unamaga | FIC: Second Line (PG-13)

Title: Second Line
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Rating: PG-13
Summary: John tries again.
Wordcount: ~1,000 words
Notes: For my partner in episode squee,

kashmir1, who puts up with my pointless capslocking, and for my time lord,

schneestern, who just plain puts up with me. Written because, um, John and Rodney's epic love is inspiring?

When John was nineteen, he fell in with a group of free spirits. He was still fresh from being under his father’s thumb and reveling in his new independence, so it seemed like the best thing ever when he got an apartment with four of them and lived off ramen noodles to make rent and utilities. Bo had declared the apartment a communist state as soon as he’d set foot inside, and they all shared everything accordingly – shampoo, razors, soda cans, underwear, books. Even, occasionally, partners.

The first girl he brought home, Penny, had dark hair and pale eyes and a tremulous smile that always looked so brave John wanted to kiss the chocolate mole just next to her nose. She made the rounds: slept with Jake after John and Lena after Jake. No one else thought it was weird – Jake just let out a great whoop when he found Lena necking with Penny in the kitchen the morning after they’d fucked –

So John didn’t either.

He always used a condom, it wasn’t a big deal – and he wasn’t exactly looking for a steady relationship anyway. Not yet.

He met Amber on his way out of the library. She had a sweet mouth that curved up no matter what she was feeling, talked about all the books on the banned reading list because she thought that was rebellious, and possessed a sharp-edged wit that John learned how to like over coffee and muffins at the student union. She wasn’t conventionally pretty: a little plain for the current style, hair flat against her head instead of teased within an inch of its life.

John thought she was beautiful anyway.

“I’m not that kind of girl, John Sheppard,” Amber said, but grinned and went easily when he pulled her down on top of him on the bed.

She kissed like she spoke, and every time she boldly bit his lower lip, he could hear her sly voice in his head, you like this, you like this. It was hotter than he’d ever had, and the relationship was easy in a way that he wasn’t sure what to do with. She stayed over more often than she went back to her own apartment, used Lena’s shampoo without qualm, made breakfast for the whole clan whenever all of them managed it together. They coasted happily for so long John didn’t realize he was in love until he went into the kitchen to tell Amber to come back to bed, forget the goddamn eggs – and found Jake backing her up against the counter, Amber not resisting at all, spine relaxed with the familiarity of the position. It hurt so softly he didn’t notice how tight he was clutching the front of his own t-shirt until he looked down and saw his hand balled over the place where his heart should be, like he was trying to hold in the blood.

He moved out a few months later, no hard feelings, and never saw Amber again. Not even in passing at the library.

-

When John was thirty seven, he fell in with a group of scientists. They were a little higher-strung than the free spirits, but the communist ideal was alive and well. If he left a cup of anything untouched for too long, it was inevitably swiped right out from under his nose and replaced with an empty coffee mug; if someone wanted to borrow one of his DVDs, they didn’t ask, they just said, “I am going to borrow this,” and took whatever they wanted before he could answer.

He met Rodney while sitting in an Ancient Control chair, freaked out and more than a little afraid he was going to get a formal reprimand for sitting down. Rodney had an odd mouth that wilted at one corner like he spent a lot of time frowning, talked about theoretical physics until John wanted to kick him in the pants, and flayed people alive with his sharp tongue.

John thought: no, no, not again.

“Look, in order to get this program running, I’ll have to cut power to the ZedPM, and then we’ll lose shield, cloak, and all secondary systems – including the long-range sensors – for over four hours while I get everything online. I don’t know, does that scream shoot us now! to anyone but me?” Rodney said, and scowled when John tried to make him eat real food.

Rodney did weird things for him: drank vanilla coke even though he hated it just because he knew John liked the waxy taste on his lips, sucked John’s cock for as long as his jaw could manage without stiffening up just to drive John crazy. He was always out of bed at least twenty minutes later than John and expected a cup of coffee from the mess if John had already gone out running. He said, “God, why am I forced to work with you imbeciles?” and, “Pass me that – that Ancient doohickey. No, that one, are you blind?” and, “Of course I love you.” He didn’t mind John’s strange possessiveness, didn’t care that sometimes John had worse morning breath than a corpse; when a girl on M5X-83P backed him up against the buffet table, he mumbled, “Er, nice alien. Please don’t eat me,” and made eyes at John until John gave up his seat at the table and went to rescue him.

John didn’t realize he was in love until Rodney cleared his throat and said, “So, I mean, I know we’ve never talked about it – because I thought you would probably off yourself with a safety pin if I tried – but we’re exclusive, right? Not that I’ve – since we – but. I just wanted to make sure,” and the bright, joyful thing that sometimes stuck in his throat when he looked at Rodney grew a few sizes and filled his chest up to bursting.

He pulled Rodney to him by the back of the neck and kissed him slowly, slowly, feeling the tip of Rodney’s ear heat against the heel of his palm.

“Yeah, Rodney,” he said.

FIC: Second Line (PG-13)

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