Fic: Disarray
Title: Disarray
Author: Corona
Fandom: SGA
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: In no way mine or anything to do with me. I own nothing.
Summary: "We've clearly been drugged by the indigenous peoples."
AN: Inappropriate hair fondling that master_kogane lured me into doing, I failed at resisting.
The tea they were given was nice, really, really nice.
But it is making walking back to the gate a little problematic.
John keeps gently colliding with Rodney, who makes loud undignified noises and occasionally squawks a complicated insult concerning his forward motion. But then Rodney will promptly come into range like an orbiting planet and smack into John in turn.
After fifteen minutes John decides that clearly progress is being stretched to its absolute extreme definition and they stop in a clearing to shake off alien beverages, and possibly also relearn how to walk.
It takes him three tries to sit down.
Rodney doesn't so much try as fail. He's annoyed about it for a loud moment. Before he finds something else to focus on.
"Is it just me or is the grass moving?"
"It's the wind," John hazards, though he's fairly sure the wind wouldn't make it do what it's currently doing, sort of splashing, like a grass wave.
"I think we've been drugged by the indigenous peoples," Rodney frowns at him, affronted and annoyed and surprised. John waits for the panic to start; he even has something helpful and calming on the tip of his tongue.
But it doesn't come.
"We haven't been drugged," he says instead, but honestly he's not all that sure about it. At least not on purpose. It was good tea, and there was no reason to suspect it was anything other than tea.
Tea should be harmless. Tea should not contain surprise pharmaceuticals that make the grass do that and his legs do that. Really there should be no tea surprises, at all.
"How many fingers," Rodney says expansively, waving them in front of John's face.
John resists the immediate urge to say eleven.
"Okay, I think it's safe to assume we misjudged the strength of their tea."
"Misjudged?" Rodney frowns at him. "That's a rather generous way of describing our current state."
"If they'd wanted to drug us why did they let us go...why didn't they just tie us up and keep us to eat later?" John regrets that almost as soon as it's out of his mouth.
"Maybe they wanted to stalk us through the woods like animals," Rodney suggests sarcastically, but then his eyebrows slide up in the middle. "You'd know if they were doing that right?"
John very carefully doesn't glance into the trees. "Sure I would."
"You have grass in your hair," Rodney points out, which is weird because John doesn't remember being anywhere near the grass.
Rodney frowns at him in a way that seems to be rather more serious than grass filled hair would dictate then he reaches over and pulls it out.
The wind snags it and drags it greedily away.
"Huh," Rodney says and then puts his hand back in John's hair.
"What?" Because if there are bugs he seriously doesn't want to know it.
"It's real," Rodney sounds surprised.
John eyes him sideways.
"Of course it's real, it's my hair."
Rodney's 'Hmm' noise doesn't sound convinced. He solves the problem by pushing his whole hand into it and dragging it all upright.
"What are you doing?" John asks curiously, because okay yeah that's a little weird, even for Rodney.
"It's an experiment."
"What sort of an experiment."
"To see if the hair you flaunt about on a daily basis is actually natural or the result of some devious and complex science."
"Like a hologram?" John asks more than a little amused. Then he frowns. "And I don't flaunt my hair."
"Like gel, why would you make a hologram of hair, do you have any idea how ridiculous that would look, and you do flaunt your hair." Rodney twirls a finger, which John is at a complete loss over the meaning of. "The amount of work it does sometimes I'm surprised it doesn't have to write its own report."
John waits; he's not entirely sure what for.
His mouth tastes sort of blue. Which isn't something he ever thought he'd experience, and he knows what that's called. Someone mentioned it once...
Synaesthesia.
He wonders if Rodney's mouth tastes blue as well.
"Does your mouth taste blue? Because-"
"Hang on, I'm gathering further data," Rodney tells him in his 'stop interrupting this is very, very important' voice.
One of Rodney's palms flattens his hair then lifts off again, there's a noise that suggests that part of the experiment was a success. John really doesn't mind so much. It's nice in a weirdly inappropriate hair touching way. Though the tea is making this fact not as terribly important as it might have been.
The pull and catch of fingertips across his scalp is maybe not quite as scientific as it was a minute ago but hey John's a little hazy on what exactly hair experiments entail so maybe it's just him.
To be honest John's a little hazy period.
His weapon has gotten lost in the...grass, ferns, whatever the hell it was. But floundering for it turns out to be a mistake because his balance just isn't that good.
The grass is pricklier than it looks and probably contains a variety of weird alien insects that he doesn't want inside his uniform. Him and alien insects don't get along.
Rodney scowls at him for deserting the experiment, before giving a huff of annoyance and adjusting his position accordingly.
John isn't entirely sure his hair has been subjected to quite this level of focus before. But it's kind of nice, in a random shivery, indulgent, sort of way that he's not going to admit to. Not out loud anyway.
"I think my hand is possessed," Rodney says eventually. His voice is ever so slightly irritated but not lurching into panic yet so it's ok. John won't have to get up and be efficient anytime soon.
"Your hair really does- you don't even have anything on it, it's like wild hair architecture."
"Thanks," John says because there really isn't any other suitable reply to that.
Then Rodney moves his hand up instead of down, dragging John's hair the wrong way. Which pulls shudders up the back of his neck in a way that goes straight past 'nice' and into 'oh.' He thinks about telling Rodney to stop because they don't really have an 'oh' sort of relationship and it would probably be weird if they started to have one now.
But not saying anything would be even weirder.
"Umm, Rodney?"
"What?"
John lifts a hand without really thinking about it and copies the movement on the back of Rodney's head.
"Oh," Rodney says quietly, which is good because John doesn't have to explain any further. He drops his hand back on the grass.
Neither of them moves for a long moment and then Rodney's hand very slowly starts shifting again, finding the deeper sections and spreading all the strands apart. It's lazy and seems utterly random. But John knows Rodney's concentrating face far too well.
John's aware, in the most obvious of senses, that this might be considered a little...he can't think of a good word. He can't think of a word to use which isn't going to make everything awkward in his head. And yeah this probably falls under inappropriate touching, no strike that, this definitely falls under inappropriate touching.
But John is still letting him.
Rodney exhales in a way that's almost surprised and the grass rustles when he shifts on it.
"So yeah, can I?"
John doesn't have a clue what Rodney's asking, because the hair thing is very distracting and it's warm and the grass isn't really prickly anymore.
"Sure," he says.
He really isn't expecting the kissing. He's really not expecting it when it's suddenly there and heavy and, when he doesn't immediately protest, really surprisingly good.
Rodney's mouth doesn't taste blue, it does taste of the strange tea, and enthusiasm. And it isn't so far from inappropriate hair touching to kissing and John thinks maybe he should have gotten there sooner. Maybe John's just really damn slow.
Rodney isn't being quite so careful with his hair anymore, crushing it between his fingers and flattening it and maybe it's a little too tight but that's kind of okay because maybe John likes it like that.
Author: Corona
Fandom: SGA
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: In no way mine or anything to do with me. I own nothing.
Summary: "We've clearly been drugged by the indigenous peoples."
AN: Inappropriate hair fondling that master_kogane lured me into doing, I failed at resisting.
The tea they were given was nice, really, really nice.
But it is making walking back to the gate a little problematic.
John keeps gently colliding with Rodney, who makes loud undignified noises and occasionally squawks a complicated insult concerning his forward motion. But then Rodney will promptly come into range like an orbiting planet and smack into John in turn.
After fifteen minutes John decides that clearly progress is being stretched to its absolute extreme definition and they stop in a clearing to shake off alien beverages, and possibly also relearn how to walk.
It takes him three tries to sit down.
Rodney doesn't so much try as fail. He's annoyed about it for a loud moment. Before he finds something else to focus on.
"Is it just me or is the grass moving?"
"It's the wind," John hazards, though he's fairly sure the wind wouldn't make it do what it's currently doing, sort of splashing, like a grass wave.
"I think we've been drugged by the indigenous peoples," Rodney frowns at him, affronted and annoyed and surprised. John waits for the panic to start; he even has something helpful and calming on the tip of his tongue.
But it doesn't come.
"We haven't been drugged," he says instead, but honestly he's not all that sure about it. At least not on purpose. It was good tea, and there was no reason to suspect it was anything other than tea.
Tea should be harmless. Tea should not contain surprise pharmaceuticals that make the grass do that and his legs do that. Really there should be no tea surprises, at all.
"How many fingers," Rodney says expansively, waving them in front of John's face.
John resists the immediate urge to say eleven.
"Okay, I think it's safe to assume we misjudged the strength of their tea."
"Misjudged?" Rodney frowns at him. "That's a rather generous way of describing our current state."
"If they'd wanted to drug us why did they let us go...why didn't they just tie us up and keep us to eat later?" John regrets that almost as soon as it's out of his mouth.
"Maybe they wanted to stalk us through the woods like animals," Rodney suggests sarcastically, but then his eyebrows slide up in the middle. "You'd know if they were doing that right?"
John very carefully doesn't glance into the trees. "Sure I would."
"You have grass in your hair," Rodney points out, which is weird because John doesn't remember being anywhere near the grass.
Rodney frowns at him in a way that seems to be rather more serious than grass filled hair would dictate then he reaches over and pulls it out.
The wind snags it and drags it greedily away.
"Huh," Rodney says and then puts his hand back in John's hair.
"What?" Because if there are bugs he seriously doesn't want to know it.
"It's real," Rodney sounds surprised.
John eyes him sideways.
"Of course it's real, it's my hair."
Rodney's 'Hmm' noise doesn't sound convinced. He solves the problem by pushing his whole hand into it and dragging it all upright.
"What are you doing?" John asks curiously, because okay yeah that's a little weird, even for Rodney.
"It's an experiment."
"What sort of an experiment."
"To see if the hair you flaunt about on a daily basis is actually natural or the result of some devious and complex science."
"Like a hologram?" John asks more than a little amused. Then he frowns. "And I don't flaunt my hair."
"Like gel, why would you make a hologram of hair, do you have any idea how ridiculous that would look, and you do flaunt your hair." Rodney twirls a finger, which John is at a complete loss over the meaning of. "The amount of work it does sometimes I'm surprised it doesn't have to write its own report."
John waits; he's not entirely sure what for.
His mouth tastes sort of blue. Which isn't something he ever thought he'd experience, and he knows what that's called. Someone mentioned it once...
Synaesthesia.
He wonders if Rodney's mouth tastes blue as well.
"Does your mouth taste blue? Because-"
"Hang on, I'm gathering further data," Rodney tells him in his 'stop interrupting this is very, very important' voice.
One of Rodney's palms flattens his hair then lifts off again, there's a noise that suggests that part of the experiment was a success. John really doesn't mind so much. It's nice in a weirdly inappropriate hair touching way. Though the tea is making this fact not as terribly important as it might have been.
The pull and catch of fingertips across his scalp is maybe not quite as scientific as it was a minute ago but hey John's a little hazy on what exactly hair experiments entail so maybe it's just him.
To be honest John's a little hazy period.
His weapon has gotten lost in the...grass, ferns, whatever the hell it was. But floundering for it turns out to be a mistake because his balance just isn't that good.
The grass is pricklier than it looks and probably contains a variety of weird alien insects that he doesn't want inside his uniform. Him and alien insects don't get along.
Rodney scowls at him for deserting the experiment, before giving a huff of annoyance and adjusting his position accordingly.
John isn't entirely sure his hair has been subjected to quite this level of focus before. But it's kind of nice, in a random shivery, indulgent, sort of way that he's not going to admit to. Not out loud anyway.
"I think my hand is possessed," Rodney says eventually. His voice is ever so slightly irritated but not lurching into panic yet so it's ok. John won't have to get up and be efficient anytime soon.
"Your hair really does- you don't even have anything on it, it's like wild hair architecture."
"Thanks," John says because there really isn't any other suitable reply to that.
Then Rodney moves his hand up instead of down, dragging John's hair the wrong way. Which pulls shudders up the back of his neck in a way that goes straight past 'nice' and into 'oh.' He thinks about telling Rodney to stop because they don't really have an 'oh' sort of relationship and it would probably be weird if they started to have one now.
But not saying anything would be even weirder.
"Umm, Rodney?"
"What?"
John lifts a hand without really thinking about it and copies the movement on the back of Rodney's head.
"Oh," Rodney says quietly, which is good because John doesn't have to explain any further. He drops his hand back on the grass.
Neither of them moves for a long moment and then Rodney's hand very slowly starts shifting again, finding the deeper sections and spreading all the strands apart. It's lazy and seems utterly random. But John knows Rodney's concentrating face far too well.
John's aware, in the most obvious of senses, that this might be considered a little...he can't think of a good word. He can't think of a word to use which isn't going to make everything awkward in his head. And yeah this probably falls under inappropriate touching, no strike that, this definitely falls under inappropriate touching.
But John is still letting him.
Rodney exhales in a way that's almost surprised and the grass rustles when he shifts on it.
"So yeah, can I?"
John doesn't have a clue what Rodney's asking, because the hair thing is very distracting and it's warm and the grass isn't really prickly anymore.
"Sure," he says.
He really isn't expecting the kissing. He's really not expecting it when it's suddenly there and heavy and, when he doesn't immediately protest, really surprisingly good.
Rodney's mouth doesn't taste blue, it does taste of the strange tea, and enthusiasm. And it isn't so far from inappropriate hair touching to kissing and John thinks maybe he should have gotten there sooner. Maybe John's just really damn slow.
Rodney isn't being quite so careful with his hair anymore, crushing it between his fingers and flattening it and maybe it's a little too tight but that's kind of okay because maybe John likes it like that.