SGA Fic: Lists and Candy Bars
John/Rodney, rated R, 1385 words.
This is for Madelyn, who I love more than chocolate.
Lists and Candy Bars
Rodney started making lists when he was thirteen. Back then they said things like Mark Wooster will be cleaning my office at MIT and Sarah Duffey isn't that sexy; she barely passed calculus. And when he was fourteen and one sixth, Jeannie found them and read them aloud, dancing around his room in her Rick Springfield t-shirt and yelling, “Oh, god, you really are that petty,” and “No, I will not be a grocery store bagger, you ass!”
After that he hid them, and when he found her snooping around his room again, he hunted down her diary and made copies of it for blackmail purposes, which he still has back in his apartment on Earth.
Now Rodney has a list that he keeps in his top drawer. Well, Rodney has a lot of lists and most are in his top drawer. They say things like bribe Daedalus for more coffee and disprove Helenberg's Theory of H.P.E., and they're written on post-its and scraps of paper and napkins with cherry filling stains in the corner. Under those is the other list. Some lines are written and then marked out, some are underlined for emphasis, and a few lines are in all caps. The paper's been crumpled and thrown across the room, and it's missing an edge from getting slammed in the drawer.
Of all Rodney's lists, that's the one that he looks at most often, it's the one that he adds to on a regular basis. He has it out again, the third time this week, and he's to the margins now.
The list itself is incriminating and possibly dangerous to have with snoops like Simpson, who loves gossip, and Kavanagh, who Rodney knows is just waiting for a chance to sneak into his desk and steal his work in a fit of professional jealousy. Still, Rodney doesn't throw it away. He reminds himself of the code on the drawer and the other code on the bottom hatch of *that* drawer that keeps it safe.
If Radek got more curious there could be trouble, but Rodney keeps his chocolate and coffee in his second drawer, and that's the one Radek's working on.
* * *
There are more important uses for Rodney's time, and he's aware that every second he spends on the list is one second taken away from his work, but he sees them fall one right after another. Elizabeth and the zoologist with the dark, curly hair that Rodney wants to touch, Ronon and Heightmeyer, and when he walked into the lab yesterday, John was leaning by his desk with coffee, talking to Radek, and Radek was giving him The Eye. The nurses, both male and female, stop to smile and flirt when John walks down the hall, and even Atlantis seems to open doors for him a little faster than it does for anyone else and become a little brighter whenever John's in the room.
So when Rodney comes back from a meeting with Elizabeth and finds John in the lab, leaning over his papers and talking to Miko and Simpson about poker, the first thing he thinks is “...” while staring at John's ass, the second is “he's been here twice in two days,” and the third is “conspiracy!”
“Don't you have things to do, Colonel? Some of us actually have important work and can't slouch around-”
John smiles like he's in the middle of a really good porn movie and interrupts, “If you want me to leave so you can get back to work...”
It takes a blink for Rodney to focus on something other than John in porn, but when he does, he sees John with something in his hand that's dark, covered in a wrapper, and oh god, he smells chocolate. “Is that?”
“Cadman got a box in today from the Daedalus, but if you're not interested, that's fine. I'm sure Ronon --”
Rodney's grabbing it out of John's hand and tries to scowl, but it's a Oh Henry.
* * *
It's not harder to add to the list after that-Rodney can depend on John to make stupid decisions and say something irritating at least once a week, if not once a day-but he's taken to hanging around the lab when he's not jogging around all sweaty with Ronon or practicing with Teyla. The slouching and smiling and leaning against things with his shirt riding up is a distraction, and it's even worse when he leans over Rodney's shoulder and says something about the equations Rodney's working on. It makes Rodney instantly hard like he hasn't been since he was fifteen, more from the way math sounds on John's tongue than from John's hot breath against his cheek, but it makes him snappier and crankier until Radek says, “Leave. Get food before one of us beats you over the head with the laptop and ruins good equipment.”
And that would be fine except that John leaves with him, and watching John eat means that he spends twenty minutes watching John lick his lips and laugh and raise his eyebrows in that taunting way that makes Rodney want to smack him upside the head and bend him over the table.
So Rodney ends up excusing himself early so he can go back to his room, his pants unzipped and his hands on his cock as soon as the door's shut, John's tanned neck and mouth and hands all Rodney can see.
* * *
It takes three weeks of frustrating nights, jacking off like a teenager with his legs spread wide and his voice quiet, before Rodney comes to the conclusion that John's doing it on purpose. John's friendly-obviously since he has alien tramps throwing themselves at him every time they step out of the stargate-but he didn't use to stand so close or make excuses to lean over Rodney, rubbing against him more than necessary, and that must mean something.
And if John were someone else Rodney would have made the first move already, but John's in the Air Force and even if it's the US. Military's version of summer camp, they're still not waving the rainbow flag. More than that, John's his friend and he's the military leader on Atlantis, and if Rodney's wrong this will be incredibly uncomfortable for both of them.
Rodney stays up to far too long at night weighing the pros and cons and trying to figure out a mathematical formula that would tell him the odds of it all going wrong before giving up and falling asleep, and the next day when he walks into his office, he unlocks his top drawer and the inside compartment and writes at the bottom of the sheet: Probability of disaster: high.
* * *
It only takes three days of ignoring John and making himself scarce in the lab, going to out of the way areas where there's always something to work on, to fix, to adjust, for John to come to him.
Rodney's leaning over a power generator, measuring its output when he hears, “You've been avoiding me.”
“I've been busy. Some of us have important jobs that keep Atlantis running and don't have time to slouch around other people's work places, disrupting things.”
“Hmm,” John says,and Rodney stubbornly does not turn around and look at him, and because he doesn't, he has no warning when John touches his shoulder and leans down to see what he's working on.
John smells like sweat and warm air and the oil they use on their guns, and Rodney doesn't know which smell makes him snap, but he does, turning around and pressing his mouth against John's, his brain registering John's lips against his--the bottom one a little rough, chapped--at the same time his brain starts flashing red lights and screaming “Remember the list!”
And then they are stumbling and fumbling and John's trying to talk and somehow they end up against the wall with their pants down to their thighs, which even looks ridiculous on someone as unnaturally attractive as John, hands moving restlessly against each other's skin, and the last rational thought Rodney has before John drops to his knees is an addendum to the last addition to his list: Probability of disaster: high but worth the risk.
This is for Madelyn, who I love more than chocolate.
Lists and Candy Bars
Rodney started making lists when he was thirteen. Back then they said things like Mark Wooster will be cleaning my office at MIT and Sarah Duffey isn't that sexy; she barely passed calculus. And when he was fourteen and one sixth, Jeannie found them and read them aloud, dancing around his room in her Rick Springfield t-shirt and yelling, “Oh, god, you really are that petty,” and “No, I will not be a grocery store bagger, you ass!”
After that he hid them, and when he found her snooping around his room again, he hunted down her diary and made copies of it for blackmail purposes, which he still has back in his apartment on Earth.
Now Rodney has a list that he keeps in his top drawer. Well, Rodney has a lot of lists and most are in his top drawer. They say things like bribe Daedalus for more coffee and disprove Helenberg's Theory of H.P.E., and they're written on post-its and scraps of paper and napkins with cherry filling stains in the corner. Under those is the other list. Some lines are written and then marked out, some are underlined for emphasis, and a few lines are in all caps. The paper's been crumpled and thrown across the room, and it's missing an edge from getting slammed in the drawer.
Of all Rodney's lists, that's the one that he looks at most often, it's the one that he adds to on a regular basis. He has it out again, the third time this week, and he's to the margins now.
The list itself is incriminating and possibly dangerous to have with snoops like Simpson, who loves gossip, and Kavanagh, who Rodney knows is just waiting for a chance to sneak into his desk and steal his work in a fit of professional jealousy. Still, Rodney doesn't throw it away. He reminds himself of the code on the drawer and the other code on the bottom hatch of *that* drawer that keeps it safe.
If Radek got more curious there could be trouble, but Rodney keeps his chocolate and coffee in his second drawer, and that's the one Radek's working on.
* * *
There are more important uses for Rodney's time, and he's aware that every second he spends on the list is one second taken away from his work, but he sees them fall one right after another. Elizabeth and the zoologist with the dark, curly hair that Rodney wants to touch, Ronon and Heightmeyer, and when he walked into the lab yesterday, John was leaning by his desk with coffee, talking to Radek, and Radek was giving him The Eye. The nurses, both male and female, stop to smile and flirt when John walks down the hall, and even Atlantis seems to open doors for him a little faster than it does for anyone else and become a little brighter whenever John's in the room.
So when Rodney comes back from a meeting with Elizabeth and finds John in the lab, leaning over his papers and talking to Miko and Simpson about poker, the first thing he thinks is “...” while staring at John's ass, the second is “he's been here twice in two days,” and the third is “conspiracy!”
“Don't you have things to do, Colonel? Some of us actually have important work and can't slouch around-”
John smiles like he's in the middle of a really good porn movie and interrupts, “If you want me to leave so you can get back to work...”
It takes a blink for Rodney to focus on something other than John in porn, but when he does, he sees John with something in his hand that's dark, covered in a wrapper, and oh god, he smells chocolate. “Is that?”
“Cadman got a box in today from the Daedalus, but if you're not interested, that's fine. I'm sure Ronon --”
Rodney's grabbing it out of John's hand and tries to scowl, but it's a Oh Henry.
* * *
It's not harder to add to the list after that-Rodney can depend on John to make stupid decisions and say something irritating at least once a week, if not once a day-but he's taken to hanging around the lab when he's not jogging around all sweaty with Ronon or practicing with Teyla. The slouching and smiling and leaning against things with his shirt riding up is a distraction, and it's even worse when he leans over Rodney's shoulder and says something about the equations Rodney's working on. It makes Rodney instantly hard like he hasn't been since he was fifteen, more from the way math sounds on John's tongue than from John's hot breath against his cheek, but it makes him snappier and crankier until Radek says, “Leave. Get food before one of us beats you over the head with the laptop and ruins good equipment.”
And that would be fine except that John leaves with him, and watching John eat means that he spends twenty minutes watching John lick his lips and laugh and raise his eyebrows in that taunting way that makes Rodney want to smack him upside the head and bend him over the table.
So Rodney ends up excusing himself early so he can go back to his room, his pants unzipped and his hands on his cock as soon as the door's shut, John's tanned neck and mouth and hands all Rodney can see.
* * *
It takes three weeks of frustrating nights, jacking off like a teenager with his legs spread wide and his voice quiet, before Rodney comes to the conclusion that John's doing it on purpose. John's friendly-obviously since he has alien tramps throwing themselves at him every time they step out of the stargate-but he didn't use to stand so close or make excuses to lean over Rodney, rubbing against him more than necessary, and that must mean something.
And if John were someone else Rodney would have made the first move already, but John's in the Air Force and even if it's the US. Military's version of summer camp, they're still not waving the rainbow flag. More than that, John's his friend and he's the military leader on Atlantis, and if Rodney's wrong this will be incredibly uncomfortable for both of them.
Rodney stays up to far too long at night weighing the pros and cons and trying to figure out a mathematical formula that would tell him the odds of it all going wrong before giving up and falling asleep, and the next day when he walks into his office, he unlocks his top drawer and the inside compartment and writes at the bottom of the sheet: Probability of disaster: high.
* * *
It only takes three days of ignoring John and making himself scarce in the lab, going to out of the way areas where there's always something to work on, to fix, to adjust, for John to come to him.
Rodney's leaning over a power generator, measuring its output when he hears, “You've been avoiding me.”
“I've been busy. Some of us have important jobs that keep Atlantis running and don't have time to slouch around other people's work places, disrupting things.”
“Hmm,” John says,and Rodney stubbornly does not turn around and look at him, and because he doesn't, he has no warning when John touches his shoulder and leans down to see what he's working on.
John smells like sweat and warm air and the oil they use on their guns, and Rodney doesn't know which smell makes him snap, but he does, turning around and pressing his mouth against John's, his brain registering John's lips against his--the bottom one a little rough, chapped--at the same time his brain starts flashing red lights and screaming “Remember the list!”
And then they are stumbling and fumbling and John's trying to talk and somehow they end up against the wall with their pants down to their thighs, which even looks ridiculous on someone as unnaturally attractive as John, hands moving restlessly against each other's skin, and the last rational thought Rodney has before John drops to his knees is an addendum to the last addition to his list: Probability of disaster: high but worth the risk.