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icarusMy self-indulgent silliness. For some bizarre reason I wanted to read an SGA AU where John and Rodney were skaters. Yes, yes. Clearly I've O.D.'d on the Olympics and completely lost my marbles.
Part one is here
Out Of Bounds
by Icarus
"So why do we have to skate in the nude again?" John peered at Rodney doubtfully for a moment before stripping off his tee-shirt.
"Improved aerodynamics," Rodney explained, his hands on his hips. He was already naked, except for the skates of course.
John rolled off his pants, taking his underwear with them. Then he glided out onto the ice, practicing a leg extension, long and lean, with his toe -- thank god -- pointed. Already he was improving under Rodney's care. "I think you're just trying to freeze my nuts off."
"No, ah, those should probably stay attached," Rodney said, looking his fill.
A loud pounding noise made Rodney turn his head.
The skating rink evaporated around him as he sat up, suddenly aware he was chilly. He'd fallen asleep on the couch and the TV was blaring a three am infomercial. "Executrex! I've no idea what I did without you!"
The pounding repeated, louder this time.
"Rodney!" John's voice was muffled through the door. "I've been waiting in the car for twenty minutes!"
Rodney had known it was a dream, or how else did John get his pants off over his skates? But it had been such a nice one. "Coming, coming!" He scrambled to find a clean shirt, dirty underwear, swiped a quick roll of deodorant under his armpits and sniffed--
"Rodney…" John complained.
"Hang on a sec!" Rodney pulled on his capilene warm-ups, socks, sneakers, slung his skates over his shoulder, snatched up a hat to cover his dirty hair. He grabbed his coat, not bothering to turn off the TV, and yanked the door open.
He found the object of his bleary fantasy leaning against the doorjamb, looking bright-eyed and irritated, his dark hair deliberately tousled. John seemed to sparkle and had a kind of playful intensity about him, even at his worst. Unlike a lot of skaters, his charisma on the ice carried over in person. He wore a thick jacket and loose jeans, but he might as well have been naked as far as Rodney was concerned, with that dream still hovering in his mind. Rodney's breath made a puff of white mist.
John flipped his car keys in his hands. "Took you long enough. What did you do in there? It sounded like you were tearing the house down."
Rodney had always been grateful he'd bought a boring house with his winnings instead of, say, a Ferrari. Which was what he'd wanted at sixteen. It helped that his grandmother had been in charge of the money. Rodney sighed and ignored the question.
"Like you've never been late -- look, can we get some food on the way in? Tim Horton's?" It was all that was open at this hour.
"If you're buying."
"Good, good," Rodney said absently, fumbling with the lock.
He turned, and found John giving him an assessing up-and-down glance that turned into a slow smirk. Rodney realized he must look like hell -- and still smell like sex.
"Late night?" John drawled with a little smile.
"Oh. Well, being a superstar and all that," Rodney breathed airily, hunching his shoulders and wishing desperately that he'd showered, "life in the fast lane."
"Right," John said, a little too sarcastically.
~*~*~
Rodney sighed with satisfaction as he bit into a lovely warm muffin, humming a little. He heard John snicker and glanced up.
John slouched in the vinyl booth toying with a cup of coffee in which he didn't seem particularly interested. Outside the window a street lamp glowed with a frozen halo. It was a bitter night in Ontario.
"So, why do you want me to skate pairs?" John opened, narrowing his eyes. "I mean, the lifts look pretty hard but…."
"What? Oh, I thought you knew," Rodney said with his mouth full. He quickly swallowed his bite. "Pairs are far more difficult. Twice the speed, and you have to match each other. It demands precision." He wiped his mouth with his napkin and picked up a few crumbs off the table. "I started out as a pairs skater myself. That's why I'm so good. They're always talking about my 'economy of movement' and 'precise edges.' After pairs, singles skating is a snap."
"Really? You? Throwing the girls around? That's hard to picture."
"Oh, yes. I started skating with my sister actually. I was five, she was six." Rodney took a forkful of golden hash browns. "Our parents thought we were getting chunky, so they signed us up for skating lessons."
"Chunky, huh? Can't imagine," John said wryly.
"Shut up." Rodney scowled. "She was bigger than me and a full twenty pounds heavier, and yet they still made me do all the lifts -- just because I was the boy." Even years later, Rodney was indignant, chewing noisily. "She should have been carrying me."
"You were doing lifts when you were five?"
"Well, more like seven, but yes."
Rodney continued with an evil gleam and a smirk, "Though I dropped her. A lot. And not always on accident. She'd get me back. Have you any idea what a skate in the stomach feels like?"
John shook his head, bemused. "Can't say I have."
"They should never allow brothers and sisters to skate together."
"I always thought it seemed, well, a little incestuous. I mean, skating's kinda sexy," John observed.
"Well, Jeannie was more dangerous than anything else." Rodney finished the last of his hash browns with a smack of his lips. "Anyhow, she had no talent whatsoever and I was brilliant. By the time I was competing in singles I was so relieved not to have to pick anyone up, it was a breeze."
Rodney glanced at his grape juice and realized it was gone. But John still hadn't touched his coffee. "Are you gonna drink that or just admire it from afar?"
"I don't really like coffee," John admitted. "I feel obligated to buy it for some reason."
Rodney rolled his eyes. "I'll drink it."
He settled comfortably against the booth and watched John. He really didn't feel like skating today and it was taking every effort to move. "So what about you? How'd you start skating?" Everyone had a story.
"Well," John began, "there was this pond out back behind my parent's house. It had a little rise above it with a tire swing that we used to climb, swing out across the pond, and then see if we could land on the ice without falling."
John paused. Rodney's coffee cup stopped halfway to his mouth.
"How high was this thing?" Rodney asked. He set the cup down without taking a sip.
"Oh, I dunno. Six or eight feet?"
"You're insane."
"Well, stupid more like. A few kids got hurt, though I only fell through the ice once. Now that was the definition of cold." John squirmed in the booth. "I discovered you really had to wait till it was frozen solid. Anyhow, when we moved we didn't have the pond anymore, so my parents let me go to the ice rink. I imitated the kids' jumps there, and a coach saw and wanted me to try out. Only they didn't tell me there was gonna be an audience."
"You're kidding. You didn't know? How could you not know?"
"I'd never watched figure skating. The Olympics was about track and field and hockey."
Rodney chortled. "Guess it didn't go very well then, eh?"
"No, I did pretty good. I didn't want to embarrass myself. But boy I was pissed." Sheppard grinned. "Of course once I saw my scores and realized I did better than everyone else, I decided to stick around."
"Glad you did?" Rodney asked with a canny glance.
"Sometimes."
It was an honest answer, and Rodney liked it. He stood and put a fist in his back, stretching. "Okay. Ready to suffer?"
John simply sighed.
Rodney paid their bill, dropping a tip in the jar. He'd worked a lot of these jobs in his years as a skater, scraping by, and tried to be generous when he could.
"I've one question that's bugged me for years," John said. "Why is it traditional to skate at godawful hours in the morning? Why not, oh, ten o'clock?"
"I have a theory about that actually." Rodney held up a finger. "It's to prepare you for the inherent masochism of the sport. If you're willing to get up at three am to skate, you have the capacity to skate through injuries, cracked ribs, torn ACLs, pulled muscles -- not to mention falling regularly on ice that's as hard as concrete."
"So you're saying that the skating gods are sadists."
"No. I'm saying the coaches are sadists. But it's revenge really." Rodney smirked at him. "We all hate you because you still get to compete."
They laughed and John held the door for Rodney. The sky had lightened to faint gray-blue, and the brisk pre-dawn wind cut through their clothes.
"So you think skating's sexy?" Rodney teased, chafing his hands while John warmed up the car. The thought amused him for some inexplicable reason.
"Not my skating, I just like the jumps, but everyone else's? Sure. Don't you?"
"Think your skating is sexy?" Rodney considered. He'd been watching John for weeks now but hadn't thought about it from this angle. "No," he said, wonderingly, voice soft with surprise. "You're not."
There was definitely something wrong with that.
The next part is here. *g*
Part one is here
Out Of Bounds
by Icarus
"So why do we have to skate in the nude again?" John peered at Rodney doubtfully for a moment before stripping off his tee-shirt.
"Improved aerodynamics," Rodney explained, his hands on his hips. He was already naked, except for the skates of course.
John rolled off his pants, taking his underwear with them. Then he glided out onto the ice, practicing a leg extension, long and lean, with his toe -- thank god -- pointed. Already he was improving under Rodney's care. "I think you're just trying to freeze my nuts off."
"No, ah, those should probably stay attached," Rodney said, looking his fill.
A loud pounding noise made Rodney turn his head.
The skating rink evaporated around him as he sat up, suddenly aware he was chilly. He'd fallen asleep on the couch and the TV was blaring a three am infomercial. "Executrex! I've no idea what I did without you!"
The pounding repeated, louder this time.
"Rodney!" John's voice was muffled through the door. "I've been waiting in the car for twenty minutes!"
Rodney had known it was a dream, or how else did John get his pants off over his skates? But it had been such a nice one. "Coming, coming!" He scrambled to find a clean shirt, dirty underwear, swiped a quick roll of deodorant under his armpits and sniffed--
"Rodney…" John complained.
"Hang on a sec!" Rodney pulled on his capilene warm-ups, socks, sneakers, slung his skates over his shoulder, snatched up a hat to cover his dirty hair. He grabbed his coat, not bothering to turn off the TV, and yanked the door open.
He found the object of his bleary fantasy leaning against the doorjamb, looking bright-eyed and irritated, his dark hair deliberately tousled. John seemed to sparkle and had a kind of playful intensity about him, even at his worst. Unlike a lot of skaters, his charisma on the ice carried over in person. He wore a thick jacket and loose jeans, but he might as well have been naked as far as Rodney was concerned, with that dream still hovering in his mind. Rodney's breath made a puff of white mist.
John flipped his car keys in his hands. "Took you long enough. What did you do in there? It sounded like you were tearing the house down."
Rodney had always been grateful he'd bought a boring house with his winnings instead of, say, a Ferrari. Which was what he'd wanted at sixteen. It helped that his grandmother had been in charge of the money. Rodney sighed and ignored the question.
"Like you've never been late -- look, can we get some food on the way in? Tim Horton's?" It was all that was open at this hour.
"If you're buying."
"Good, good," Rodney said absently, fumbling with the lock.
He turned, and found John giving him an assessing up-and-down glance that turned into a slow smirk. Rodney realized he must look like hell -- and still smell like sex.
"Late night?" John drawled with a little smile.
"Oh. Well, being a superstar and all that," Rodney breathed airily, hunching his shoulders and wishing desperately that he'd showered, "life in the fast lane."
"Right," John said, a little too sarcastically.
~*~*~
Rodney sighed with satisfaction as he bit into a lovely warm muffin, humming a little. He heard John snicker and glanced up.
John slouched in the vinyl booth toying with a cup of coffee in which he didn't seem particularly interested. Outside the window a street lamp glowed with a frozen halo. It was a bitter night in Ontario.
"So, why do you want me to skate pairs?" John opened, narrowing his eyes. "I mean, the lifts look pretty hard but…."
"What? Oh, I thought you knew," Rodney said with his mouth full. He quickly swallowed his bite. "Pairs are far more difficult. Twice the speed, and you have to match each other. It demands precision." He wiped his mouth with his napkin and picked up a few crumbs off the table. "I started out as a pairs skater myself. That's why I'm so good. They're always talking about my 'economy of movement' and 'precise edges.' After pairs, singles skating is a snap."
"Really? You? Throwing the girls around? That's hard to picture."
"Oh, yes. I started skating with my sister actually. I was five, she was six." Rodney took a forkful of golden hash browns. "Our parents thought we were getting chunky, so they signed us up for skating lessons."
"Chunky, huh? Can't imagine," John said wryly.
"Shut up." Rodney scowled. "She was bigger than me and a full twenty pounds heavier, and yet they still made me do all the lifts -- just because I was the boy." Even years later, Rodney was indignant, chewing noisily. "She should have been carrying me."
"You were doing lifts when you were five?"
"Well, more like seven, but yes."
Rodney continued with an evil gleam and a smirk, "Though I dropped her. A lot. And not always on accident. She'd get me back. Have you any idea what a skate in the stomach feels like?"
John shook his head, bemused. "Can't say I have."
"They should never allow brothers and sisters to skate together."
"I always thought it seemed, well, a little incestuous. I mean, skating's kinda sexy," John observed.
"Well, Jeannie was more dangerous than anything else." Rodney finished the last of his hash browns with a smack of his lips. "Anyhow, she had no talent whatsoever and I was brilliant. By the time I was competing in singles I was so relieved not to have to pick anyone up, it was a breeze."
Rodney glanced at his grape juice and realized it was gone. But John still hadn't touched his coffee. "Are you gonna drink that or just admire it from afar?"
"I don't really like coffee," John admitted. "I feel obligated to buy it for some reason."
Rodney rolled his eyes. "I'll drink it."
He settled comfortably against the booth and watched John. He really didn't feel like skating today and it was taking every effort to move. "So what about you? How'd you start skating?" Everyone had a story.
"Well," John began, "there was this pond out back behind my parent's house. It had a little rise above it with a tire swing that we used to climb, swing out across the pond, and then see if we could land on the ice without falling."
John paused. Rodney's coffee cup stopped halfway to his mouth.
"How high was this thing?" Rodney asked. He set the cup down without taking a sip.
"Oh, I dunno. Six or eight feet?"
"You're insane."
"Well, stupid more like. A few kids got hurt, though I only fell through the ice once. Now that was the definition of cold." John squirmed in the booth. "I discovered you really had to wait till it was frozen solid. Anyhow, when we moved we didn't have the pond anymore, so my parents let me go to the ice rink. I imitated the kids' jumps there, and a coach saw and wanted me to try out. Only they didn't tell me there was gonna be an audience."
"You're kidding. You didn't know? How could you not know?"
"I'd never watched figure skating. The Olympics was about track and field and hockey."
Rodney chortled. "Guess it didn't go very well then, eh?"
"No, I did pretty good. I didn't want to embarrass myself. But boy I was pissed." Sheppard grinned. "Of course once I saw my scores and realized I did better than everyone else, I decided to stick around."
"Glad you did?" Rodney asked with a canny glance.
"Sometimes."
It was an honest answer, and Rodney liked it. He stood and put a fist in his back, stretching. "Okay. Ready to suffer?"
John simply sighed.
Rodney paid their bill, dropping a tip in the jar. He'd worked a lot of these jobs in his years as a skater, scraping by, and tried to be generous when he could.
"I've one question that's bugged me for years," John said. "Why is it traditional to skate at godawful hours in the morning? Why not, oh, ten o'clock?"
"I have a theory about that actually." Rodney held up a finger. "It's to prepare you for the inherent masochism of the sport. If you're willing to get up at three am to skate, you have the capacity to skate through injuries, cracked ribs, torn ACLs, pulled muscles -- not to mention falling regularly on ice that's as hard as concrete."
"So you're saying that the skating gods are sadists."
"No. I'm saying the coaches are sadists. But it's revenge really." Rodney smirked at him. "We all hate you because you still get to compete."
They laughed and John held the door for Rodney. The sky had lightened to faint gray-blue, and the brisk pre-dawn wind cut through their clothes.
"So you think skating's sexy?" Rodney teased, chafing his hands while John warmed up the car. The thought amused him for some inexplicable reason.
"Not my skating, I just like the jumps, but everyone else's? Sure. Don't you?"
"Think your skating is sexy?" Rodney considered. He'd been watching John for weeks now but hadn't thought about it from this angle. "No," he said, wonderingly, voice soft with surprise. "You're not."
There was definitely something wrong with that.
The next part is here. *g*
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-02-25 01:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-02-25 06:23 pm (UTC)Icarus
no subject
Date: 2006-02-26 01:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-02-25 01:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-02-25 07:01 pm (UTC)There's definitely going to be sex. I can't promise any bondage or whips and chains I fear. *wiggles eyebrows at you* Maybe another time.
Icarus
no subject
Date: 2006-02-25 03:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-02-25 07:02 pm (UTC)Icarus
no subject
Date: 2006-02-25 04:34 pm (UTC)Love this. Love how John's not being sexy on ice... and can't wait until Rodney shows him how.
Mmmmm.
Greetings from Escapade Con, where we talked so much about SGA that I got up this morning and immediatly hopped on to find more crack- I mean, sga stories.
no subject
Date: 2006-02-25 07:12 pm (UTC)No great mystery where this is headed. *chortles*
Greetings from Escapade Con, where we talked so much about SGA that I got up this morning and immediatly hopped on to find more crack- I mean, sga stories.
Greetings! *waves* I understand Joe Flanigan is going to put in an appearance in the Vancouver Stargate convention, whenever that's scheduled.
Icarus
no subject
Date: 2006-02-25 05:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-02-25 07:22 pm (UTC)Thank you, cool, I'm glad you like.
Didn't I tell you that John/Rodney were addictive?
You warned me, but I didn't listen. Now I'm sitting in an abandoned tenement building, hollow-eyed and waiting for my next fix.
Alien vampires that suck the life force out of you? What could seem improbable after that?
That's exactly my theory! The fandom just begs for AUs and bizarre crack!fic.
Icarus
no subject
Date: 2006-02-25 05:46 pm (UTC)"I always thought it seemed, well, a little incestuous. I mean, skating's kinda sexy," John observed.
Word. The decision in this house is that there is no way those two Scottish skaters can be actually fully brother and sister, because that would be too wrong.
Also, this is great.
no subject
Date: 2006-02-25 07:37 pm (UTC)Icarus
no subject
Date: 2006-02-25 08:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-02-25 08:28 pm (UTC)I'm thinking four parts or so should do it.
Icarus
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Date: 2006-02-26 01:07 am (UTC)I feel slightly better about reading your SGA now that I've seen Rodney on a few episodes of SG-1. Slightly.
But ooh, shiny skating!
no subject
Date: 2006-02-26 04:20 am (UTC)Icarus
no subject
Date: 2006-02-26 02:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-02-26 04:22 am (UTC)Icarus
no subject
Date: 2006-03-01 07:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-01 08:14 pm (UTC)Icarus
no subject
Date: 2006-03-01 10:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-02 10:48 pm (UTC)Icarus