SGA Fic: Out Of Bounds - John/Rodney - NC-17
Sorry, WG got sick last night and I ended up crashing early. Meant to post this last night. I also didn't check the kitty's dry food before I went to bed. His bowl was empty this morning, oh no!
Here's the fourth of four parts in that massive update.
The story in one file up to an earlier chapter: Out Of Bounds.
Title: Out Of Bounds
Author: Icarus
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: John/Rodney
Summary: "And the US Figure Skating Association would kill us both." -- "We'd be Zambonied into an ice rink somewhere."
A/N: Thank you to my intrepid and tireless betas, rabidfan and roaringmice. Welcome to the team, tingler
Previously in Out Of Bounds: Known more for his jumps than his artistry, figure skater John Sheppard hires ex-skating champion and "artiste" Rodney McKay to be his coach. Their teasing friendship warms into something more. At the Midwestern Sectional Championships, John is starry-eyed to be invited by the current women's National champion, Yvonne Shaefer, to do a charity show.
[ Previous][ Next]
Out Of Bounds
by Icarus
Rodney set John's suitcase down in the waiting area by the gate. He'd insisted on carrying it, which was weird, but hey, John wasn't complaining.
Jazzed up Christmas carols played over the airport loudspeakers. All the gift shops down the concourse were decorated with wreathes, holiday mug displays, and spray-on fake snow. There were more kids traveling this time of year, John noted, watching a toddler stumble next to his dad. The man scooped him up and strode faster with that god-I-hope-we-make-this-flight speed.
"I'd come with you to hold your hand, but Bethany...." Rodney tilted his head, obviously pleased as punch with her second place win. He was going to stay behind to work on her program.
"I'll try not to fall on my ass and embarrass myself," John smiled, and hefted his backpack over his shoulder. He felt like a college kid going off to school for the first time.
"Try not to embarrass me, you mean. These are some of the best in the business you'll be skating with," Rodney said, "and Yvonne's no slouch either."
"Gee thanks, Rodney, I wouldn't want to be nervous or anything," John said.
They stared at each other a long moment. The first class passengers were already lining up. A woman in uniform behind the little counter said, "Air Canada flight 405 to New York, now boarding at gate seven. Air Canada flight 405 to New York, now boarding. Gate seven." Her voice cut through the Christmas music, rendered electronic and mechanical. The click as she hung up was amplified.
"Well," Rodney said, shifting his feet uncomfortably.
"Yeah," John said.
"Have a good trip?" Rodney said, voice rising in a question, like he wasn't sure it was the right thing to say.
"'Kay," John said, with a nod.
Rodney reached over and patted him awkwardly on the arm.
On impulse, John leaned in and kissed him, first one cheek, then the other. He picked up his carryon bag and adjusted his grip. "We'll just say we're French," John said.
"Oui," Rodney said, looking shell-shocked.
~*~*~
"My goodness, he's tall." Devon, the assistant director, shook dishwater blond curls out of his eyes.
He folded the top closed on one of the boxes they'd recalled from storage, marked "Programs, Men's." In the background the hiss of skates and chatter of rehearsal competed with Celine Dion's 'My Heart Will Go On.' Someone had learned the lesson that popular movies made for popular programs, and what could be bigger than Titanic?
"I have nothing for Sheppard in costume." Devon dropped his arms. "Not even from last year."
"I do." His partner Alex-Alexander to those who'd followed his short skating career-held up a glittering black skating dress to his chest, swinging it. "One size fits all."
"Ha, ha. Although if you could talk him into it, I'd call you a genius."
"And the US Figure Skating Association would kill us both," Alex said.
"We'd be Zambonied into an ice rink somewhere," Devon agreed, then sighed heavily. "He's a bottom of the barrel skater tacked on at the last minute, he's been to none of the rehearsals, and he has no experience with ice shows whatsoever."
"Probably sleeping with Yvonne." Alex sniffed, folding the skating dress away in the box.
"No doubt." Devon shook his head and said, decisive, "Put Sheppard on the ice with Yvonne. She wants him? He's her problem."
"He isn't a pairs skater. We want to humiliate her, not kill her," Alex pointed out. "Keep him out of the opening number?" he added in a tone that suggested it wasn't really a question.
"Oh, hell, he is not screwing up our opening. We can take some dead air in the middle, right after intermission," Devon said. "People will still be trickling in from the bathrooms."
There was a cough behind them. "Um. You do know that I'm right here, right?"
They turned to find John Sheppard, tall and larger than life, standing in the doorway, an amused glint in his eye.
"Hi! Welcome aboard, John!" Devon tried for sincere, missing it by a breathless mile.
"Yes, and good luck to you," Alex added with a more honest sneer.
"I just mean that I, well, I have done some pairs," John said with a hand out in a reassuring gesture as if to appease the natives.
"Oh?" Alex sounded doubtful.
"What can you do?" Devon asked. His false cheer shifted to curiosity. He had a show to put on in less than two weeks.
"None of the lifts, of course," John admitted, "but the death spiral, and I'm pretty good with the side by side spins and jumps...."
The two looked at each other, elated and relieved all at once.
"...The thing is," John forestalled them, digging his skate guard into the rubber mat. "I've mostly done the spiral part of the death spiral."
Their gasp was probably due to happiness, but it was hard to tell. They started chattering to each other, as excited as puppies.
"Do you think she could pull it off?" Devon said.
"Not a chance," Alex said, sounding less certain than his words, a hand to his mouth.
"Let's go ask her," Devon said.
They scrambled through the door, bumping around John, looking up apologetically as they passed.
John called after them: "Thanks for not putting me in a dress!"
Devon fired back with a naughty smile over his shoulder, "No promises!"
~*~*~
The director wore a merino wool sweater with a scarf thrown around his neck like a World War I flying ace. Multi-colored shadows traced his high cheekbones and prominent Adam's apple as the technicians changed the lights from green to blue and back to green again. He scanned the rehearsal with crinkled eyes, examining the skaters currently in a freeskate session between group numbers.
He raised his hand to his nose and pointed. "That tall skater... the pretty one, with the light socket hair?"
Devon scooted closer, listening emphatically. "Yvonne's friend?"
"Put him in the closing."
"Sheppard? Really? You want him in the opening, too?"
"God, no." He gave a curt shake of his head. "But he has the right... mmm..." He rubbed his fingertips together. "... feel for the Death of Titanic. And I want him in black." Devon opened his mouth. "Yes. I know. You had a problem with sizing."
"We were lucky to find that pirate costume," Devon complained.
"Check the pairs boxes. The men in pairs tend to be taller. But ultimately I don't care if you have to pull it off the half-price rack at Macy's and pin the sequins on. I want him as one of my dying passengers. Now. Bring on the doomed." He scratched his head. "Why didn't anyone tell me he could do the jumps?"
Devon called out through hands curled like a megaphone, "Doomed and dying passengers, front and center for a pow-pow!" He clapped twice. "That includes you, Sheppard!"
"What?" John flubbed the tail-end of his leap into a spin, barely catching himself before he fell.
Devon just made a quick cupping gesture with one hand, motioning him over. He shrugged.
The six or seven men stroked to the far end of the rink at different speeds, collecting in a half circle around the director. John caught up with them, legs evenly apart as he glided over. He rubbed at his sweaty hair with his sleeve, and snowplowed to a stop.
"Now when the Titanic sinks," the director told them, "The staggered jumps symbolize people jumping to their deaths. They need to be brave jumps; tragic jumps. I need a sense of desperation from all of you...."
~*~*~
"My work with Bethany is going well, thanks for asking."
"I didn't ask."
"Yes, I noticed that. So how's 'show business' these days?"
"The hotel is really nice," John said in a tone of surprise. He roamed his hotel room, duly impressed. The lobby had looked like a Swiss chalet with a sunken living room and inviting fireplace. John's room had a sledding theme. Even the oak bed looked like it could be pulled by Santa. "The TV works and it's... decorated. They even had the sheets turned down when I came in."
"Did you get a fruit basket? Flowers?" Rodney snapped his fingers impatiently.
"Nuh-uh. One of those gift bags, the kind you buy when you don't want to mess with tape," John said, digging into his. In addition to snacks and some swag emblazoned with the charity logo, they'd thoughtfully included items he might have forgotten, such as a spare toothbrush and small comb.
He played with a logo key chain light, clicking it on and off.
"Hmph. They're cheaping out these days," Rodney sniffed. "Or maybe the star gets better treatment. I was always the headliner."
John puzzled. "Shouldn't they be spending all this on the charity?"
"Whatever for? We all go to these things for the goodies."
"I thought it was for a good cause." John rested his hand on his hip.
"Yes, yes, noble cause, we should all be canonized for spending an extra three hours on what we do anyway," Rodney said. There was the sound of his opening the refrigerator door back home, followed by the hiss of what sounded suspiciously like one of John's beers being opened. "How's the show?"
"Get this. They're doing the Titanic."
"A teensy-weensy bit cheesy, eh?"
"Oh, we left cheesy in the rear view mirror with the Celine Dion," John assured him. He ducked his head, a laugh escaping him. "They've got this 'Titanic,' I swear it's paper maché, and - well, you know how a duck looks with its butt in the air? There's this ass-end of a ship they roll out for the closing. "
Rodney's breath hissed wincingly through his teeth. "I don't see how anyone could pull off a 'Titanic on Ice.' I mean, it's a simple matter of scale."
"Well, that thing's big alright." John put his hand over his eyes, smiling and snickering. "Must take up a third of the arena, and we've got the whole cast out there."
"Uh-oh. Any collisions?"
"It's only a matter of time." John shook his head slowly, grinning. "I just hope there won't be any major ones opening night."
Rodney's voice was amused and knowing. "Enjoying ourselves, are we?"
John's grin widened into a beaming smile. "Can't wait to do it again next year."
~*~*~
The lights were dim with just a deep blue spotlight at center ice. There was a murmur from the arena. People were still returning from the snack stands. Soft white lights around the edges of the rink were due to come up on their entrance. Which John was grateful for, because he was pretty sure he'd skate right into the boards if it stayed this dark. Competitions were lit well enough for surgery.
"Just one question." John leaned closer to Yvonne. He'd gotten to know her over the last week; a nice enough kid whose intrusive mom hovered, twenty-four seven. "What does a pirate have to do with the Titanic?" He shook his puffed sleeves and grinned. "New theory why it sank?"
Yvonne dimpled at him. "I think it was the only costume they could find to fit you."
"Ah...." John nodded sagely.
"But, hey, you should be honored. That's the costume Candeloro wore last year."
John wrinkled his nose. "Is that why it's so ripe?"
She spluttered and punched his shoulder. "Don't make me laugh, we're on in thirty seconds."
John squinted into the dark, bobbing his head back and forth. "I don't think everyone's back yet...."
[ Previous][ Next]
My Heart Will Go On - Celine Dion (I'm sorry, but I had to include it to get the full effect)
Irish Party in Third Class - Gaelic Storm (John's skate)
Death of Titanic - James Horner (the cast program)
Here's the fourth of four parts in that massive update.
The story in one file up to an earlier chapter: Out Of Bounds.
Title: Out Of Bounds
Author: Icarus
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: John/Rodney
Summary: "And the US Figure Skating Association would kill us both." -- "We'd be Zambonied into an ice rink somewhere."
A/N: Thank you to my intrepid and tireless betas, rabidfan and roaringmice. Welcome to the team, tingler
Previously in Out Of Bounds: Known more for his jumps than his artistry, figure skater John Sheppard hires ex-skating champion and "artiste" Rodney McKay to be his coach. Their teasing friendship warms into something more. At the Midwestern Sectional Championships, John is starry-eyed to be invited by the current women's National champion, Yvonne Shaefer, to do a charity show.
[ Previous][ Next]
Out Of Bounds
by Icarus
Rodney set John's suitcase down in the waiting area by the gate. He'd insisted on carrying it, which was weird, but hey, John wasn't complaining.
Jazzed up Christmas carols played over the airport loudspeakers. All the gift shops down the concourse were decorated with wreathes, holiday mug displays, and spray-on fake snow. There were more kids traveling this time of year, John noted, watching a toddler stumble next to his dad. The man scooped him up and strode faster with that god-I-hope-we-make-this-flight speed.
"I'd come with you to hold your hand, but Bethany...." Rodney tilted his head, obviously pleased as punch with her second place win. He was going to stay behind to work on her program.
"I'll try not to fall on my ass and embarrass myself," John smiled, and hefted his backpack over his shoulder. He felt like a college kid going off to school for the first time.
"Try not to embarrass me, you mean. These are some of the best in the business you'll be skating with," Rodney said, "and Yvonne's no slouch either."
"Gee thanks, Rodney, I wouldn't want to be nervous or anything," John said.
They stared at each other a long moment. The first class passengers were already lining up. A woman in uniform behind the little counter said, "Air Canada flight 405 to New York, now boarding at gate seven. Air Canada flight 405 to New York, now boarding. Gate seven." Her voice cut through the Christmas music, rendered electronic and mechanical. The click as she hung up was amplified.
"Well," Rodney said, shifting his feet uncomfortably.
"Yeah," John said.
"Have a good trip?" Rodney said, voice rising in a question, like he wasn't sure it was the right thing to say.
"'Kay," John said, with a nod.
Rodney reached over and patted him awkwardly on the arm.
On impulse, John leaned in and kissed him, first one cheek, then the other. He picked up his carryon bag and adjusted his grip. "We'll just say we're French," John said.
"Oui," Rodney said, looking shell-shocked.
~*~*~
"My goodness, he's tall." Devon, the assistant director, shook dishwater blond curls out of his eyes.
He folded the top closed on one of the boxes they'd recalled from storage, marked "Programs, Men's." In the background the hiss of skates and chatter of rehearsal competed with Celine Dion's 'My Heart Will Go On.' Someone had learned the lesson that popular movies made for popular programs, and what could be bigger than Titanic?
"I have nothing for Sheppard in costume." Devon dropped his arms. "Not even from last year."
"I do." His partner Alex-Alexander to those who'd followed his short skating career-held up a glittering black skating dress to his chest, swinging it. "One size fits all."
"Ha, ha. Although if you could talk him into it, I'd call you a genius."
"And the US Figure Skating Association would kill us both," Alex said.
"We'd be Zambonied into an ice rink somewhere," Devon agreed, then sighed heavily. "He's a bottom of the barrel skater tacked on at the last minute, he's been to none of the rehearsals, and he has no experience with ice shows whatsoever."
"Probably sleeping with Yvonne." Alex sniffed, folding the skating dress away in the box.
"No doubt." Devon shook his head and said, decisive, "Put Sheppard on the ice with Yvonne. She wants him? He's her problem."
"He isn't a pairs skater. We want to humiliate her, not kill her," Alex pointed out. "Keep him out of the opening number?" he added in a tone that suggested it wasn't really a question.
"Oh, hell, he is not screwing up our opening. We can take some dead air in the middle, right after intermission," Devon said. "People will still be trickling in from the bathrooms."
There was a cough behind them. "Um. You do know that I'm right here, right?"
They turned to find John Sheppard, tall and larger than life, standing in the doorway, an amused glint in his eye.
"Hi! Welcome aboard, John!" Devon tried for sincere, missing it by a breathless mile.
"Yes, and good luck to you," Alex added with a more honest sneer.
"I just mean that I, well, I have done some pairs," John said with a hand out in a reassuring gesture as if to appease the natives.
"Oh?" Alex sounded doubtful.
"What can you do?" Devon asked. His false cheer shifted to curiosity. He had a show to put on in less than two weeks.
"None of the lifts, of course," John admitted, "but the death spiral, and I'm pretty good with the side by side spins and jumps...."
The two looked at each other, elated and relieved all at once.
"...The thing is," John forestalled them, digging his skate guard into the rubber mat. "I've mostly done the spiral part of the death spiral."
Their gasp was probably due to happiness, but it was hard to tell. They started chattering to each other, as excited as puppies.
"Do you think she could pull it off?" Devon said.
"Not a chance," Alex said, sounding less certain than his words, a hand to his mouth.
"Let's go ask her," Devon said.
They scrambled through the door, bumping around John, looking up apologetically as they passed.
John called after them: "Thanks for not putting me in a dress!"
Devon fired back with a naughty smile over his shoulder, "No promises!"
~*~*~
The director wore a merino wool sweater with a scarf thrown around his neck like a World War I flying ace. Multi-colored shadows traced his high cheekbones and prominent Adam's apple as the technicians changed the lights from green to blue and back to green again. He scanned the rehearsal with crinkled eyes, examining the skaters currently in a freeskate session between group numbers.
He raised his hand to his nose and pointed. "That tall skater... the pretty one, with the light socket hair?"
Devon scooted closer, listening emphatically. "Yvonne's friend?"
"Put him in the closing."
"Sheppard? Really? You want him in the opening, too?"
"God, no." He gave a curt shake of his head. "But he has the right... mmm..." He rubbed his fingertips together. "... feel for the Death of Titanic. And I want him in black." Devon opened his mouth. "Yes. I know. You had a problem with sizing."
"We were lucky to find that pirate costume," Devon complained.
"Check the pairs boxes. The men in pairs tend to be taller. But ultimately I don't care if you have to pull it off the half-price rack at Macy's and pin the sequins on. I want him as one of my dying passengers. Now. Bring on the doomed." He scratched his head. "Why didn't anyone tell me he could do the jumps?"
Devon called out through hands curled like a megaphone, "Doomed and dying passengers, front and center for a pow-pow!" He clapped twice. "That includes you, Sheppard!"
"What?" John flubbed the tail-end of his leap into a spin, barely catching himself before he fell.
Devon just made a quick cupping gesture with one hand, motioning him over. He shrugged.
The six or seven men stroked to the far end of the rink at different speeds, collecting in a half circle around the director. John caught up with them, legs evenly apart as he glided over. He rubbed at his sweaty hair with his sleeve, and snowplowed to a stop.
"Now when the Titanic sinks," the director told them, "The staggered jumps symbolize people jumping to their deaths. They need to be brave jumps; tragic jumps. I need a sense of desperation from all of you...."
~*~*~
"My work with Bethany is going well, thanks for asking."
"I didn't ask."
"Yes, I noticed that. So how's 'show business' these days?"
"The hotel is really nice," John said in a tone of surprise. He roamed his hotel room, duly impressed. The lobby had looked like a Swiss chalet with a sunken living room and inviting fireplace. John's room had a sledding theme. Even the oak bed looked like it could be pulled by Santa. "The TV works and it's... decorated. They even had the sheets turned down when I came in."
"Did you get a fruit basket? Flowers?" Rodney snapped his fingers impatiently.
"Nuh-uh. One of those gift bags, the kind you buy when you don't want to mess with tape," John said, digging into his. In addition to snacks and some swag emblazoned with the charity logo, they'd thoughtfully included items he might have forgotten, such as a spare toothbrush and small comb.
He played with a logo key chain light, clicking it on and off.
"Hmph. They're cheaping out these days," Rodney sniffed. "Or maybe the star gets better treatment. I was always the headliner."
John puzzled. "Shouldn't they be spending all this on the charity?"
"Whatever for? We all go to these things for the goodies."
"I thought it was for a good cause." John rested his hand on his hip.
"Yes, yes, noble cause, we should all be canonized for spending an extra three hours on what we do anyway," Rodney said. There was the sound of his opening the refrigerator door back home, followed by the hiss of what sounded suspiciously like one of John's beers being opened. "How's the show?"
"Get this. They're doing the Titanic."
"A teensy-weensy bit cheesy, eh?"
"Oh, we left cheesy in the rear view mirror with the Celine Dion," John assured him. He ducked his head, a laugh escaping him. "They've got this 'Titanic,' I swear it's paper maché, and - well, you know how a duck looks with its butt in the air? There's this ass-end of a ship they roll out for the closing. "
Rodney's breath hissed wincingly through his teeth. "I don't see how anyone could pull off a 'Titanic on Ice.' I mean, it's a simple matter of scale."
"Well, that thing's big alright." John put his hand over his eyes, smiling and snickering. "Must take up a third of the arena, and we've got the whole cast out there."
"Uh-oh. Any collisions?"
"It's only a matter of time." John shook his head slowly, grinning. "I just hope there won't be any major ones opening night."
Rodney's voice was amused and knowing. "Enjoying ourselves, are we?"
John's grin widened into a beaming smile. "Can't wait to do it again next year."
~*~*~
The lights were dim with just a deep blue spotlight at center ice. There was a murmur from the arena. People were still returning from the snack stands. Soft white lights around the edges of the rink were due to come up on their entrance. Which John was grateful for, because he was pretty sure he'd skate right into the boards if it stayed this dark. Competitions were lit well enough for surgery.
"Just one question." John leaned closer to Yvonne. He'd gotten to know her over the last week; a nice enough kid whose intrusive mom hovered, twenty-four seven. "What does a pirate have to do with the Titanic?" He shook his puffed sleeves and grinned. "New theory why it sank?"
Yvonne dimpled at him. "I think it was the only costume they could find to fit you."
"Ah...." John nodded sagely.
"But, hey, you should be honored. That's the costume Candeloro wore last year."
John wrinkled his nose. "Is that why it's so ripe?"
She spluttered and punched his shoulder. "Don't make me laugh, we're on in thirty seconds."
John squinted into the dark, bobbing his head back and forth. "I don't think everyone's back yet...."
[ Previous][ Next]
My Heart Will Go On - Celine Dion (I'm sorry, but I had to include it to get the full effect)
Irish Party in Third Class - Gaelic Storm (John's skate)
Death of Titanic - James Horner (the cast program)