TEAM WAR: Alter Ego, "It Doesn’t Take a Genius"
Title: It Doesn’t Take a Genius
Author: roaringmice
Team: War
Prompt: Alter Ego
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Slash, swears, comedy.
Summary: Rodney is a man with a mission.
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x-x
Rodney moved down the corridor with purpose in his stride. He nodded distractedly at those few he met in the night-dimmed space, pointedly ignoring the curious looks they gave him as he passed. He was a man with a mission: and that mission was John Sheppard.
John had never said that he liked him in any way. Not as coworker or teammate, never mind as a friend; never once gave an overt indication even of that, never mind of more than that. Half the time, the only thing John actually seemed to feel regarding him was annoyance. But Rodney could tell. It wasn’t the things that John did that gave him a clue - it was more the things he didn’t do. Being a scientist, and thus used to organizing things in a certain way, Rodney visualized the following as a bulleted list:
- That time, during sparring practice, when John intentionally pulled the punch to his face that, if he’d been Ford or - Rodney laughed - Teyla, John would have let land; or at least tried to. God, the last time John had tried that on Teyla, she’d…
“Focus, McKay,” Rodney said aloud, mentally continuing his list:
- The time when they’d both been in line in the mess, and John, just ahead of him, had reached out for the last piece of chocolate cake, but at the last second had grabbed an apple instead.
- The time that - and this one was just this morning, and had caused all this - John had looked up at him from across the breakfast table, hazel eyes gone dark green, and not looked away.
That one - that one had been killer. That one was why he was here. Despite the American military’s stupid DADT policy. Despite John coming across, at least three quarters of the time, as an emotionally unavailable military fuck-up with a chip on his shoulder.
Despite John being a man who was also quite possibly straight.
Despite all that.
That’s why he’d dug up his courage and was standing here now, outside John’s door, a six pack of beer in one hand and a bag of Doritos in the other (Hey, the best he could do on short notice, and yeah, maybe the Doritos weren’t the best idea for a date - smelly breath possibilities and all - but he was kind of stuck for options.) He tucked the beer up under the arm holding the Doritos, and, dragging in an audible breath, was just about to hit the door chime when, “Crap,” he said aloud as the door in front of him slid open despite his lack of knocking.
John stood there in full uniform, hair carefully coiffed into his typical faux-casual spikes. Brow raised in surprise, he said, “McKay?”
“John.” Rodney frowned, nonplussed. He cleared his throat. “Sheppard,” he rephrased.
“Kind of late for a visit,” John added, and Rodney wasn’t quite sure if his tone was teasing - as in “McKay, you big hunk o’ man, you,” or teasing - as in “McKay, you’re such a moron.”
Rodney settled on stating the obvious. “I brought snacks.”
“I can see that,” John said, eyes flashing his amusement.
Rodney’s frown deepened. Maybe his original perception of John as somewhat of a jerk was more right then he’d care to admit. But still, those eyes… “I thought you were off duty.”
“I am.”
Rodney waived his free hand. “And so you’re…?”
“Going to the mess,” John finished for him, speaking slowly, as if explaining quantum physics to a small child.
Rodney let his eyes rove the man’s body, trying to remind himself of just why he was putting himself through this torture. “At midnight.”
John looked at him in mock-accusation. “Not like you’re not up.” He paused a beat. “And here.”
Rodney waved his free hand in John’s direction, trying to clarify. “In uniform?”
John smoothed down his shirt self-consciously, then shrugged. “Laundry day.”
“Ah,” Rodney said, standing in the doorway like a complete idiot. Which he was. There was nothing about how John was acting to indicate that he was in any way interested even in the beer, never mind in the man bringing it. “So…” he said, shifting awkwardly.
“Would you like to come in, McKay?” John said, his manner impossible for Rodney to interpret.
Had John said that resignedly? Well, certainly not eagerly. Deciding not to analyze John’s tone or posture, Rodney nodded and brushed past him. “Yeah, sure,” he said casually, as if his entire being didn’t depend on it. Which it didn’t. He wasn’t a teenage girl or anything. But still. John hadn’t exactly sounded enthused.
Time to pull out the big guns.
“I brought the last bag of Dorit - ”
Rodney turned to find John standing well inside his personal space.
“I’m not interested in your Doritos, McKay,” John said, twisting that last word into something… else. Placing his palm flat against Rodney’s chest, John used his free hand to slide the Doritos from Rodney’s grasp and lightly toss them onto the nearest chair.
“You’re not,” Rodney answered, not a question. He gulped, heart suddenly racing. John’s hand felt like fire, even through the cloth of his shirt.
“Or in your beer,” John added with a sly smile, taking the bottles and placing them on the floor.
Rodney’s mouth finally caught up with the situation. “What are you interested in?” he asked, voice coming out a bit breathless.
“You’re supposed to be some kind of genius,” John said, coming in close. He whispered the rest, “Figure it out.”
Right, Rodney thought, as everything came crystal clear. “Listen, I know it’s laundry day,” he said, trailing his hand down John’s chest. “If I were to ask you to get out of this uniform, would you have something more comfortable to wear?”
“No,” John said with what Rodney thought was one of the most evil grins he’d ever seen.
Rodney matched John’s smile and said, “Good.” And with that, Rodney couldn’t help but kiss him. After all, it didn’t take a genius.
x-x
Poll
Author: roaringmice
Team: War
Prompt: Alter Ego
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Slash, swears, comedy.
Summary: Rodney is a man with a mission.
Once you've read the story, please take a moment to vote in the poll below. Ratings go from 1 (low) to 9 (high), so all you need to do is enter a single number in that range into each text entry box. You'll be able to see the Prompt and Team (Genre) information in the header above.
More details about the voting procedure can be found here.
x-x
Rodney moved down the corridor with purpose in his stride. He nodded distractedly at those few he met in the night-dimmed space, pointedly ignoring the curious looks they gave him as he passed. He was a man with a mission: and that mission was John Sheppard.
John had never said that he liked him in any way. Not as coworker or teammate, never mind as a friend; never once gave an overt indication even of that, never mind of more than that. Half the time, the only thing John actually seemed to feel regarding him was annoyance. But Rodney could tell. It wasn’t the things that John did that gave him a clue - it was more the things he didn’t do. Being a scientist, and thus used to organizing things in a certain way, Rodney visualized the following as a bulleted list:
- That time, during sparring practice, when John intentionally pulled the punch to his face that, if he’d been Ford or - Rodney laughed - Teyla, John would have let land; or at least tried to. God, the last time John had tried that on Teyla, she’d…
“Focus, McKay,” Rodney said aloud, mentally continuing his list:
- The time when they’d both been in line in the mess, and John, just ahead of him, had reached out for the last piece of chocolate cake, but at the last second had grabbed an apple instead.
- The time that - and this one was just this morning, and had caused all this - John had looked up at him from across the breakfast table, hazel eyes gone dark green, and not looked away.
That one - that one had been killer. That one was why he was here. Despite the American military’s stupid DADT policy. Despite John coming across, at least three quarters of the time, as an emotionally unavailable military fuck-up with a chip on his shoulder.
Despite John being a man who was also quite possibly straight.
Despite all that.
That’s why he’d dug up his courage and was standing here now, outside John’s door, a six pack of beer in one hand and a bag of Doritos in the other (Hey, the best he could do on short notice, and yeah, maybe the Doritos weren’t the best idea for a date - smelly breath possibilities and all - but he was kind of stuck for options.) He tucked the beer up under the arm holding the Doritos, and, dragging in an audible breath, was just about to hit the door chime when, “Crap,” he said aloud as the door in front of him slid open despite his lack of knocking.
John stood there in full uniform, hair carefully coiffed into his typical faux-casual spikes. Brow raised in surprise, he said, “McKay?”
“John.” Rodney frowned, nonplussed. He cleared his throat. “Sheppard,” he rephrased.
“Kind of late for a visit,” John added, and Rodney wasn’t quite sure if his tone was teasing - as in “McKay, you big hunk o’ man, you,” or teasing - as in “McKay, you’re such a moron.”
Rodney settled on stating the obvious. “I brought snacks.”
“I can see that,” John said, eyes flashing his amusement.
Rodney’s frown deepened. Maybe his original perception of John as somewhat of a jerk was more right then he’d care to admit. But still, those eyes… “I thought you were off duty.”
“I am.”
Rodney waived his free hand. “And so you’re…?”
“Going to the mess,” John finished for him, speaking slowly, as if explaining quantum physics to a small child.
Rodney let his eyes rove the man’s body, trying to remind himself of just why he was putting himself through this torture. “At midnight.”
John looked at him in mock-accusation. “Not like you’re not up.” He paused a beat. “And here.”
Rodney waved his free hand in John’s direction, trying to clarify. “In uniform?”
John smoothed down his shirt self-consciously, then shrugged. “Laundry day.”
“Ah,” Rodney said, standing in the doorway like a complete idiot. Which he was. There was nothing about how John was acting to indicate that he was in any way interested even in the beer, never mind in the man bringing it. “So…” he said, shifting awkwardly.
“Would you like to come in, McKay?” John said, his manner impossible for Rodney to interpret.
Had John said that resignedly? Well, certainly not eagerly. Deciding not to analyze John’s tone or posture, Rodney nodded and brushed past him. “Yeah, sure,” he said casually, as if his entire being didn’t depend on it. Which it didn’t. He wasn’t a teenage girl or anything. But still. John hadn’t exactly sounded enthused.
Time to pull out the big guns.
“I brought the last bag of Dorit - ”
Rodney turned to find John standing well inside his personal space.
“I’m not interested in your Doritos, McKay,” John said, twisting that last word into something… else. Placing his palm flat against Rodney’s chest, John used his free hand to slide the Doritos from Rodney’s grasp and lightly toss them onto the nearest chair.
“You’re not,” Rodney answered, not a question. He gulped, heart suddenly racing. John’s hand felt like fire, even through the cloth of his shirt.
“Or in your beer,” John added with a sly smile, taking the bottles and placing them on the floor.
Rodney’s mouth finally caught up with the situation. “What are you interested in?” he asked, voice coming out a bit breathless.
“You’re supposed to be some kind of genius,” John said, coming in close. He whispered the rest, “Figure it out.”
Right, Rodney thought, as everything came crystal clear. “Listen, I know it’s laundry day,” he said, trailing his hand down John’s chest. “If I were to ask you to get out of this uniform, would you have something more comfortable to wear?”
“No,” John said with what Rodney thought was one of the most evil grins he’d ever seen.
Rodney matched John’s smile and said, “Good.” And with that, Rodney couldn’t help but kiss him. After all, it didn’t take a genius.
x-x
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