Ch014 - Story 12 - Doggedly
Title: Doggedly
Pairing: John/Rodney
Rating: Hard R/NC-17 for sexual situations and serious innuendo.
Plot: Of all the weird stuff in all the galaxies, why does it always happen to John?
Authors: sardonicsmiley, jadesfire2808, hyperfocused and anchiseswrites.
Artists: strivaria, refche, midvacent and clear_as_blood.
Doggedly
“-and then Colonel Sheppard was bitten by the dog.” Teyla says it calmly, with a straight face even. Ronon makes up for it by snickering, trying to disguise it as a cough into his hand when John glares at him. Rodney can’t stop his own grin, because, yes, even though he’d be pretty freaked by the dog grabbing John’s hand and biting down at the time, it is definitely funny now.
John is sulking, pointing at his bandaged hand and protesting, “It wasn’t a dog. It was some kind of feral wolf thing.”
“Sure, inasmuch as a golden retriever is a feral wolf thing,” Rodney grins, bouncing on the balls of his feet when John turns to flash him a betrayed look. Rodney shrugs, ignoring the fact that Ronon is now leaning heavily against the wall, his shoulders hitching with silent laughter. He raises his eyebrows at John and continues, “Don’t look at me like that. I believe I said, oh yes, I remember, ‘don’t touch that thing, it probably has rabies’.”
John protests, “It looked friendly!”
Teyla rolls her eyes, even as she pats John affectionately on the upper arm, her voice calm and soothing, “It was indeed wagging its tail,” like that excuses the fact that John is running around trying to put his hands all over strange mutts. Really, Rodney doesn’t know why he’d been surprised.
Woolsey is still staring at all of them, his eyebrows raised and his expression studiously contained. Rodney just knows that any moment he’s going to prompt them to complete their report. To head that off, Rodney grabs John’s other arm, and says, “The dog ran off after that, and we returned to Atlantis. Now, come on Colonel, I hear that Keller has a big needle with your name on it.”
John is still trying to argue his way out of it, “I’m really fine. The bite wasn’t even that deep.” Rodney just exchanges a look with Teyla, and together they manage to drag John down to the infirmary. Ronon is busy busting a gut back in Woolsey’s office, not that Rodney can blame him.
Watching John get a tetanus shot in his ass is not likely to be the highpoint of Rodney’s day. He sighs.
* * * * * * *
Rodney doesn’t think very much about the incident after that. Compared to most of the things that happen to them off-world, an animal attack is comparatively lame. It even turns out that John hadn’t been being his usual stupid self about injuries. The punctures hadn’t been deep, and they’d healed within a few days. They didn’t even scar up.
And, thankfully, the next time the team goes through the ‘gate--to the Llambers on MS9-PP5, who they had been happily trading with for three years--John doesn’t even try to pet the almost-dogs they keep as pets. That might have something to do with the fact that the almost-dogs want nothing to do with him, shying away from him and panting even though it isn’t particularly hot out. Rodney isn’t going to complain about it, since it means no potential for another accidental biting.
Rodney does nudge John in the shoulder when they’re making their way back to Atlantis, snapping, “Look, whatever it is, stop itching it, you’re only going to make it worse.”
John blinks at him, looking confused and after a moment Rodney looks pointedly down at the back of John’s hand, where he’s been steadily scratching for the last ten minutes. The skin is red and agitated, and Rodney continues, “You don’t think its poison, do you? Because if you have it, I certainly do, I’m just not feeling it yet, and I don’t think there’s anymore calamine lotion.”
John is still staring at his hand. Rodney pushes him in the shoulder again, and John shakes his head, stuffing his hand into his pocket. He drawls, “It’s nothing,” and pulls out his sunglasses. John spends the rest of the walk with his head tilted down, stomping along on point. Rodney rolls his eyes and curses the other man for abandoning him to listen to Teyla talk about how Torren threw up all over himself the other day like it’s the best thing ever.
His entire team is obviously going insane.
* * * * * * *
After that, Rodney becomes oddly fixated on John’s itching. He’s not sure if the other man always itched so much and he just never noticed or if it’s something new. In any case, it’s distracting, and probably unsanitary somehow.
The other man is all the time scratching at the back of his neck, or his elbows, or pulling his shirt out of the back of his pants and contorting himself sideways to reach a spot somewhere below his shoulder blades. Rodney is'nt sure, but he thinks other people might be starting to notice as well. Especially after John spends an entire briefing frowning and scratching his stomach.
Rodney manages not to mention it until he comes upon John standing on one of the balconies, bent over, both hands in his hair, furiously scratching. After a moment, Rodney manages to close his mouth, demanding, “Okay, seriously, what the hell? Do you have fleas? Lice? Because that’s disgusting and oh God, if you’ve been spreading it around I’m going to get Ronon to kick your ass.”
John jerks his hands down to his sides guiltily, looking up with his hair even messier than usual. His ears are bright red at the tips when he says, “Okay, look, Rodney, I think that…” and then he trails off, looking suspiciously up at the sky. “Never mind. It’s not lice or fleas, okay?”
Rodney stares at him. John is scratching at his thigh absently, like he doesn’t realize he’s doing it. Rodney crosses his arms and keeps some distance between them, just in case, “Are you allergic to the new laundry detergent? Or, oh, this isn’t some weird symptom of depression is it? Are you crying out for attention? It’s, uh, okay if you are. Jeannie used to draw on herself with red markers when she was like, twelve, is this--”
The expression of horrified disbelief on John’s face is enough to make Rodney stop. He gestures distractedly to where John is still scratching, and shifts his feet awkwardly. John crosses his arms, thankfully looking just as awkward when he mumbles, “Can we not talk about this anymore? Ever?”
Rodney nods his head jerkily, “Yes, right. That sounds excellent. I’ll, you know, see you around,” and then he turns and almost makes it to the door before he has to pause and blurt out, “If it is the laundry detergent, the Athosians have this stuff they use that works just as well and is--”
“Rodney!”
“Right, yes, I’m going.”
* * * * * * *
Rodney is in the middle of wondering how it’s possible for the microwaves they have to get so many different levels of heat in the food when Ronon sits down beside him. Before Rodney can even look up the man is grunting, “Sheppard is being weird.”
Rodney looks up incredulously, “Yes, and?”
Ronon shrugs, frowning and leaning over to take Rodney’s bowl of soup away from him, stirring it and then sliding it back. While Rodney is still gaping over that, Ronon decides to explain, “Weirder than he normally is. He’s trying to lock himself into one of the Wraith cages.”
“What?” Rodney jerks to his feet, because obviously he was right about John being depressed and the man is probably about to hang himself or scratch himself to death or something.
Ronon does not appeared as concerned as Rodney feels the situation calls for, shrugging again and pulling Rodney’s dinner over, hunching over it this time, “Yeah. I don’t think he knows I saw him.”
For a moment Rodney fights conflicting impulses to regain his dinner and to find out what the hell John is doing. In the end, he throws his hands up in disbelief, and takes off out of the mess hall. Ronon is already halfway through his soup anyway.
* * * * * * *
By the time Rodney makes it down to the cage, John has it locked, sitting in one of the corners with his head down. He does not appear to be dead, and Rodney wills his heart rate back down, spitting curses as he reaches for the control pad.
John shouts, “Don’t!” without looking up. He has his arms wrapped around his chest, knees pulled up. The tension in his posture looks painful, and his voice is oddly gravelly and slurred.
Rodney rolls his eyes, holding onto his impatience, snapping, “Oh, shut up. You interrupted my dinner, so you’re just going to shut up and let me get you out of here and then you’re going to keep shutting up when we go to see Keller.” He pulls the front off of the control pad, kneeling so he can look at it straight on, scowling because he didn’t bring a tablet and that’s going to make this harder.
“You don’t understand,” John sounds wretched, bad enough that Rodney spares him a look. He has his face tilted up to the ceiling now, breathing hard and fast, his skin flushed red, sweating heavily. All the tendons in his neck are straining tight, and Rodney fumbles with his radio, shouting for a medical team and trying to make the door open. “Rodney, you have to go away. You have to go away from--ah!”
John jerks forward, catching himself on one hand, his other fisted in his shirt. His spine bows up, like he might be about to be sick, and his legs jerk. Rodney starts cursing and stops long enough to babble, “It’s going to be okay, it’s going to be fine, I’m almost there, just hold on, just--”
And John screams, something low and guttural, collapsing onto his side, his entire body shuddering. Rodney growls, “Oh, come on, you motherfucker,” and the door unlocks.
John is thrashing around. Rodney is to him in a heartbeat, trying to remember what you’re supposed to do for a seizure, trying to figure out where to grab in the wildly contorting mess that is John. He finally gives up, taking a deep breath and just reaching out, grabbing whatever he can.
And then letting go, as quickly as he can, because things are moving under John’s skin. Rodney shouts, “Jesus!” throwing himself backwards, watching John roll himself onto his back, head thrown back, mouth open around a ragged scream that cuts off halfway through to a sound that doesn’t come out of humans. It’s low and loud, and it is most definitely a howl, and with it John’s jaw shifts and extends and all Rodney can do is stare, mouth hanging open.
After that, things happen quickly. Rodney remembers to order everyone else to stay away, to shout at Zelenka to evacuate the level and close it off. He can’t seem to move, watching John’s body twist and reshape and change.
And then John is pushing to his feet, all four of them.
Rodney is breathing fast and shallow, staring with wide-eyed shock. John is huge and shaggy, covered in a thick dark coat, a gigantic dog with huge paws and a tail that’s half as long as he is. John rolls around, making a little whining sound as he closes his teeth in the fabric of his shirt and jerks and twists until he manages to wrestle it off.
Then he shakes his angular head side to side, red tongue hanging out one side of his mouth, ears perked up. Rodney feels frozen in place, watching John focus on him, all bright green eyes and sharp teeth. For a long moment they just stare at each other, and then Rodney manages, hoarsely, “Hey there boy.”
John’s tail starts wagging, and he barks just once, and then he’s bounding across to Rodney. Rodney gets bowled onto his back, John pushing one big paw into his stomach and licking across Rodney’s face, enthusiastically and sloppily.
For a moment Rodney is too shocked to move. And then he croons, half-laughing, “Oh, good boy, good John, don’t bite me,” reaching up to rub at John’s furry head. He can feel John’s tail beating against his leg, smelly doggy breath in his face, and squirms around, “But you’re going to have to move, because you’re really heavy.”
* * * * * * *
Teyla gives him an odd look when she comes into the isolation room.
"Rodney?"
"Yeah?" Almost without thinking, he lifts the stick above his head, ignoring the whine from John. He'll just have to wait.
"What are you doing?" Teyla's head is tilted at that awkward angle she only uses when she is very puzzled or very angry.
"Keller said to keep him occupied." Turning his attention back to John, Rodney holds up a finger, waving the stick a little. "You ready?"
The look John gives him manages a mixture of sarcasm and impatience that is familiar, even through large, doggy eyes.
"Fetch!"
Rodney throws the stick overarm, and John gambols after it, tail wagging furiously. He catches it before it even hits the ground, body twisting in mid-air before landing securely on all four feet. This time, instead of bringing it back, he gives Rodney a satisfied look and heads for the corner where he dragged the blanket earlier on. Turning round a few times, he eventually settles down, contentedly gnawing on the stick and apparently uninterested in further proceedings. Rodney would be more concerned, if John didn't have a habit of letting his thoughts wander in the middle of anything that didn't really interest him.
Shrugging a little, Rodney turns to Teyla. "What's the latest?"
There is a slight hesitation before Teyla speaks, her eyebrows drawing together in a deep frown. "Are you sure that it is wise to treat Colonel Sheppard as a dog?"
"What?" Momentarily thrown, Rodney glances over to where John has apparently decided that the stick has been suitably vanquished and has turned his attention to the thick piece of rope, knotted at each end, that Ronon gave him. "What do you expect me to--"
"I mean," Teyla says, more firmly this time, "we have every hope of returning him to his human form. I do not believe that will be easy if he begins to believe that he is a dog."
"You think he's going to think himself human again?"
They both watch as John shakes his head vigorously, the knotted rope flying from side to side. He's growling low and steady at the back of his throat and his tail is thumping in time with his head.
Rodney looks back at Teyla, who grimaces a little and shakes her head. "I still do not feel we should encourage him to think of himself as an animal."
"Oh, right of course, what was I thinking? I should have had him finishing off those performance evaluations for Woolsey. How careless of me."
"Rodney." There's a warning note in Teyla's voice, but really, there's no point her getting on his case about this.
"Look, he still answers to his name, he still knows who we are and, so far, he seems to be happy and healthy. There doesn't seem to be anything wrong with him."
Teyla stares at him. "Rodney. He is a dog."
"Actually, I've been wondering about that." Waving his hands vaguely, Rodney sketches rough shapes in the air. "He's kind of big for a dog, don't you think? Maybe a wolf of some kind?"
"There is a breed that one of our trading partners use for herding bireen that is a similar size," Teyla says thoughtfully, then shakes her head as though clearing it. "Nevertheless--"
"What's a bireen?" There are some wolfhounds that get pretty big, aren't there? Or maybe Great Danes.
"It is a herd animal," Teyla explains. "Much like your cows. But, Rodney--"
"Well, if we ever decide to bring any to Atlantis, I'm sure John'd be a great help."
Lifting his head at the sound of his name, John drops the rope and lumbers to his feet. His gait is just as laid back as usual, and when he drops to his haunches at Rodney's feet, it's hard not to automatically reach out and ruffle the tufts of fur between his ears.
Aware of Teyla still giving him that penetrating look, Rodney stops himself before he could actually stroke John's head.
"Yes," he says slowly, curling his fingers. "Maybe we should be trying to find out more about this."
* * * * * * *
Once Teyla is out of sight, Rodney can't help go back to comforting John with a friendly scratch behind the ears, smiling when John perks up. It doesn't mean he's treating John disrespectfully. After all, he didn't call any of his cats Snookie Wookums, so if he doesn't sink into "Who's a good widdle doggie-woggie? Johnny is!" things should be all right. John seems to agree, wagging his tail companionably, and sticking his behind in the air. He never has been able to resist doing what John wants for very long, and John wants to play. There's no reason he can't play and work, so Rodney tests John. He doesn't seem to be able to read or write, but when Rodney devises a simple math game: He says a number; Prime, not Prime; Ball for Prime, stick for Not; and Dog John gets it right 8 times of out ten, which is remarkable for a canine (Rodney assumes, he's never actually tried it on a dog, and no cat would be dumb enough to cooperate) if a bit dull for John. Still, it shows he's got something of his old self inside, even if he's not human enough to mind being a dog.
The thing that's so funny about John as a dog, is how similar he is to John as a human. With the part of his brain not occupied with figuring out how to get John out of the situation, Rodney ponders what sort of dog he might be. He decides upon a cross between an Afghan hound and an Irish Wolfhound. Hours pass, and they're no closer to a solution. Rodney scours the Ancient Database, and even contacts Earth to see if they have any relevant cases. He can't remember anyone turning into a dog, but that's the kind of thing SG1 would do their best to cover up, or at least cover over in terminology meant to make the reader's eyes glaze over. Come to think of it, it was too bad this wasn't happening to them. Rodney would prefer not to have the headache, and Colonel O'Neill would probably enjoy being a happy-go-lucky canine as much as Daniel Jackson would enjoy waxing profound on how it did (or didn't) change him. read up on Animal Transformation: Penguin, Bear, Dinosaur, Ancient to Proto-Wraith (at least John isn't turning into a bug, this time); and even an unlikely account of an Ancient leader turned into a cloth doll. That one turns out not to have been a transformation at all, just someone being kidnaped, and the doll left as a ransom note.
The few in the know try not to let the word spread, but their now four-legged leader doesn't seem to get the message. Before Rodney can stop him, he's bounding down the hall as fast as he can.. Rodney follows, panting himself, behind him. Of course John still being John, the city turns on his whims like usual. They end up at Rodney's quarters, so he radios to suggest that John be allowed to stay, finally convincing Dr. Keller that it'll be safer for everyone that John sleep observed, and that he doesn't deserve to rest in a cold isolation room. "You'll make him think he's a bad boy!" might not have been the best choice of words for his protest, he admits, but Keller is a soft touch, and it works. John isn't a werewolf. He might be the Pegasus equivalent, but thankfully that's nothing like their version of vampires. They've done all the tests they can think to do, and it's clear he's not dangerous.
"I don't know what I'm going to do with you, John. I mean, I've thought about you in my bed, before, but never like this. You know I'm a cat person." Rodney pats the foot of his bed, figuring John will be more comfortable there. John turns three times, then curls up next to Rodney, looking up at him soulfully, as if daring him to complain. It's been a damn weird day, so they both fall asleep, exhausted.
* * * * * * *
This isn't what Rodney had in mind when he thought about John in his bed, John licking him. He didn't imagine a cold, wet nose, and hairy--no, furry snuffling. He's having an old, familiar dream, one he hasn't had since he was a teenager. Jenny Agutter in a nurse's uniform, giving him a sponge bath, with her tongue. Then the dream changes, also nothing new, and she turns into Griffin Dunne, and finally into John. That part is different. He's never had this particular dream with John before, but it doesn't take long to figure out why it's happening now. Rodney shakes himself awake, looking over at his companion. Nothing has changed since he led John into his quarters the night before--he's still a big, friendly, furry goof.
The next day, the Ancient Database of no-useful-solutions exhausted, they make a trip back to P34 GRL (Rodney can't help thinking of it as "Doggerel" now) in hopes of getting some answers from Casgol Freen, their leader. His, "Oh, it's nothing to worry about" response to John's bite is obviously wrong.
"You are back so soon! Did you not enjoy your time with the Bideen?"
"So he is one of those herding creatures you were telling me about," Rodney nudges Teyla. "No, we're not enjoying it. We'd like our team leader put back the way he was."
"No, that's a Bireen. This is something different. A Bideen changes form temporarily to show what sort of temperament the affected person has. It is a good way for strangers to know each other without artifice. He will revert to his normal form in a short time," Casgol explains.
"So you're saying Colonel Sheppard is a dog? What is that even supposed to mean?"
"He is loyal, brave, energetic and likes to play when he gets a chance. Is this not the case?" Teyla sounds charmed, now that she knows the change won't last.
"That sounds like Sheppard," Ronon agrees.
"Fine. Nice little party trick. Now turn him back."
"Oh, we cannot do it for him. He will wake up his old self when the time is right."
"And when will that be?" Rodney is rapidly losing his patience. John moves closer to him, nuzzling his hand until he feels better.
"You will know soon." With that, Casgol turns away.
* * * * * * *
Two more days pass, and John is still his slobbering, wiggling, enthusiastic self. Rodney has real work to do, so both Ronon and Woolsey take him for walks. Leisurely in one case, and a tiring run in the other.
Each night, John follows Rodney into his quarters, and makes himself a comfortable pile of blankets on Rodney's bed. On the third night, Rodney wakes to a wet tongue, and coarse hair tickling him.
"Woof?" John asks, leaning in and sniffing Rodney's neck.
He's human again, Rodney thinks, waiting for John to jump out of his bed. That doesn't happen.
Rodney sniffs and wrinkles his nose, sleep creeping away slowly. "Is that my soap I smell on you?"
John chuckles, low and long, and slides up next to Rodney. "Yeah. I got rid of the blankets, too. I mean, I can get them back and maybe roll naked in them if the smell of dog was turning you on."
Rodney snorts and then moans as John nibbles under his ear. "Nah. I didn't like you much as a blond, and your hair kept getting all over my uniform. Did you know that nobody in this whole galaxy has a lint roller?"
"Surprising." John slides a hand down Rodney's side, under the waistband of the old slouchy PJ bottoms that Rodney wears to bed. "I bet that's why the Replicators beat the Ancients the first time round."
Rodney slowly twists to face John, nose to John's nose. "I cannot believe that you never said anything," he says, quietly.
"Yeah, I should go back in time and give them all lint ro--ow! What was that for?" John rubs the spot that Rodney just poked.
"I meant about us, moron. Or is that the 'don't ask' part?"
"I think it's closer to 'don't tell'," John says, fisting a hand into Rodney's waistband and twisting it.
Rodney shoves John, and really, damn, all that running and shooting and using a tablet has really made him strong these days, because John ends up on the floor on a pile of covers, looking surprised and amused and, oh, yes, naked. Very, very naked. And he's definitely looking up, so Rodney decides that discretion is the better part of blowjob, slides off the bed, lands next to John and goes down, and John's hands are giving Rodney what is probably the best scalp massage he's ever had, and Rodney comes up for air muttering, "watch the hair! Some of us aren't part wolf and don't have enough to start with," and John chuckles and nudges Rodney back down again.
"Colonel Sheppard?" Teyla's voice is muffled through the door. "Rodney?"
Rodney looks up at John guiltily, his mouth still around John's cock. He gives it a final lick and says, quietly, "Fuck. We'll finish this later, okay?"
John is scrabbling for clothes. "Oh my God!" John he shouts loudly, wrapping himself in a sheet, "I'm human again! And why am I on this pile of blankets that are nowhere near your bed, Rodney?"
Rodney blinks for a moment, then breaks into a grin, hopping around one-legged as he tries to get into his boxers. "Wow! You are human again! Does this mean you're going to stop shedding on that nice cushion over there on the other side of the room where you've been sleeping?"
John gives him a pointed look and does a fairly accurate mime that Rodney has no doubt means no more blowjobs for you, Rodney, waits until Rodney at least has pants and a shirt on, and pads over to the door to open it.
"I am pleased to see that you are looking more like yourself," Teyla says from the corridor. "An additional human lifesign was recorded in Rodney's quarters, and Chuck notified Doctor Keller. She would like to examine you to ensure that you have returned entirely to normal."
"Great. Will there be some clothes involved at some time?"
"I'll go get some from your quarters," Rodney says, pulling on his shoes. "Meet you in the infirmary." It'll give me time to hide my enormous erection, he doesn't say.
Rodney wavewaves his way into John's quarters, which smell a little dusty and a little airless and a little of John. He grins, rifling through John's underwear drawer.
"Huh, Mr Indecisive in the underwear department. Briefs, boxers, boxer-briefs, funny long trunky things, and...hello, jock strap. You get to go in my pocket for John to wear for me later and you, boxer briefs, get to go to--yes, what is it?" Rodney blushes furiously as the radio in his ear crackles to life and hopes to God that Woolsey didn't hear him..
"Ah, Doctor McKay, excellent, please meet me in the infirmary directly." Woolsey sounds slightly out of breath and background noise is fading in and out of Rodney's ear. "Colonel Shepp--"
"Yes, yes, I'm just picking some clothes up, or would you prefer that the military commander of Atlantis prances around the corridors in his birthday suit?" Rodney grabs one of the roughly π pairs of BDU pants from the third drawer down, one of the approximately φ pairs of clean black t-shirts and--oh, of course John has about γ pairs of socks, because he's a very special John-type cretin and doesn't fold the damn things together, so Rodney roots through the drawer to find two of a pair.
"I swear to God, Sheppard," Rodney announces to all present as he stomps into the infirmary, "I am selling you to the next alien warrior queen who wants you if you ever make me rummage in your drawers again."
John blinks at him, eyes wide. "Rummage in my--Rodney!"
Teyla and Ronon exchange a look. Keller and Woolsey do too, but it's a different kind of look. And John and Rodney just stare at each other as time extends way past any time that they could have made this right.
"Excuse me," Teyla says, in her best what the shit are you talking about, weirdos voice, "what does--"
"Yeah," John says, slowly, reaching over for the clothes, "thanks, Rodney, for the clothes you had to rummage for in my chest of drawers."
Rodney starts banging his head against the wall. Gently, because he knows too well that too much force will damage his brain cells, and he knows how many of those are dying each second.
"Doctor McKay, I never realized you liked British comedy," Woolsey says excitedly. Well, excitedly for Woolsey. "I guess they showed it in Canada. Not surprising, really. I especially like Are You Being Served. Hyacinth Bucket--" Woolsey pronounces it, unsurprisingly, bouquet "--is my favorite. She reminds me of Mrs Higginbotham, who used to live next door to me in Washington. I have several episodes backed up onto my hard drive, entirely legally under the Digital Millennium Copyright Act."
Rodney could kiss Woolsey. At least, he could if the man wasn't a certifiable mentally subnormal bureaucratic hellhound from Pluto's fiery demesnes. And if Sheppard wasn't the sort to get unreasonably, irrationally jealous about that sort of thing. Oh, yes, Sheppard and kissing, in the same sentence.
"Right," John says, and Rodney can see the head-that-was disappearing into the æther of sexile until next millennium, "I'm fine, doc?"
Keller nods, and she looks like she's desperately trying not to laugh. "Yes, Colonel."
"Okay. You're all going to leave now, and I'm going to get dressed, and we're all going to pretend that Hya-whatever-he-is over there didn't come out of some comedy club from the 1950s, and then I am going to go get a very large cup of coffee." John glares around and everybody looks like they're trying to avoid his gaze. "Are we good with that?"
Rodney ends up being last in the little line of people trying to flee before the snarky wrath of Sheppard. "Hey, Rodney," John drawls. "C'mere for a sec."
Rodney winces, freezes, and turns, trying to avoid the 'oh, crap' expression that he knows is covering his face. "Yeah?"
"I'm gonna get dressed now," John says quietly once the others have left the infirmary, a glint in his eye. "Then, there will be coffee, and then, I think you've earned yourself about four hundred hours of blowing me, wouldn't you say?"
Rodney tries not to grin hungrily at the prospect. "Oh, at least." He doesn't manage to avoid licking his lips.
"You know," John says thoughtfully, "I still have some emergency Pepsi in my quarters. Maybe we could skip the coffee."
"That's a very noble sacrifice, Colonel, and I thi--" Rodney stutters to a stop as John slides a finger over his mouth.
"Yeah. Less talking from you, too." John smirks, and Rodney wants to either hit him or hit that. "Let's go. I think you have an appointment. With my cock."
Rodney snorts. "I bet that works on all the exotic alien princesses."
"Nah," John says with a shrug, "Only you."
"I am not--" Rodney starts, then realizes that people can probably hear him, and turns the knob marked volume down to grumpy muttering "--I am not an exotic alien princess."
"You keep telling yourself that, Rodney," John says, standing up. "C'mon. Heel."
"You're never going to let me forget this, are you?"
"Nope. Although I have a pretty good idea that 'beg' and 'roll over' aren't going to be too hard for you."
Click on thumb
Authors:
Artists:
R1: strivaria
R2: refche
R3: midvacent
R4: clear_as_blood
Pairing: John/Rodney
Rating: Hard R/NC-17 for sexual situations and serious innuendo.
Plot: Of all the weird stuff in all the galaxies, why does it always happen to John?
Authors: sardonicsmiley, jadesfire2808, hyperfocused and anchiseswrites.
Artists: strivaria, refche, midvacent and clear_as_blood.
Doggedly
“-and then Colonel Sheppard was bitten by the dog.” Teyla says it calmly, with a straight face even. Ronon makes up for it by snickering, trying to disguise it as a cough into his hand when John glares at him. Rodney can’t stop his own grin, because, yes, even though he’d be pretty freaked by the dog grabbing John’s hand and biting down at the time, it is definitely funny now.
John is sulking, pointing at his bandaged hand and protesting, “It wasn’t a dog. It was some kind of feral wolf thing.”
“Sure, inasmuch as a golden retriever is a feral wolf thing,” Rodney grins, bouncing on the balls of his feet when John turns to flash him a betrayed look. Rodney shrugs, ignoring the fact that Ronon is now leaning heavily against the wall, his shoulders hitching with silent laughter. He raises his eyebrows at John and continues, “Don’t look at me like that. I believe I said, oh yes, I remember, ‘don’t touch that thing, it probably has rabies’.”
John protests, “It looked friendly!”
Teyla rolls her eyes, even as she pats John affectionately on the upper arm, her voice calm and soothing, “It was indeed wagging its tail,” like that excuses the fact that John is running around trying to put his hands all over strange mutts. Really, Rodney doesn’t know why he’d been surprised.
Woolsey is still staring at all of them, his eyebrows raised and his expression studiously contained. Rodney just knows that any moment he’s going to prompt them to complete their report. To head that off, Rodney grabs John’s other arm, and says, “The dog ran off after that, and we returned to Atlantis. Now, come on Colonel, I hear that Keller has a big needle with your name on it.”
John is still trying to argue his way out of it, “I’m really fine. The bite wasn’t even that deep.” Rodney just exchanges a look with Teyla, and together they manage to drag John down to the infirmary. Ronon is busy busting a gut back in Woolsey’s office, not that Rodney can blame him.
Watching John get a tetanus shot in his ass is not likely to be the highpoint of Rodney’s day. He sighs.
* * * * * * *
Rodney doesn’t think very much about the incident after that. Compared to most of the things that happen to them off-world, an animal attack is comparatively lame. It even turns out that John hadn’t been being his usual stupid self about injuries. The punctures hadn’t been deep, and they’d healed within a few days. They didn’t even scar up.
And, thankfully, the next time the team goes through the ‘gate--to the Llambers on MS9-PP5, who they had been happily trading with for three years--John doesn’t even try to pet the almost-dogs they keep as pets. That might have something to do with the fact that the almost-dogs want nothing to do with him, shying away from him and panting even though it isn’t particularly hot out. Rodney isn’t going to complain about it, since it means no potential for another accidental biting.
Rodney does nudge John in the shoulder when they’re making their way back to Atlantis, snapping, “Look, whatever it is, stop itching it, you’re only going to make it worse.”
John blinks at him, looking confused and after a moment Rodney looks pointedly down at the back of John’s hand, where he’s been steadily scratching for the last ten minutes. The skin is red and agitated, and Rodney continues, “You don’t think its poison, do you? Because if you have it, I certainly do, I’m just not feeling it yet, and I don’t think there’s anymore calamine lotion.”
John is still staring at his hand. Rodney pushes him in the shoulder again, and John shakes his head, stuffing his hand into his pocket. He drawls, “It’s nothing,” and pulls out his sunglasses. John spends the rest of the walk with his head tilted down, stomping along on point. Rodney rolls his eyes and curses the other man for abandoning him to listen to Teyla talk about how Torren threw up all over himself the other day like it’s the best thing ever.
His entire team is obviously going insane.
* * * * * * *
After that, Rodney becomes oddly fixated on John’s itching. He’s not sure if the other man always itched so much and he just never noticed or if it’s something new. In any case, it’s distracting, and probably unsanitary somehow.
The other man is all the time scratching at the back of his neck, or his elbows, or pulling his shirt out of the back of his pants and contorting himself sideways to reach a spot somewhere below his shoulder blades. Rodney is'nt sure, but he thinks other people might be starting to notice as well. Especially after John spends an entire briefing frowning and scratching his stomach.
Rodney manages not to mention it until he comes upon John standing on one of the balconies, bent over, both hands in his hair, furiously scratching. After a moment, Rodney manages to close his mouth, demanding, “Okay, seriously, what the hell? Do you have fleas? Lice? Because that’s disgusting and oh God, if you’ve been spreading it around I’m going to get Ronon to kick your ass.”
John jerks his hands down to his sides guiltily, looking up with his hair even messier than usual. His ears are bright red at the tips when he says, “Okay, look, Rodney, I think that…” and then he trails off, looking suspiciously up at the sky. “Never mind. It’s not lice or fleas, okay?”
Rodney stares at him. John is scratching at his thigh absently, like he doesn’t realize he’s doing it. Rodney crosses his arms and keeps some distance between them, just in case, “Are you allergic to the new laundry detergent? Or, oh, this isn’t some weird symptom of depression is it? Are you crying out for attention? It’s, uh, okay if you are. Jeannie used to draw on herself with red markers when she was like, twelve, is this--”
The expression of horrified disbelief on John’s face is enough to make Rodney stop. He gestures distractedly to where John is still scratching, and shifts his feet awkwardly. John crosses his arms, thankfully looking just as awkward when he mumbles, “Can we not talk about this anymore? Ever?”
Rodney nods his head jerkily, “Yes, right. That sounds excellent. I’ll, you know, see you around,” and then he turns and almost makes it to the door before he has to pause and blurt out, “If it is the laundry detergent, the Athosians have this stuff they use that works just as well and is--”
“Rodney!”
“Right, yes, I’m going.”
* * * * * * *
Rodney is in the middle of wondering how it’s possible for the microwaves they have to get so many different levels of heat in the food when Ronon sits down beside him. Before Rodney can even look up the man is grunting, “Sheppard is being weird.”
Rodney looks up incredulously, “Yes, and?”
Ronon shrugs, frowning and leaning over to take Rodney’s bowl of soup away from him, stirring it and then sliding it back. While Rodney is still gaping over that, Ronon decides to explain, “Weirder than he normally is. He’s trying to lock himself into one of the Wraith cages.”
“What?” Rodney jerks to his feet, because obviously he was right about John being depressed and the man is probably about to hang himself or scratch himself to death or something.
Ronon does not appeared as concerned as Rodney feels the situation calls for, shrugging again and pulling Rodney’s dinner over, hunching over it this time, “Yeah. I don’t think he knows I saw him.”
For a moment Rodney fights conflicting impulses to regain his dinner and to find out what the hell John is doing. In the end, he throws his hands up in disbelief, and takes off out of the mess hall. Ronon is already halfway through his soup anyway.
* * * * * * *
By the time Rodney makes it down to the cage, John has it locked, sitting in one of the corners with his head down. He does not appear to be dead, and Rodney wills his heart rate back down, spitting curses as he reaches for the control pad.
John shouts, “Don’t!” without looking up. He has his arms wrapped around his chest, knees pulled up. The tension in his posture looks painful, and his voice is oddly gravelly and slurred.
Rodney rolls his eyes, holding onto his impatience, snapping, “Oh, shut up. You interrupted my dinner, so you’re just going to shut up and let me get you out of here and then you’re going to keep shutting up when we go to see Keller.” He pulls the front off of the control pad, kneeling so he can look at it straight on, scowling because he didn’t bring a tablet and that’s going to make this harder.
“You don’t understand,” John sounds wretched, bad enough that Rodney spares him a look. He has his face tilted up to the ceiling now, breathing hard and fast, his skin flushed red, sweating heavily. All the tendons in his neck are straining tight, and Rodney fumbles with his radio, shouting for a medical team and trying to make the door open. “Rodney, you have to go away. You have to go away from--ah!”
John jerks forward, catching himself on one hand, his other fisted in his shirt. His spine bows up, like he might be about to be sick, and his legs jerk. Rodney starts cursing and stops long enough to babble, “It’s going to be okay, it’s going to be fine, I’m almost there, just hold on, just--”
And John screams, something low and guttural, collapsing onto his side, his entire body shuddering. Rodney growls, “Oh, come on, you motherfucker,” and the door unlocks.
John is thrashing around. Rodney is to him in a heartbeat, trying to remember what you’re supposed to do for a seizure, trying to figure out where to grab in the wildly contorting mess that is John. He finally gives up, taking a deep breath and just reaching out, grabbing whatever he can.
And then letting go, as quickly as he can, because things are moving under John’s skin. Rodney shouts, “Jesus!” throwing himself backwards, watching John roll himself onto his back, head thrown back, mouth open around a ragged scream that cuts off halfway through to a sound that doesn’t come out of humans. It’s low and loud, and it is most definitely a howl, and with it John’s jaw shifts and extends and all Rodney can do is stare, mouth hanging open.
After that, things happen quickly. Rodney remembers to order everyone else to stay away, to shout at Zelenka to evacuate the level and close it off. He can’t seem to move, watching John’s body twist and reshape and change.
And then John is pushing to his feet, all four of them.
Rodney is breathing fast and shallow, staring with wide-eyed shock. John is huge and shaggy, covered in a thick dark coat, a gigantic dog with huge paws and a tail that’s half as long as he is. John rolls around, making a little whining sound as he closes his teeth in the fabric of his shirt and jerks and twists until he manages to wrestle it off.
Then he shakes his angular head side to side, red tongue hanging out one side of his mouth, ears perked up. Rodney feels frozen in place, watching John focus on him, all bright green eyes and sharp teeth. For a long moment they just stare at each other, and then Rodney manages, hoarsely, “Hey there boy.”
John’s tail starts wagging, and he barks just once, and then he’s bounding across to Rodney. Rodney gets bowled onto his back, John pushing one big paw into his stomach and licking across Rodney’s face, enthusiastically and sloppily.
For a moment Rodney is too shocked to move. And then he croons, half-laughing, “Oh, good boy, good John, don’t bite me,” reaching up to rub at John’s furry head. He can feel John’s tail beating against his leg, smelly doggy breath in his face, and squirms around, “But you’re going to have to move, because you’re really heavy.”
* * * * * * *
Teyla gives him an odd look when she comes into the isolation room.
"Rodney?"
"Yeah?" Almost without thinking, he lifts the stick above his head, ignoring the whine from John. He'll just have to wait.
"What are you doing?" Teyla's head is tilted at that awkward angle she only uses when she is very puzzled or very angry.
"Keller said to keep him occupied." Turning his attention back to John, Rodney holds up a finger, waving the stick a little. "You ready?"
The look John gives him manages a mixture of sarcasm and impatience that is familiar, even through large, doggy eyes.
"Fetch!"
Rodney throws the stick overarm, and John gambols after it, tail wagging furiously. He catches it before it even hits the ground, body twisting in mid-air before landing securely on all four feet. This time, instead of bringing it back, he gives Rodney a satisfied look and heads for the corner where he dragged the blanket earlier on. Turning round a few times, he eventually settles down, contentedly gnawing on the stick and apparently uninterested in further proceedings. Rodney would be more concerned, if John didn't have a habit of letting his thoughts wander in the middle of anything that didn't really interest him.
Shrugging a little, Rodney turns to Teyla. "What's the latest?"
There is a slight hesitation before Teyla speaks, her eyebrows drawing together in a deep frown. "Are you sure that it is wise to treat Colonel Sheppard as a dog?"
"What?" Momentarily thrown, Rodney glances over to where John has apparently decided that the stick has been suitably vanquished and has turned his attention to the thick piece of rope, knotted at each end, that Ronon gave him. "What do you expect me to--"
"I mean," Teyla says, more firmly this time, "we have every hope of returning him to his human form. I do not believe that will be easy if he begins to believe that he is a dog."
"You think he's going to think himself human again?"
They both watch as John shakes his head vigorously, the knotted rope flying from side to side. He's growling low and steady at the back of his throat and his tail is thumping in time with his head.
Rodney looks back at Teyla, who grimaces a little and shakes her head. "I still do not feel we should encourage him to think of himself as an animal."
"Oh, right of course, what was I thinking? I should have had him finishing off those performance evaluations for Woolsey. How careless of me."
"Rodney." There's a warning note in Teyla's voice, but really, there's no point her getting on his case about this.
"Look, he still answers to his name, he still knows who we are and, so far, he seems to be happy and healthy. There doesn't seem to be anything wrong with him."
Teyla stares at him. "Rodney. He is a dog."
"Actually, I've been wondering about that." Waving his hands vaguely, Rodney sketches rough shapes in the air. "He's kind of big for a dog, don't you think? Maybe a wolf of some kind?"
"There is a breed that one of our trading partners use for herding bireen that is a similar size," Teyla says thoughtfully, then shakes her head as though clearing it. "Nevertheless--"
"What's a bireen?" There are some wolfhounds that get pretty big, aren't there? Or maybe Great Danes.
"It is a herd animal," Teyla explains. "Much like your cows. But, Rodney--"
"Well, if we ever decide to bring any to Atlantis, I'm sure John'd be a great help."
Lifting his head at the sound of his name, John drops the rope and lumbers to his feet. His gait is just as laid back as usual, and when he drops to his haunches at Rodney's feet, it's hard not to automatically reach out and ruffle the tufts of fur between his ears.
Aware of Teyla still giving him that penetrating look, Rodney stops himself before he could actually stroke John's head.
"Yes," he says slowly, curling his fingers. "Maybe we should be trying to find out more about this."
* * * * * * *
Once Teyla is out of sight, Rodney can't help go back to comforting John with a friendly scratch behind the ears, smiling when John perks up. It doesn't mean he's treating John disrespectfully. After all, he didn't call any of his cats Snookie Wookums, so if he doesn't sink into "Who's a good widdle doggie-woggie? Johnny is!" things should be all right. John seems to agree, wagging his tail companionably, and sticking his behind in the air. He never has been able to resist doing what John wants for very long, and John wants to play. There's no reason he can't play and work, so Rodney tests John. He doesn't seem to be able to read or write, but when Rodney devises a simple math game: He says a number; Prime, not Prime; Ball for Prime, stick for Not; and Dog John gets it right 8 times of out ten, which is remarkable for a canine (Rodney assumes, he's never actually tried it on a dog, and no cat would be dumb enough to cooperate) if a bit dull for John. Still, it shows he's got something of his old self inside, even if he's not human enough to mind being a dog.
The thing that's so funny about John as a dog, is how similar he is to John as a human. With the part of his brain not occupied with figuring out how to get John out of the situation, Rodney ponders what sort of dog he might be. He decides upon a cross between an Afghan hound and an Irish Wolfhound. Hours pass, and they're no closer to a solution. Rodney scours the Ancient Database, and even contacts Earth to see if they have any relevant cases. He can't remember anyone turning into a dog, but that's the kind of thing SG1 would do their best to cover up, or at least cover over in terminology meant to make the reader's eyes glaze over. Come to think of it, it was too bad this wasn't happening to them. Rodney would prefer not to have the headache, and Colonel O'Neill would probably enjoy being a happy-go-lucky canine as much as Daniel Jackson would enjoy waxing profound on how it did (or didn't) change him. read up on Animal Transformation: Penguin, Bear, Dinosaur, Ancient to Proto-Wraith (at least John isn't turning into a bug, this time); and even an unlikely account of an Ancient leader turned into a cloth doll. That one turns out not to have been a transformation at all, just someone being kidnaped, and the doll left as a ransom note.
The few in the know try not to let the word spread, but their now four-legged leader doesn't seem to get the message. Before Rodney can stop him, he's bounding down the hall as fast as he can.. Rodney follows, panting himself, behind him. Of course John still being John, the city turns on his whims like usual. They end up at Rodney's quarters, so he radios to suggest that John be allowed to stay, finally convincing Dr. Keller that it'll be safer for everyone that John sleep observed, and that he doesn't deserve to rest in a cold isolation room. "You'll make him think he's a bad boy!" might not have been the best choice of words for his protest, he admits, but Keller is a soft touch, and it works. John isn't a werewolf. He might be the Pegasus equivalent, but thankfully that's nothing like their version of vampires. They've done all the tests they can think to do, and it's clear he's not dangerous.
"I don't know what I'm going to do with you, John. I mean, I've thought about you in my bed, before, but never like this. You know I'm a cat person." Rodney pats the foot of his bed, figuring John will be more comfortable there. John turns three times, then curls up next to Rodney, looking up at him soulfully, as if daring him to complain. It's been a damn weird day, so they both fall asleep, exhausted.
* * * * * * *
This isn't what Rodney had in mind when he thought about John in his bed, John licking him. He didn't imagine a cold, wet nose, and hairy--no, furry snuffling. He's having an old, familiar dream, one he hasn't had since he was a teenager. Jenny Agutter in a nurse's uniform, giving him a sponge bath, with her tongue. Then the dream changes, also nothing new, and she turns into Griffin Dunne, and finally into John. That part is different. He's never had this particular dream with John before, but it doesn't take long to figure out why it's happening now. Rodney shakes himself awake, looking over at his companion. Nothing has changed since he led John into his quarters the night before--he's still a big, friendly, furry goof.
The next day, the Ancient Database of no-useful-solutions exhausted, they make a trip back to P34 GRL (Rodney can't help thinking of it as "Doggerel" now) in hopes of getting some answers from Casgol Freen, their leader. His, "Oh, it's nothing to worry about" response to John's bite is obviously wrong.
"You are back so soon! Did you not enjoy your time with the Bideen?"
"So he is one of those herding creatures you were telling me about," Rodney nudges Teyla. "No, we're not enjoying it. We'd like our team leader put back the way he was."
"No, that's a Bireen. This is something different. A Bideen changes form temporarily to show what sort of temperament the affected person has. It is a good way for strangers to know each other without artifice. He will revert to his normal form in a short time," Casgol explains.
"So you're saying Colonel Sheppard is a dog? What is that even supposed to mean?"
"He is loyal, brave, energetic and likes to play when he gets a chance. Is this not the case?" Teyla sounds charmed, now that she knows the change won't last.
"That sounds like Sheppard," Ronon agrees.
"Fine. Nice little party trick. Now turn him back."
"Oh, we cannot do it for him. He will wake up his old self when the time is right."
"And when will that be?" Rodney is rapidly losing his patience. John moves closer to him, nuzzling his hand until he feels better.
"You will know soon." With that, Casgol turns away.
* * * * * * *
Two more days pass, and John is still his slobbering, wiggling, enthusiastic self. Rodney has real work to do, so both Ronon and Woolsey take him for walks. Leisurely in one case, and a tiring run in the other.
Each night, John follows Rodney into his quarters, and makes himself a comfortable pile of blankets on Rodney's bed. On the third night, Rodney wakes to a wet tongue, and coarse hair tickling him.
"Woof?" John asks, leaning in and sniffing Rodney's neck.
He's human again, Rodney thinks, waiting for John to jump out of his bed. That doesn't happen.
Rodney sniffs and wrinkles his nose, sleep creeping away slowly. "Is that my soap I smell on you?"
John chuckles, low and long, and slides up next to Rodney. "Yeah. I got rid of the blankets, too. I mean, I can get them back and maybe roll naked in them if the smell of dog was turning you on."
Rodney snorts and then moans as John nibbles under his ear. "Nah. I didn't like you much as a blond, and your hair kept getting all over my uniform. Did you know that nobody in this whole galaxy has a lint roller?"
"Surprising." John slides a hand down Rodney's side, under the waistband of the old slouchy PJ bottoms that Rodney wears to bed. "I bet that's why the Replicators beat the Ancients the first time round."
Rodney slowly twists to face John, nose to John's nose. "I cannot believe that you never said anything," he says, quietly.
"Yeah, I should go back in time and give them all lint ro--ow! What was that for?" John rubs the spot that Rodney just poked.
"I meant about us, moron. Or is that the 'don't ask' part?"
"I think it's closer to 'don't tell'," John says, fisting a hand into Rodney's waistband and twisting it.
Rodney shoves John, and really, damn, all that running and shooting and using a tablet has really made him strong these days, because John ends up on the floor on a pile of covers, looking surprised and amused and, oh, yes, naked. Very, very naked. And he's definitely looking up, so Rodney decides that discretion is the better part of blowjob, slides off the bed, lands next to John and goes down, and John's hands are giving Rodney what is probably the best scalp massage he's ever had, and Rodney comes up for air muttering, "watch the hair! Some of us aren't part wolf and don't have enough to start with," and John chuckles and nudges Rodney back down again.
"Colonel Sheppard?" Teyla's voice is muffled through the door. "Rodney?"
Rodney looks up at John guiltily, his mouth still around John's cock. He gives it a final lick and says, quietly, "Fuck. We'll finish this later, okay?"
John is scrabbling for clothes. "Oh my God!" John he shouts loudly, wrapping himself in a sheet, "I'm human again! And why am I on this pile of blankets that are nowhere near your bed, Rodney?"
Rodney blinks for a moment, then breaks into a grin, hopping around one-legged as he tries to get into his boxers. "Wow! You are human again! Does this mean you're going to stop shedding on that nice cushion over there on the other side of the room where you've been sleeping?"
John gives him a pointed look and does a fairly accurate mime that Rodney has no doubt means no more blowjobs for you, Rodney, waits until Rodney at least has pants and a shirt on, and pads over to the door to open it.
"I am pleased to see that you are looking more like yourself," Teyla says from the corridor. "An additional human lifesign was recorded in Rodney's quarters, and Chuck notified Doctor Keller. She would like to examine you to ensure that you have returned entirely to normal."
"Great. Will there be some clothes involved at some time?"
"I'll go get some from your quarters," Rodney says, pulling on his shoes. "Meet you in the infirmary." It'll give me time to hide my enormous erection, he doesn't say.
Rodney wavewaves his way into John's quarters, which smell a little dusty and a little airless and a little of John. He grins, rifling through John's underwear drawer.
"Huh, Mr Indecisive in the underwear department. Briefs, boxers, boxer-briefs, funny long trunky things, and...hello, jock strap. You get to go in my pocket for John to wear for me later and you, boxer briefs, get to go to--yes, what is it?" Rodney blushes furiously as the radio in his ear crackles to life and hopes to God that Woolsey didn't hear him..
"Ah, Doctor McKay, excellent, please meet me in the infirmary directly." Woolsey sounds slightly out of breath and background noise is fading in and out of Rodney's ear. "Colonel Shepp--"
"Yes, yes, I'm just picking some clothes up, or would you prefer that the military commander of Atlantis prances around the corridors in his birthday suit?" Rodney grabs one of the roughly π pairs of BDU pants from the third drawer down, one of the approximately φ pairs of clean black t-shirts and--oh, of course John has about γ pairs of socks, because he's a very special John-type cretin and doesn't fold the damn things together, so Rodney roots through the drawer to find two of a pair.
"I swear to God, Sheppard," Rodney announces to all present as he stomps into the infirmary, "I am selling you to the next alien warrior queen who wants you if you ever make me rummage in your drawers again."
John blinks at him, eyes wide. "Rummage in my--Rodney!"
Teyla and Ronon exchange a look. Keller and Woolsey do too, but it's a different kind of look. And John and Rodney just stare at each other as time extends way past any time that they could have made this right.
"Excuse me," Teyla says, in her best what the shit are you talking about, weirdos voice, "what does--"
"Yeah," John says, slowly, reaching over for the clothes, "thanks, Rodney, for the clothes you had to rummage for in my chest of drawers."
Rodney starts banging his head against the wall. Gently, because he knows too well that too much force will damage his brain cells, and he knows how many of those are dying each second.
"Doctor McKay, I never realized you liked British comedy," Woolsey says excitedly. Well, excitedly for Woolsey. "I guess they showed it in Canada. Not surprising, really. I especially like Are You Being Served. Hyacinth Bucket--" Woolsey pronounces it, unsurprisingly, bouquet "--is my favorite. She reminds me of Mrs Higginbotham, who used to live next door to me in Washington. I have several episodes backed up onto my hard drive, entirely legally under the Digital Millennium Copyright Act."
Rodney could kiss Woolsey. At least, he could if the man wasn't a certifiable mentally subnormal bureaucratic hellhound from Pluto's fiery demesnes. And if Sheppard wasn't the sort to get unreasonably, irrationally jealous about that sort of thing. Oh, yes, Sheppard and kissing, in the same sentence.
"Right," John says, and Rodney can see the head-that-was disappearing into the æther of sexile until next millennium, "I'm fine, doc?"
Keller nods, and she looks like she's desperately trying not to laugh. "Yes, Colonel."
"Okay. You're all going to leave now, and I'm going to get dressed, and we're all going to pretend that Hya-whatever-he-is over there didn't come out of some comedy club from the 1950s, and then I am going to go get a very large cup of coffee." John glares around and everybody looks like they're trying to avoid his gaze. "Are we good with that?"
Rodney ends up being last in the little line of people trying to flee before the snarky wrath of Sheppard. "Hey, Rodney," John drawls. "C'mere for a sec."
Rodney winces, freezes, and turns, trying to avoid the 'oh, crap' expression that he knows is covering his face. "Yeah?"
"I'm gonna get dressed now," John says quietly once the others have left the infirmary, a glint in his eye. "Then, there will be coffee, and then, I think you've earned yourself about four hundred hours of blowing me, wouldn't you say?"
Rodney tries not to grin hungrily at the prospect. "Oh, at least." He doesn't manage to avoid licking his lips.
"You know," John says thoughtfully, "I still have some emergency Pepsi in my quarters. Maybe we could skip the coffee."
"That's a very noble sacrifice, Colonel, and I thi--" Rodney stutters to a stop as John slides a finger over his mouth.
"Yeah. Less talking from you, too." John smirks, and Rodney wants to either hit him or hit that. "Let's go. I think you have an appointment. With my cock."
Rodney snorts. "I bet that works on all the exotic alien princesses."
"Nah," John says with a shrug, "Only you."
"I am not--" Rodney starts, then realizes that people can probably hear him, and turns the knob marked volume down to grumpy muttering "--I am not an exotic alien princess."
"You keep telling yourself that, Rodney," John says, standing up. "C'mon. Heel."
"You're never going to let me forget this, are you?"
"Nope. Although I have a pretty good idea that 'beg' and 'roll over' aren't going to be too hard for you."
Click on thumb
Authors:
- Round 1 - sardonicsmiley : "'-and then Colonel Sheppard [...] because you’re really heavy.'"
- Round 2 - jadesfire2808 : "Teyla gives him an odd look [...] trying to find out more about this.'"
- Round 3 - hyperfocused : "Once Teyla is out of sight, Rodney [...] That doesn't happen."
- Round 4 - anchiseswrites : "Rodney sniffs and wrinkles his nose [...] aren't going to be too hard for you.'"
Artists:
R1: strivaria
R2: refche
R3: midvacent
R4: clear_as_blood