The Hostage Major by Frostfire (NC-17)
Show: SGA
Rec Category: Alternate Universe
Characters: John Sheppard, Rodney McKay
Pairings: Sheppard/McKay, minor Sheppard/OC
Categories: Slash, Alternate Universe
Warnings: none
Author on LJ: FROSTFIRE_17
Author's Website: Unknown
Link: The Hostage Major
Why This Must Be Read: This story is well-written crack in the best possible way. It has Rodney kidnapping John for his own good (ie. to stop him from marrying a woman he doesn't really like much for money). The two men play off each other brilliantly and sound perfectly in-character despite the ridiculous situation.
When he woke up, he felt like total shit, but he forced his eyes open anyway and blinked at the large-no, huge-bedroom around him. He’d never had a reason to use the word sumptuous before-even Trixie was really tasteful about being rich-but this, this was it, right here. Velvet curtains and statuary and famous paintings on the walls-where the fuck was he? A European castle?
The total-shit feeling didn’t really fade, but he pushed the covers back and started working on getting up. He figured out that the sheets were silk about halfway there, followed by a sudden sliding sensation, after which he was not so much up as down.
At least he was out of the bed.
He levered himself to his feet using the nightstand, breathed deeply for a second, and looked down. Boxers. First order of business: get dressed.
Second order of business included finding a gun and pointing it at whoever had brought him here, but John believed in taking one thing at a time. Clothes first, then violence. He took some unsteady steps toward the carved some-kind-of-expensive-wood closet, and opened it.
Clothes. Score.
But then he tried some on, and it became less score and more what the fuck? because they were all exactly his size. And they were all expensive. That was…creepy.
On the plus side, the aftereffects of whatever drug he’d been given were fading, slowly. By the time he’d pulled on the most understated outfit he could find (black pants, dark blue shirt, and he didn’t even want to know what they were made of) he could move around without feeling like he was going to throw up or pass out if he took a step too fast.
Great. Ready for step two. He tried the door.
It was locked. Damn, but not that big of a surprise. He looked around the rest of the room-one other door, leading to a bathroom, no way out from there; one window, also locked, and four stories up, not helpful until he got desperate and was willing to try and climb around the side of a building. He went back to the door. Very sturdy. The lock was-electronic?
Yep. The handle was this old-fashioned-looking curly wooden thing, but the lock itself was a plate of metal. Not helpful. Looked like it was going to be the window after all.
But the window was also electronically locked-goddammit, why didn’t he know how to bypass these things?-and absolutely refused to break, even when John picked up the spindly chair at the dressing table (Jesus Christ, a dressing table? Where the hell was he?) and attacked it.
The chair didn’t break, either.
This was just weird.
Rec Category: Alternate Universe
Characters: John Sheppard, Rodney McKay
Pairings: Sheppard/McKay, minor Sheppard/OC
Categories: Slash, Alternate Universe
Warnings: none
Author on LJ: FROSTFIRE_17
Author's Website: Unknown
Link: The Hostage Major
Why This Must Be Read: This story is well-written crack in the best possible way. It has Rodney kidnapping John for his own good (ie. to stop him from marrying a woman he doesn't really like much for money). The two men play off each other brilliantly and sound perfectly in-character despite the ridiculous situation.
When he woke up, he felt like total shit, but he forced his eyes open anyway and blinked at the large-no, huge-bedroom around him. He’d never had a reason to use the word sumptuous before-even Trixie was really tasteful about being rich-but this, this was it, right here. Velvet curtains and statuary and famous paintings on the walls-where the fuck was he? A European castle?
The total-shit feeling didn’t really fade, but he pushed the covers back and started working on getting up. He figured out that the sheets were silk about halfway there, followed by a sudden sliding sensation, after which he was not so much up as down.
At least he was out of the bed.
He levered himself to his feet using the nightstand, breathed deeply for a second, and looked down. Boxers. First order of business: get dressed.
Second order of business included finding a gun and pointing it at whoever had brought him here, but John believed in taking one thing at a time. Clothes first, then violence. He took some unsteady steps toward the carved some-kind-of-expensive-wood closet, and opened it.
Clothes. Score.
But then he tried some on, and it became less score and more what the fuck? because they were all exactly his size. And they were all expensive. That was…creepy.
On the plus side, the aftereffects of whatever drug he’d been given were fading, slowly. By the time he’d pulled on the most understated outfit he could find (black pants, dark blue shirt, and he didn’t even want to know what they were made of) he could move around without feeling like he was going to throw up or pass out if he took a step too fast.
Great. Ready for step two. He tried the door.
It was locked. Damn, but not that big of a surprise. He looked around the rest of the room-one other door, leading to a bathroom, no way out from there; one window, also locked, and four stories up, not helpful until he got desperate and was willing to try and climb around the side of a building. He went back to the door. Very sturdy. The lock was-electronic?
Yep. The handle was this old-fashioned-looking curly wooden thing, but the lock itself was a plate of metal. Not helpful. Looked like it was going to be the window after all.
But the window was also electronically locked-goddammit, why didn’t he know how to bypass these things?-and absolutely refused to break, even when John picked up the spindly chair at the dressing table (Jesus Christ, a dressing table? Where the hell was he?) and attacked it.
The chair didn’t break, either.
This was just weird.