John/Rodney, speechless, PGsholioNovember 7 2007, 08:22:47 UTC
He can't breathe.
It was just some kind of stupid Pegasus Galaxy fruit, baked into a tart that's killing him. And he can't help thinking This should be a Sheppard thing, killed by a tart, and that's simply insane and kind of unfair, but what else can you think about, because he can't talk, he's not breathing and he's falling and the earth is solid under his hips, and people are talking but he doesn't care, he can't hear them through the humming in his ears as he falls backwards, sparks dancing before his eyes ...
... sparks that resolve into the light in Sheppard's green-gold eyes, fixed on his own; he can't breathe and this is like dying in slow motion, he can't speak, he can't tell anyone what's wrong ... even as soft lips fasten over his own, even as breath fills his lungs, a helpless compulsion like he's a puppet dangling on someone else's strings -- he can feel his body arcing back, out of control, captured by the tyranny of his own muscles, contorting him beyond capacity for conscious thought
( ... )
Re: John/Rodney, speechless, PGsholioNovember 7 2007, 19:55:33 UTC
Thank you! :) I wrote this right before bed, after hacking on my NaNo novel all day, so I was somewhat braced to get up and discover that it was terrible. *g* I'm glad that people seem to like it!
It was just some kind of stupid Pegasus Galaxy fruit, baked into a tart that's killing him. And he can't help thinking This should be a Sheppard thing, killed by a tart, and that's simply insane and kind of unfair, but what else can you think about, because he can't talk, he's not breathing and he's falling and the earth is solid under his hips, and people are talking but he doesn't care, he can't hear them through the humming in his ears as he falls backwards, sparks dancing before his eyes ...
... sparks that resolve into the light in Sheppard's green-gold eyes, fixed on his own; he can't breathe and this is like dying in slow motion, he can't speak, he can't tell anyone what's wrong ... even as soft lips fasten over his own, even as breath fills his lungs, a helpless compulsion like he's a puppet dangling on someone else's strings -- he can feel his body arcing back, out of control, captured by the tyranny of his own muscles, contorting him beyond capacity for conscious thought ( ... )
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They are awfully cute.
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- Helen
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