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FIC: Creepy Crawlies (PG)
Title: Creepy Crawlies
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
unamaga
Artist:unaccompanied_g
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Rating: PG
Wordcount: ~870 words
Notes: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
artword challenge 12 - second chances, a remix of my fic Bump In The Night and unaccompanied_g's Thumbelina. Her beautiful remix is located here. Huge thank you to villainny for betaing and holding my hand when I whined, "But it's not funny!"
Author:
unamagaArtist:
unaccompanied_gPairing: McKay/Sheppard
Rating: PG
Wordcount: ~870 words
Notes: For
artword challenge 12 - second chances, a remix of my fic Bump In The Night and unaccompanied_g's Thumbelina. Her beautiful remix is located here. Huge thank you to villainny for betaing and holding my hand when I whined, "But it's not funny!"Rodney McKay is having a bad day - which, frankly, isn’t all that unusual. Most of his days are bad days. He’s come to accept it. Today, however, is one of the special kind; the kind of bad day that means his best tunic is splattered with bug guts and he’s going to have to ask John to clean off an anther for him so he can get at the gunk that’s managed to work itself into the fold of his pointed ear.
“What’d you do, go up against a beetle?” Ronon snorts when Rodney storms into the tree and kicks his ruined boots off. He’s lounging in one of the leaf hammocks, languidly whittling a stick down to a point.
“As a matter of fact,” Rodney says primly, “yes,” and continues stripping his soiled clothes off and cataloging the damage.
His tights have runs up both calves, his favorite stake is shattered and layered with five different things Rodney does not want to think about, and his hat – well, Rodney won’t ever be wearing it again, he decides sadly, which is just too bad: it was the best kind of green, always blending right in with whatever leaf he was hiding behind.
Maybe he can convince Ronon to make him a new one. From the look on Ronon’s face, though – half incredulous and half thunderous – Rodney concedes that’s not likely. He’ll be lucky to make it through dinner whole once Teyla’s home from the village and Ronon spills the beans, if he’s honest with himself.
Sullenly, he makes his way out onto the springy ground outside the tree, where they keep a few acorns of rain water and a tub made of molded leaves and dried sap to bathe in on days like this. He’s sunk down to his nose in the tepid water, rubbing his itchy shoulder blades against the rim and making sure he can still wiggle his toes when John appears, his gossamer wings faceting the light for a moment before he touches down and tucks them behind his back.
“Hey, you’re home,” he says brightly. His eyes stray up from Rodney’s face to his hair, and his lips twitch like he’s going to smile. “What happened to you?”
“Asian long horn,” Rodney says, and grumpily pulls his legs up to his chest, hunching his shoulders in.
John’s face instantly transforms. “Alone? Rodney, you know those things are dangerous!”
Rodney does, probably better than anyone at this point. He’s gone up against enough of them. He doesn’t say this to John, though, who’s been absurdly protective since the incident with the mantis. John sighs before Rodney can summon up the energy to argue with him, and comes to sit next to the tub, putting a gentle hand on Rodney’s nape. His thumb finds the groove behind Rodney’s ear, rubbing gently, and some tight, bitter thing in Rodney’s chest releases.
“It’s not like I want to endanger my own life in new and wildly terrifying ways,” Rodney says.
“We all know the truth about your thrill-seeking, Rodney, give it up. Can’t fool me.” John tries to grin at him, but it falls flat, the lines around his eyes too deep to ignore. He’s never liked this, Rodney knows, but someone has to do the job, and Rodney was born with means; it’s not even a choice.
They stopped arguing about it a long time ago.
Rodney says, “Yes, fine, whatever. And take this thing off,” he makes a grab for John’s hat, “it makes you look even more emaciated than you already are, although I have no idea how since you’re practically a stick-bug to begin with.”
He ruffles his wet fingers through John’s flattened hair to spike it back up, deliberately ignoring John’s flinch when his hand strays too close to the pale feelers near the front of John’s head. They’ve curled in tightly on themselves like they do when John’s ashamed or afraid, and Rodney pauses to softly run his fingertips up the sensitive backside of one a few times, coaxing it to unfurl. It’s beautiful, the trust Rodney can see in moments like these, when John relaxes despite the taboo that’s always brought him nothing but trouble, leaning into Rodney’s petting like a drunk, his eyes hooded and watching Rodney’s mouth when Rodney murmurs, “You don’t have to hide them when you’re home.”
“Yeah,” John says, obviously humoring Rodney and willing him to change the subject. But he doesn’t pull away, and that’s something, at least.
For once Rodney doesn’t push it. He’s too tired to bang his head against the brick wall of John’s psyche; too tired for anything more than grabbing John by the back of the neck and hauling him down into a kiss that tastes delicate like dew and sharp like a blade of grass.
He gives it a good try, though, guiding John’s hand down his chest and belly in the cool water.
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I love love love the imagery of John relaxing and curling (or uncurling, as it were) into Rodney. SO precious and just emotionally open without being overt.
THANK YOU MELLLLLLL!
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I WANT MOAR. HOMG.
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::slurps this fic all up:: MMMM Gooooood
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Super cute!
No idea whats going on! And I don't care because there's touching. Mmmm, touching :)
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