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john and rodney cure bad mornings, y/n?
Johncat says good morning, your finger is very tasty today. Nom.
I've always found Tuesday mornings to be particularly vile; this one is especially so since I have yet to sleep and have to catch my train in a few hours unless I decide not to go today. I know, I know, I just can't help myself - stop making that face. Hopefully I will not kill, maim, or otherwise harm innocent bystanders when I inevitably reach that stage of sleep deprivation where mass murder seems like a perfectly reasonable solution to all of my problems. Also: ahhg, my sock has a hole in it. :(
You know what? I would like to officially declare today "Ahhg, My Sock Has A Hole In It" day, because that really just sums it all up. Today is the kind of day where Rodney would end up trapped in a musty, unused storage closet for five hours with nothing but a splintering broom to keep him company, or John would hit himself in the knee with his golf club by accident and have to spend the rest of the day with an ice pack on his sore head because the shock of it caused him to fall into a wall. It's the kind of day that ends with Rodney stumbling into bed, exhausted and dirty, at some ungodly hour, curling up against John's side with a pitiful whimper and letting John's warm hand on the back of his neck, the steady rise and fall of John's chest, lull him to sleep.
Let's talk about that for a while, please. It sounds nice.
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I WANT TO CALL IN SICK SOOO BADLY BUT I CAN'T! *criez* However, I plan to watch some SGA on the bus/train this morning, so yes, they do make everything better. Or at least less likely to drive me to kill!
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*snuffles you*
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I think if Rodney was a kitten, he'd be one of those overbred kittens that's smart but has sinus problems and tail-joint problems and gets neurotic when there aren't people around to keep it company :P
yeah, he would. also, he'd be very bitey
Me:
yes! and noisy, of course. lots of mewing and yowling.
hee! yes.
...So yeah, Johncat's playmate Rodneycat would be a Siamese cat, but he'd be mostly white and lack the colorpoints most people associate with Siamese. Instead he'd be a lynx point, constantly mistaken for a normal tabby cat. Also he'd be part Manx, with no tail, but achy vestigial bones at the base of his spine.
He'd look like this guy. (http://owyheebob.com/cats/images/doc300x191.jpg)
His frequent voluble yowring would often be, in cat-speak, loud insistence that he is too Siamese, note the blue eyes! and he's very intelligent, and no his tail didn't get "chopped off" or caught in a door, and there is absolutely nothing wrong with having long back legs and shorter front legs and he does NOT "hop" like a "bunny"! He has a perfectly normal catlike graceful way of comporting himself! And sometimes he hops a little because it's faster. SOMETIMES. A LITTLE. Mrrrrw.
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I share your bad mood. For the same reasons. Oh, oh yes.
It's not really any better when they wake up. John makes a low, pained noise that is manly and repressive for ow, my head really hurts and despite the magical healing powers of the steady rise and fall of John's chest under Rodney's ear, Rodney mind won't go still and fallow no matter how much he commands it. This isn't an uncommon problem, John's annoyance at getting old and Rodney's constant inability to control his own mind when he wants to, but with sunlight streaming bright and incurably cheerful through the window, it seems new-fangled and too confusing to properly contemplate.
Rodney gropes over the small table beside John's head. His arm brushes against John's nose, sealing it, which makes John jerk and flail and glare deadly, deadly hate. "The hell," he snarls.
Rodney ignores him. He's got his ear piece. "Carter," he says into it, wearily. "Carter, I am taking the day off. John is taking the day off. Ronon and Teyla and anybody who wants to is taking the day off. Okay?"
This kind of thing worked with Elizabeth, who had notions about days off and their necessity. Rodney has no idea if it'll work with Carter and honestly doesn't much care. He's cranky enough to lock the door and go absent without leave, if necessary.
Beneath him, John makes a whimpering noise. It's incredibly pathetic, as is the creased, pouting face turned in Rodney's direction.
Against his ear, Carter chuckles and tells them to have a good day off.
"Oh, thank god," Rodney moans. He twists and rolls -- John yelps but doesn't fuss -- until he can bury his face in the back of John's neck. "Go to sleep, old man."
"M'not older than you."
"Yes you are, liar. But I'm an old man too."
"It really hurts."
Rodney's arm tightens. He can't offer benediction, any more than John can for him, but sometimes presence is more than enough. "I know. Sleep."
"Mm."
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For some unknowable reason, that brings me SUCH JOY. Just the idea of John's dignity being wounded because Rodney touched his nose - fj;aogiaf bweehehee. Also, I give you big hugs, because exhaustion is never fun. *BIG HUGS*
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Even though I caught him fretfully trying to turn over onto his previously dislocated shoulder in the middle of the night, fighting the sling. Maybe even because of that.
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Loves! This conveyed the grumpy so adorably that I want to hug it but it'd probably yell at me to leave it alone.
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"Hmmm?" Rodney asks.
"Whazzat?" John breathes in. "Oh. You smell." His words are slurred with sleep.
"Do not," Rodney says, even though he most certainly does. He's had a long long really bad day and being reasonable is not at the top of his list at the moment.
"D'too." John rolls over and presses his face into Rodney neck. "Ew."
"Fine." Rodney ruffles John hair petulantly. "If I'm so stinky, then why don't you go sleep somewhere else?"
"Is my bed," is the indignant response. John drapes an arm over Rodney's chest and slides closer, pressing his sleep-warm body against Rodney's. "Knee still hurts."
Rodney shifts so that he can kiss John's forehead. "Locked in a closet," he points out. Seriously, at least John was doing something recreational.
John huffs, then relaxes against Rodney and settles his head on Rodney's chest. He says something that sounds suspiciously like 'big smelly pillow'. A moment later he is snoring softly.
"Golf," Rodney says with a sigh. He closes his eyes, and with John's hair tickling his chin, falls soundly asleep.
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"D'too." John rolls over and presses his face into Rodney neck. "Ew."
Eeeeehehehe, JOHN. <333
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P.S.
Re: P.S.
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And I could read either John or Rodney as cats for all eternity.
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Yes. So very much yes. I would be tempted to write kitten fic if all of it in this fandom weren't so awesome.
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SOCKS!
Ah the sock thing! I should quote you a few lines from the poetry I had to write for creative writing class, I think you'd like it:
...Hannah's socks
are bone-white, boring--
not even a toe-hole for character.
But then, who wakes up to decide,
"Today I shall lose my grip on reality--
best to wear the fuschia argyle."
Clean underwear for the ER, colorful socks for the nuthouse.
It's about a girl going to the psych ward, heh. I am not in the habit of quoting poetry to people, btw, so if you're making a o.O face, don't worry, it probably won't happen again ^^. In fact, I'll make it better with a drabble to cheer you up, perhaps!
Edit: ha, and of course it's too long. Inbox spam incoming!
Re: SOCKS!
Comment fic <3
"I know this thing we have here is new, but you do know this isn't your room, right?" John says, light and teasing, his right hand reaching over to rest on Rodney's exposed arm. Even still, Rodney's heart jumps a little, and not with happiness. They'd never shared a bed without thoroughly mussing it up first, but he'd lost one of his best scientists today, and Rodney never has nightmares in John's bed. Rodney nods, using all of his sleep-leeched energy to keep the regret from showing on his face as he throws back the blanket with his free hand.
"Woah, woah," John objects, his thumb brushing softly across Rodney's wrist even as he presses his weight down with his left palm flat on the mattress beside Rodney, trapping him. "I wasn't kicking you out," he adds, his voice so gentle that Rodney flushes and struggles to get up, sure that John's angling toward pity, now.
"No, no--your mattress is uncomfortable anyway, I didn't mean to fall asleep, I'll just--"
Rodney's words are interrupted by John's mouth on his, by John's body sliding to rest against him. He's surprised enough to flail at John a little, unsure of where to put his hands until the flight or fight mechanism in his brain registers 'oh, hey, tongue' and slips away. The kiss is dynamic as always, wet openmouthed kisses that devolve into small teasing nips and back again. This time, though, John's got a hand on Rodney's face, and it stays there, comforting and grounding him until they break apart.
"Don't be stupid," John says, and Rodney smiles to see his influence on the other man, so caught up in associative pride that he misses it when John pulls away for a brief moment and then returns in just his boxers. He smiles through his yawn, and when John burrows up beside him, Rodney's too tired to realize the significance of it. He's even magnanimous enough to yield to John's tug on the pillow, falling asleep not long after. He doesn't dream.
Re: Comment fic <3
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I heartily approve of your story though. Definitely the sort of thought which helps pass the day.
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*nuzzles*
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AW, JOHNCAT! :3
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Also, my brain now wants John gets turned into cat fic ... thanks for that. But seriously, that kitty is just so adorable. <3
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Is my computer clock wrong?
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Rodney bullied John into darning them 'cause he "must have had to do that in the desert, and I'm busy doing, you know, actually important life saving type things."
So John smirked, saying "Sure buddy".
Then he used sparkly thread, and bumble bee and smiley face patches to mend the holes. Sometimes he added pink ribbons tied in bows to the top of the socks.
Rodney was not amused. Everyone else was.
Rodney kept them all even after the Dedalus delivered crates of new socks.
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