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Ficlet. Actual, official, beta'd ficlet. Has it been a while?
Title: The Scientific Method
Fandom: SGA
Pairing: Rodney/Radek
Rating: PG-13
A/N: Thank you to Rabidfan, IvoryGates, and Sian for the beta help. By way of explanation. I missed the SGA Smooch deadline, and I'm too impatient to wait for a whole week to post. I've starved you guys long enough.
Summary: "Don't do the clock! I hate it when you do the clock!"
Rodney contemplates for a while, his mind going into overdrive. Wet, warm, small mouth. He deepens the kiss experimentally, tipping his head a little to the side. Radek sighs closer -- Radek. No, really? How is this happening? His mind won't stop.
The mechanics of the kiss he can appreciate. The slow nibbling motions, just enough syncopation to keep him interested -- which is no doubt why he keeps on kissing, despite the natural confusion at this unexpected development. Plus there's that interesting, elusive, chase-able tongue. Rodney seizes the back of Radek's head to capture it, and Radek's grunt and warm huff of surprise opens his mouth almost enough to make that possible.
Radek's hand fists on Rodney's shoulder in reaction, bunching his jacket, and there was grinding, yes, definite grinding going on now, which was ... good, undeniably good, in the sense that Rodney has him locked in exactly the right angle for that to be, oh, perfect ... and not so good in the sense that Rodney doesn't know what the hell is going on, what they're doing or, heck, if anyone's watching. He'd lost the moment where this had started.
But Rodney's infallible logic has already dismissed the idea of a look around. If anyone has seen, the damage is done, so there is no point in breaking off what is by all reasonable assessments a pretty extraordinary kiss. Especially not now with Radek's rhythmic little whimpers in time with the ease and press of his small body, compact, bird-delicate, all along Rodney's chest. And his kiss tries to argue with Rodney, fighting a losing battle to take over. A tiptoe lift, a tug forward on Rodney's jacket, the aggressive push into Rodney's mouth -- now really, when had Radek ever won their battle of wills? Especially at a moment where Rodney can use his size against him. Rodney has learned from being on a gate team that he's strong, surprisingly strong, for someone who was once a fat kid with a Twinkie habit.
He gets a squeak as his hand scoops along Radek's warm thigh--he's wearing jeans, not in uniform, how had he not noticed that before?--grips under Radek's ass and lifts him almost waist-high.
They nearly topple over, but Rodney braces them against a table. It -- tragically -- breaks them apart. Something rattles to the floor. Radek leans back on his hands, his eyes pale blue, pupils dark pinpoints of shock.
"What?" Radek gapes up at him, mouth kiss-wet, looking adorably mussed. Of course, he always looks like a grad student two days before his dissertation defense, but context changes everything. "What is happening?
"In my experience," Rodney says with some asperity, "which is clearly infinitely greater than yours, good kisses are almost never improved by talking." Hope vanishes that they could continue and that makes Rodney cranky. He doesn't add that he's always had trouble getting past second base, but kissing, oh yes, he's had plenty of experience.
"But--but why...?" Radek runs his hands through his hair.
Rodney can't answer that. They'd been working, yes, it had been late. Rodney had yelled that they'd gotten nowhere, then Radek had looked ... tired. They were so tired. Had he started it?
"Oh," Radek says. "The cameras."
Shit! The security feeds.
They make dashes for their computers, nearly collide, pause and stare, then dodge around each other.
The time on his computer clock reads five forty-five a.m., later than he thought -- no, not good, not good at all. They'd worked through the night and it was now morning, with morning routines, such as--
"Fourteen minutes and thirty-seven seconds till automatic dial out for weekly status," Radek says, losing his articles under pressure.
"Don't do the clock! I hate it when you do the clock!"
Rodney looks up, feeling hunted as it hits him, "There's not enough time." Security data, all compressed and downloaded in an instant to earth. They could remove the entire file but that would look....
"I hacked the feeds--" Radek begins.
"Got it," Rodney says.
Delete, delete, delete, lines of text, the only proof they'd ever have about who had started this, what had happened. Rodney can almost breathe again. With any luck, Radek doesn't remember either.
And so, safe, more or less, Rodney pulls himself up to his full height and dignity.
"Yes. Um. Good night. That, was, um...." Rodney runs out of words mid-sentence and pleads with his eyes for Radek to fix this. He's better at people.
"Yes." Radek says with a bob of his head, cutting this off before it can get worse.
Right. Yes.
With that, his head down, Rodney makes an abrupt turn towards the hall transporter. It's the wrong hallway, obviously wrong, and he has to walk up a flight of stairs to find another transporter. He also forgot his radio on the table, but he's not going back for it.
It'll be fine. They can handle whatever they don't talk about.
Title: The Scientific Method
Fandom: SGA
Pairing: Rodney/Radek
Rating: PG-13
A/N: Thank you to Rabidfan, IvoryGates, and Sian for the beta help. By way of explanation. I missed the SGA Smooch deadline, and I'm too impatient to wait for a whole week to post. I've starved you guys long enough.
Summary: "Don't do the clock! I hate it when you do the clock!"
Rodney contemplates for a while, his mind going into overdrive. Wet, warm, small mouth. He deepens the kiss experimentally, tipping his head a little to the side. Radek sighs closer -- Radek. No, really? How is this happening? His mind won't stop.
The mechanics of the kiss he can appreciate. The slow nibbling motions, just enough syncopation to keep him interested -- which is no doubt why he keeps on kissing, despite the natural confusion at this unexpected development. Plus there's that interesting, elusive, chase-able tongue. Rodney seizes the back of Radek's head to capture it, and Radek's grunt and warm huff of surprise opens his mouth almost enough to make that possible.
Radek's hand fists on Rodney's shoulder in reaction, bunching his jacket, and there was grinding, yes, definite grinding going on now, which was ... good, undeniably good, in the sense that Rodney has him locked in exactly the right angle for that to be, oh, perfect ... and not so good in the sense that Rodney doesn't know what the hell is going on, what they're doing or, heck, if anyone's watching. He'd lost the moment where this had started.
But Rodney's infallible logic has already dismissed the idea of a look around. If anyone has seen, the damage is done, so there is no point in breaking off what is by all reasonable assessments a pretty extraordinary kiss. Especially not now with Radek's rhythmic little whimpers in time with the ease and press of his small body, compact, bird-delicate, all along Rodney's chest. And his kiss tries to argue with Rodney, fighting a losing battle to take over. A tiptoe lift, a tug forward on Rodney's jacket, the aggressive push into Rodney's mouth -- now really, when had Radek ever won their battle of wills? Especially at a moment where Rodney can use his size against him. Rodney has learned from being on a gate team that he's strong, surprisingly strong, for someone who was once a fat kid with a Twinkie habit.
He gets a squeak as his hand scoops along Radek's warm thigh--he's wearing jeans, not in uniform, how had he not noticed that before?--grips under Radek's ass and lifts him almost waist-high.
They nearly topple over, but Rodney braces them against a table. It -- tragically -- breaks them apart. Something rattles to the floor. Radek leans back on his hands, his eyes pale blue, pupils dark pinpoints of shock.
"What?" Radek gapes up at him, mouth kiss-wet, looking adorably mussed. Of course, he always looks like a grad student two days before his dissertation defense, but context changes everything. "What is happening?
"In my experience," Rodney says with some asperity, "which is clearly infinitely greater than yours, good kisses are almost never improved by talking." Hope vanishes that they could continue and that makes Rodney cranky. He doesn't add that he's always had trouble getting past second base, but kissing, oh yes, he's had plenty of experience.
"But--but why...?" Radek runs his hands through his hair.
Rodney can't answer that. They'd been working, yes, it had been late. Rodney had yelled that they'd gotten nowhere, then Radek had looked ... tired. They were so tired. Had he started it?
"Oh," Radek says. "The cameras."
Shit! The security feeds.
They make dashes for their computers, nearly collide, pause and stare, then dodge around each other.
The time on his computer clock reads five forty-five a.m., later than he thought -- no, not good, not good at all. They'd worked through the night and it was now morning, with morning routines, such as--
"Fourteen minutes and thirty-seven seconds till automatic dial out for weekly status," Radek says, losing his articles under pressure.
"Don't do the clock! I hate it when you do the clock!"
Rodney looks up, feeling hunted as it hits him, "There's not enough time." Security data, all compressed and downloaded in an instant to earth. They could remove the entire file but that would look....
"I hacked the feeds--" Radek begins.
"Got it," Rodney says.
Delete, delete, delete, lines of text, the only proof they'd ever have about who had started this, what had happened. Rodney can almost breathe again. With any luck, Radek doesn't remember either.
And so, safe, more or less, Rodney pulls himself up to his full height and dignity.
"Yes. Um. Good night. That, was, um...." Rodney runs out of words mid-sentence and pleads with his eyes for Radek to fix this. He's better at people.
"Yes." Radek says with a bob of his head, cutting this off before it can get worse.
Right. Yes.
With that, his head down, Rodney makes an abrupt turn towards the hall transporter. It's the wrong hallway, obviously wrong, and he has to walk up a flight of stairs to find another transporter. He also forgot his radio on the table, but he's not going back for it.
It'll be fine. They can handle whatever they don't talk about.
no subject
Date: 2012-06-02 06:05 pm (UTC)This is a sweet and wistful fic that implies as much -- and more -- as it says. And I really hope there's a sequel.
Thank you for asking me to beta. I would never have seen it otherwise.
no subject
Date: 2012-06-03 08:20 am (UTC)