woke up shivering violently and in terrible pain, buried in something that was white as snow but was soft and warm--unbelievably, horribly warm. Every part of him hurt like white-hot cables were threading through his veins, but his hands and feet were the worst. It felt like his feet were clamped between two branding irons and his hands had been shoved into an oven. He was burning. Someone was burning him alive.
The scream crawling out of his throat barely qualified as a whisper, but the soft thing just held him more tightly when he wanted to pull away. John struggled harder, trying to get his all-but useless muscles to obey him and get him away from the pain.
"Stop it! For The love of God, John, cut it out! I swear, only you could be easier to deal with when you're unconscious!" John heard a sound like an angry yowl and then he was held more tightly still, like being clutched in the arms of a bear. "Do you want your fingers and toes to fall off? Because they will if you don't stop moving and let me warm them up!"
John stopped moving, trying blearily to focus past the pain. He knew that voice. "Rodney?" He blinked, trying to see him, but there was only the white everywhere. It felt like he was sinking in it, boiling. "Where are you?"
"I'm right here, you nitwit," Rodney said. "Who do you think is keeping you from freezing to death, despite your own efforts otherwise? How on earth did you manage to get a concussion during an avalanche, anyway? Weren't you in enough danger already? You didn't have to play dodge ball with a rock for bonus points!"