(no subject)
Sweater kiss from aesc! Jam kiss from me!
SO. MANY. KISSES.
The team's browsing a farmer's market, of all things, and not because there are anomalous energy readings to check out or anything like that, but just because, well, it's a farmer's market, and so far none of the farmers have shown signs of wanting to kill them, and Atlantis could really use some variety in its diet. Rodney's torn between letting his mouth water and backing away slowly from the really, really pungent cheeses, the ribbed tubers, the big round green things that could be alien melons or alien ostrich eggs.
He trusts Teyla to know tasty from scary, though, so he keeps his hands to himself and keeps window shopping, and when he rounds a corner, there's Sheppard in front of a table of baked goods, tall and dark and stuffing a thick piece of bread spread with an almost-as-thick layer of some kind of jewel-red jam into his mouth and groaning like his taste buds might be having little orgasms.
He spots Rodney and waves him over with the bread still in his hand, says, "Want a bite? It's really good," or an approximation of that, since his mouth's still full, but he's holding the slice of bread under Rodney's nose. Rodney opens his mouth to ask about citrus, which Sheppard apparently takes as acquiescence, since he shoves a corner into Rodney's mouth, and Rodney's forced to take a bite, teeth grazing Sheppard's thumb. Rodney chews, and wow, it is good, sweet and tangy; he should make sure Teyla knows they want some of the preserves, especially since they'll probably store well-
Rodney chews and realizes that Sheppard's staring at him, staring at his mouth, and hey, it's Sheppard's own fault if Rodney has jam smeared on his face, the crazy bread-shoving son of a, except then Rodney's swallowing the rest of his mouthful in a hurry, ow, because Sheppard's leaning in, leaning in with intent, and his tongue's hot and wet on Rodney's lip, and he tastes like yeast and berries, and his thumb's leaving a sticky fingerprint on Rodney's cheek, and his eyes are closed, and his vest's pressed right up against Rodney's vest, and he must really, really, really like jam-and Rodney's really okay with that.
SO. MANY. KISSES.
The team's browsing a farmer's market, of all things, and not because there are anomalous energy readings to check out or anything like that, but just because, well, it's a farmer's market, and so far none of the farmers have shown signs of wanting to kill them, and Atlantis could really use some variety in its diet. Rodney's torn between letting his mouth water and backing away slowly from the really, really pungent cheeses, the ribbed tubers, the big round green things that could be alien melons or alien ostrich eggs.
He trusts Teyla to know tasty from scary, though, so he keeps his hands to himself and keeps window shopping, and when he rounds a corner, there's Sheppard in front of a table of baked goods, tall and dark and stuffing a thick piece of bread spread with an almost-as-thick layer of some kind of jewel-red jam into his mouth and groaning like his taste buds might be having little orgasms.
He spots Rodney and waves him over with the bread still in his hand, says, "Want a bite? It's really good," or an approximation of that, since his mouth's still full, but he's holding the slice of bread under Rodney's nose. Rodney opens his mouth to ask about citrus, which Sheppard apparently takes as acquiescence, since he shoves a corner into Rodney's mouth, and Rodney's forced to take a bite, teeth grazing Sheppard's thumb. Rodney chews, and wow, it is good, sweet and tangy; he should make sure Teyla knows they want some of the preserves, especially since they'll probably store well-
Rodney chews and realizes that Sheppard's staring at him, staring at his mouth, and hey, it's Sheppard's own fault if Rodney has jam smeared on his face, the crazy bread-shoving son of a, except then Rodney's swallowing the rest of his mouthful in a hurry, ow, because Sheppard's leaning in, leaning in with intent, and his tongue's hot and wet on Rodney's lip, and he tastes like yeast and berries, and his thumb's leaving a sticky fingerprint on Rodney's cheek, and his eyes are closed, and his vest's pressed right up against Rodney's vest, and he must really, really, really like jam-and Rodney's really okay with that.