powered by red bull and nicotine (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} vylit) wrote,@ 2005-11-23 08:03:00 |
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| Current mood: |  good |
| Current music: | "i walk the line" by johnny cash |
| Entry tags: | fic, sga fic |
SGA Fic: The Perfect in Imperfection
Title: The Perfect in Imperfection
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Pairing: John/Rodney
Rating: PG
Spoilers: "The Lost Boys"
Description: "It was because of the mess of the first kiss and the disaster of the second kiss and the humiliation of the third kiss – though Rodney could see, in retrospect, at least, why John hadn't wanted to then – that Rodney decided that there was going to be a fourth kiss and they were going to get it right."
By any measure, their first kiss was a disaster.
John had been drugged and loopy, more falling over and slumping on Rodney than leaning into the kiss, and while Rodney was willing to say that yes, John had nice lips, they really were more attractive when they weren't smooshed against his with – oh god – drool coming from between them.
It didn't help that John passed out in the middle of it.
The second kiss wasn't as bad.
Of course, because it was just Rodney's luck, he was shot, bruised, and had a headache from the sheer incompetence of what passed for scientists on this planet – if he was going to be kidnapped, he'd prefer it be done by people with the brain power to actually understand what he was trying to say instead of mentally deficient adults who would have flunked out of a basic physics class, making the kind of complex mathematical understanding that was necessary to comprehend what Rodney was trying to explain to them, in very small words with exaggerated hand gestures, near impossible. And, because this was the Pegasus galaxy, John had saved them – with more than a little help from Rodney – and was leaning down, their lips barely touching, when the gun fire started. Then there was running and yelling and nearly tripping and John shooting at people, which really was far too sexy when Rodney was trying to *run for his life*, never mind the possible implications it had apart from that – when did firearms become attractive? – and by the time they were all back in Atlantis, Rodney was exhausted, two seconds away from a hypoglycemic coma, and far too bruised to do anything but collapse into his bed.
The third kiss was a complete and utter failure.
They were in Ford's compound, which was more of a cave than a compound, even if Ford refused to see that, and John was explaining how he could almost-maybe see the real Ford, and that there might be a chance to change his mind, when Rodney decided that there was no time like the present and leaned over, nipping John's bottom lip.
There was something reminiscent of a groan before John was pushing Rodney away with strong, rough hands that Rodney would much rather have on his cock or on his hips while he pushed into John's mouth.
“No.”
Rodney stared. “No? There's no blowing up or shooting or Wraith two seconds away from ensuring our destruction. I'm not about to slip into a coma and you --”
“It's a bad idea, Rodney,” John said, turning and walking away, his back unnaturally straight.
It was because of the mess of the first kiss and the disaster of the second kiss and the humiliation of the third kiss – though Rodney could see, in retrospect, at least, why John hadn't wanted to then – that Rodney decided that there was going to be a fourth kiss and they were going to get it right.
Although, since Rodney was being honest, it was more because of what happened after they got away from Ford and his testosterone junkie thugs that made Rodney determined to try again. Because, despite Rodney's knowledge that work place relationships didn't work, he was relatively certain that he was in – in something with John.
Maybe if John hadn't visited them in the infirmary every day, bringing cool adapted guns for Ronon to look at, letters for Teyla, and the Ancients' version of the chess board for Rodney, Rodney could just let it go. Perhaps, if John hadn't spent hours playing game after game with Rodney, or questioning him on the various ways they could adapt the puddlejumpers, ignoring the shaking and sweating and cursing with little more than a “I've never been called that before” and a “I don't even have a sister, Rodney,” Rodney would be willing to listen to common sense and see the third kiss as a sign that getting involved with anyone, let alone John, wasn't the best idea.
But John had, and Rodney did want to continue, and he'd never been good at denying himself what he wanted anyway; he didn't see any reason to start now.
So, when he showed up at John's door at 1 a.m. with a five o'clock shadow and a sore back from sitting in his horribly uncomfortable chair – were the Ancients immune to lower back pain? - Rodney knew that he wasn't leaving without some heavy necking and maybe, because he deserved it for waiting this long, a blow job.
Two knocks and a loud “John!” later, the door slid open.
Shirtless John.
Shirtless John whose hair looked even messier and was sticking up in twenty-two rather than fifteen different directions, with his feet on the floor, his sheet tossed to the side, and his boxers so low on his hips that Rodney was certain his IQ just dropped five points.
Rodney took a completely understandable and very necessary ten second pause before he broke into his explanation, which had sounded much better in his head. “I've been patient. I've waited for you to do,” Rodney gestured in John's direction, ignoring the eyebrow raise, “whatever it is you need to do, but I would prefer to not wait for the next Wraith ship to show up, or to be kidnapped yet again by some vastly inferior civilization. And - and I'm finding it hard to focus with you sitting there in your underwear, doing that with thing your eyebrow. So I think we should do this and get it out of the way, if for no other reason than I'm finding it hard to concentrate, and I'm far too valuable --”
“OK.”
Rodney stuttered to a stop, his cheeks flushing hot and his eyes locked on the trail of hair leading down into John's boxers. “OK?”
John stood up. “Yeah. OK.”
Three steps and Rodney was there with John's slightly chapped lips on his and John's sleep warmed hands on his neck. Sharp teeth and soft mouth, and it was bearably arousing because it was John and Rodney had waited for this and now that he had it he just wanted to press closer, to feel everything. But then John slowed down the kiss, the smooth slide of tongue in Rodney's mouth like the lapping of waves against Atlantis.
“We have time,” John said, pulling back just far enough to get the words out, his warm breath against Rodney's lips, causing Rodney to shiver.
When they kissed again, Rodney was on John's bed, their bodies fitted together, curving around each other, easy and comfortable, because this was Rodney and John, and they were home.
