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fic, icons, and movies oh my!
This is unprecedented for eleven o'clock on a Saturday morning. I've already been up for a ridiculous number of hours, which is so very not like me, eaten pizza for breakfast (delicious and nutritious!) and fumbled my way through the first few hundred words of my happy fic. What's going on? I don't know. Possibly I've slipped into an alternate dimension. To combat the weirdness, I'm reposting a small comment ficlet written yesterday for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
melloniel, whose battle with her recliner was inspiring.
Annnd, here's a small bunch of icons, mostly of people making amusing or shocked faces. Because that's so how I roll. Twenty eight all together: eighteen John, four Rodney/David, four Teyla, one Elizabeth, one McShep.
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- textures by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
chaosgraphics and brokendogma
- most caps by Atlantica
In other news! I've decided to go on a movie binge this weekend, try to catch up on all the culture I missed growing up in the nineties. So far I've watched Singin' in the Rain and Who Framed Roger Rabbit - as, um, I'm sure you all noticed yesterday - and right now I'm twenty minutes into The Maltese Falcon. What else should be on my list, do you think?
*hoardes popcorn and blankets*
melloniel, whose battle with her recliner was inspiring. Untitled Chair Ficlet
McKay/Sheppard, R ~620 words
Rodney found the chair by accident. No, really.
The department store was vast and baffling, and the two of them had spent the better part of that morning and afternoon blindly stumbling from one section to another, tossing whisks and shower curtains into their overflowing cart and arguing over the shade of blue the area rug for the front room should be.
(Rodney was all for cerulean, but John had been dead set on cobalt, which had naturally led to the two of them smacking each other with rolled up bath mats. John had won that round by rapping Rodney's knuckles with a toilet brush, the dirty rotten cheater.)
He'd wandered away from John somewhere around the time John had gotten really involved in the football game playing on one of the store's flat screen televisions to find a place to sit, and stumbled across the furniture department entirely by accident.
He felt a little bit like Goldilocks as he sat down in the first one, and then the second and the third - they were all far too plush, and his spine had enough to bother it without some extra padding forcibly contorting him into a shape mostly closely resembling a Celtic knot. The fifth was disgustingly firm, somewhat akin to sitting on planks of wood instead of civilized furniture - the cushions were clearly just cloth and brick - and the sixth was just too horrible to look at for more than a minute and a half.
The seventh, though.
Visually, it was appealing, all dark red leather and brassy studs. It looked expensive and lived in, and it was buttery soft to the touch - almost sensual. Rodney could very easily see himself looking distinguished and wearing a silken bathrobe while sitting in it. Then he did sit, and all of the various knots he'd accumulated during the day released almost at the same time.
"Oh my god," he moaned, low and drawn out, and dropped his head back to let the top of the chair take its weight.
He wasn't sure how long he luxuriated in the heavenly comfort before John found him, but since the shopping cart had since been joined by a hand basket, which was itself almost filled to the brim with DVDs and electronics, Rodney figured at least half an hour. John set the basket next to the cart in the aisle and picked his way through the faux living room to Rodney's side.
"You look comfortable," he said dryly.
Rodney managed a half-hearted ehn sound and flapped one limp arm at him. John smirked and sunk down to his knees, one hand high on Rodney's thigh for balance, and, huh, Rodney wasn't so comfortable anymore. In fact, he was kind of -
"Positively pornographic," John murmured. His sly fingers slid up Rodney's inseam, thumb finding Rodney's fly and rubbing the zipper down against his cock.
Rodney said, "I, uh, that's."
John chuckled and curved his hand over Rodney's crotch, heel of his palm pressed to Rodney's balls, tips of his fingers at the trapped head of Rodney's cock near his right pocket. "That's what, buddy? Couldn't make that out."
"Hate," Rodney whimpered, shifting his hips up into that tease of pressure, and John laughed at him again, giving him one rough rub before pulling away entirely. "Hate," Rodney restated vehemently, if shakily, panting hard and only just pulling himself together enough to grab onto the basket's handles when John shoved it at him. Hot Fuzz toppled over the side and hit him square in the face, and he was still busy extracting himself from the tangled mess of arousal and DVDs when he heard John, sounding smug and dirty, say, "We'll take that one."
Annnd, here's a small bunch of icons, mostly of people making amusing or shocked faces. Because that's so how I roll. Twenty eight all together: eighteen John, four Rodney/David, four Teyla, one Elizabeth, one McShep.
01
0405
0809
1213
1617
2021
2425
28- textures by
chaosgraphics and brokendogma- most caps by Atlantica
In other news! I've decided to go on a movie binge this weekend, try to catch up on all the culture I missed growing up in the nineties. So far I've watched Singin' in the Rain and Who Framed Roger Rabbit - as, um, I'm sure you all noticed yesterday - and right now I'm twenty minutes into The Maltese Falcon. What else should be on my list, do you think?
*hoardes popcorn and blankets*
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