(no subject)
John/Rodney, ~415 words
Touch Me Like I Touch You
John caught the movement out of the corner of his eye, Rodney tripping over a rock or a root while walking with his nose practically pressed to his tablet screen, tripping pretty spectacularly, and he would have hit the ground face-first, but John grabbed him, hooked a hand just above his elbow to steady him, gripping warm skin and his t-shirt sleeve, and Rodney flushed and muttered and nearly stumbled again.
John said, "You okay there, McKay?" but Rodney was already pulling out of his grasp, following readings on the tablet and veering left, and John shook his head and followed.
* * *
John found Rodney working in one of the jumpers, hunched over on the floor, and he hadn't meant to surprise him at all, but he got right up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder and said "What's up, McKay?" before Rodney jerked and turned, John's thumb sliding against his bare neck for a second, and Rodney dropped the crystals and the tool he'd been poking at them with in a clatter. Rodney scowled so hard and his face got so red that John didn't even say anything about someone's butterfingers, just surrendered, held up his hands and found somewhere else to be fast.
* * *
At lunch, John went to stop Rodney as he got up from the table, just to remind him about their pre-mission briefing before he rushed back to the lab, barely grazed his wrist, and Rodney shied away and backed right into Cadman and her full tray of food, left John reaching for empty air.
* * *
Rodney was, for once, the first one in the conference room before staff meeting, engrossed in something on his laptop, and John peered over his shoulder, said, "Hey, how are those simulations coming, buddy?" and found himself flat on his ass, wind knocked out of him where Rodney's chair had caught him hard in the chest. And then Rodney was holding out a hand to him, and he could feel Rodney's fingertips brushing the hairs on the back of his hand, could feel the press of every whorl and callus and crease, the heat transfer between their clasped palms, and John was standing now, but Rodney didn't let go, didn't stop looking right at him until John blinked a couple of times-blinked, and Rodney's cheeks were pink, blinked, and Rodney's mouth quirked up a little, blinked, and Rodney didn't let go-and John sucked in a breath, felt the ache in his chest, said, "Oh. Oh."
Touch Me Like I Touch You
John caught the movement out of the corner of his eye, Rodney tripping over a rock or a root while walking with his nose practically pressed to his tablet screen, tripping pretty spectacularly, and he would have hit the ground face-first, but John grabbed him, hooked a hand just above his elbow to steady him, gripping warm skin and his t-shirt sleeve, and Rodney flushed and muttered and nearly stumbled again.
John said, "You okay there, McKay?" but Rodney was already pulling out of his grasp, following readings on the tablet and veering left, and John shook his head and followed.
* * *
John found Rodney working in one of the jumpers, hunched over on the floor, and he hadn't meant to surprise him at all, but he got right up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder and said "What's up, McKay?" before Rodney jerked and turned, John's thumb sliding against his bare neck for a second, and Rodney dropped the crystals and the tool he'd been poking at them with in a clatter. Rodney scowled so hard and his face got so red that John didn't even say anything about someone's butterfingers, just surrendered, held up his hands and found somewhere else to be fast.
* * *
At lunch, John went to stop Rodney as he got up from the table, just to remind him about their pre-mission briefing before he rushed back to the lab, barely grazed his wrist, and Rodney shied away and backed right into Cadman and her full tray of food, left John reaching for empty air.
* * *
Rodney was, for once, the first one in the conference room before staff meeting, engrossed in something on his laptop, and John peered over his shoulder, said, "Hey, how are those simulations coming, buddy?" and found himself flat on his ass, wind knocked out of him where Rodney's chair had caught him hard in the chest. And then Rodney was holding out a hand to him, and he could feel Rodney's fingertips brushing the hairs on the back of his hand, could feel the press of every whorl and callus and crease, the heat transfer between their clasped palms, and John was standing now, but Rodney didn't let go, didn't stop looking right at him until John blinked a couple of times-blinked, and Rodney's cheeks were pink, blinked, and Rodney's mouth quirked up a little, blinked, and Rodney didn't let go-and John sucked in a breath, felt the ache in his chest, said, "Oh. Oh."