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woops, there goes my work ethic
Ahhhhh, my business textbook is not grammatically correct. This is so distressing to me that I must forgo reading the first two chapters and typing up my reports in favor of McShep fic. Or so ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
schneestern tells me.
Therefore: prompts pls!
schneestern tells me. Therefore: prompts pls!
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Though my prompts never get written, so never mind if the muse doesn't strike. :)
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John waking up next to Rodney.
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Movie nights are always haphazard affairs. Anyone who's around and not too cranky for some fun piles into John's room and takes up station on whatever flat surface is available: the bed, the chairs, the deep window sills, the floor. It's never been so crowded there was nowhere to sit, but they came pretty close when John put on a showing of Space Odyssey: 2001 with a Rodney-rigged wall projector and complimentary popcorn.
Tonight, though, it's just them. Teyla has the bed because no one's willing to argue with swelling ankles, and Ronon's laying on his stomach next to her with his eyes glued to the screen. John and Rodney are between the foot of the bed and the small table John's laptop is set up on, shoulders pushed companionably together so they can both lean back against the bed frame.
"I don't get it," Ronon says.
"Surely your Earth doctors are better educated than this," Teyla puts in. "Doctor Keller is very smart."
"Look," Rodney says for the fifth time, exasperated, "this is a parody show! It's not real!"
"Why does he have that strange hat on his head?" Teyla asks.
"He's a hippie," Ronon answers with all the seriousness of a man who mistakenly believes 'flower power' is actually code for a top secret energy beam embedded in the Earth's surface. "He has the round glasses."
"Oh," Teyla murmurs, impressed.
"He is not a hippie!" Rodney sputters.
"You said hippies wore round glasses," Ronon reminds him. "He's wearing round glasses. He's a hippie."
"That - that is completely untrue! And your argument is highly illogical, why am I not surprised?" Rodney scrambles around onto his knees, looking Ronon square in the face from less than three inches away. "Oh, uh, hi," he says, wide-eyed. Ronon gives him an edged grin. "You're, um, closer than I thought you were."
John covers his eyes with his hands and laughs helplessly until his stomach cramps and he can't feel his toes and his chest aches with the weight so much love.
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"What the hell," John says.
Rodney's head snaps to the side, and even in the dim light John can see how wide his eyes are. John pulls up the drawer even further and cranes his neck to see inside so he won't prick his finger on something sharp again.
"Are these...are these sporks?" he asks incredulously. "Rodney, are you hoarding sporks?"
"It's - I can stop any time I want to," Rodney says anxiously.
John pulls out one that's dark metal and dinged in odd places that show off how old it must be, and Rodney's head practically turns all the way around, exorcist-style, just to watch it. Experimentally, John moves his hand left. Rodney's eyes follow. Right. Rodney's eyes follow.
A disturbing idea starts to form in John's mind.
"Huh," he says, and listens to Rodney's voice break when the prongs of the spork scrape down his back. "Cool."
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"No."
"Dogma."
"No."
"Beatlejuice."
"No."
"Just pick a movie!"
John growls out another, more vehement, "No," and glares at Rodney through his lashes.
"Fine," Rodney snaps, crossing his arms. "I'll just leave you to sulk and brood and miss me. In the dark." He pauses, giving John a moment to work up to an appropriately passionate apology, possibly involving tongues in interesting places. When nothing comes (literally), he hmphs, "What crawled up your ass and died, Colonel Grumpface?"
"Nothing crawled up my -" John stops, blinks. Says, "Did you just call me Colonel Grumpface?"
Rodney's chin jerks up. He sniffs defensively, "So what if I did? It's a perfectly logical insult, seeing as you're grumpier than a grizzly right now."
"You actually called me Colonel Grumpface," John reiterates flatly.
"Yes! Please pretend that you can keep up!"
John regards Rodney oddly, face wrinkled up like he's about to sneeze. And then Rodney realizes that low sound is not John sucking in air to prepare for a spectacular explosion of the nose, but laughter.
"Oh," he says softly, and John drags him down by the front of his shirt for a long, sweet kiss, bad mood forgotten.
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Oh my god.
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*happyface!*
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John and Rodney (and others, if you desire) and The Rocky Horror Picture Show. Costumes optional.
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*sits back and enjoys show*
*cookies*
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Rodney's never learned how to be lazy in any of the ways that count, but he's never up when John turns on his side to look at him. Asleep, Rodney's flushed and pretty: his cheeks are pink with the rare, hoarded pleasure of rest, brushed charcoal and shadow under the fall of his lashes. Given the chance, John can gaze at him for hours, count steady exhales against the beat of his own heart until they match, until it's natural to breath in and see Rodney do the same.
As much as he loves watching Rodney sleep, though...it's nothing next to watching Rodney come awake: the shiver of Rodney's muscles tensing and relaxing in an aborted stretch; the soft, confused smile Rodney turns his way every time, like he can't believe John's still there; the broader, more genuine grin when John leans in and clumsily kisses his chin and whispers, Morning.
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Rodney gives new reason for his deep abiding love of blue jello... (or any other foodstuff I suppose)
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♥
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Re: outcast spoilers holy shit
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Also, just the thought of Teyla and Ronon trying to comprehend Monty Python is enough to make me giggle forever.
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*melts into a puddle of schmoopy love goo*
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Re: outcast spoilers holy shit