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icarusSilly, self-indulgent John/Rodney Stargate Atlantis skating AU coming right up. Part five.
Part one is here
Out Of Bounds
by Icarus
The morning was off to a terrific start when Rodney slammed the door of John's Chevy, hopping onto the vinyl seats with a whuff of breath -- and discovered it just as cold inside as outside. "Hey…."
"Sorry. Heater broke," John explained ruefully. He lifted his chin and peered at the rear view mirror, adjusting it.
"You need to win a competition or the lottery or something," Rodney complained. "So you can pay me and put your life back together."
"There's always male prostitution," John drawled.
Rodney's jaw dropped and his mouth went dry.
"Kidding, McKay."
"Oh," Rodney sighed and he started breathing again. "Of course you are." But his mind was still reeling through the dangers of that. HIV, Hepatitis, assault and battery, John injured for life, wheelchairs, never able to skate again… John would leave a tragically good looking corpse.
"My parents send me what they can, but I don't like to ask. The apartment's subsidized so that helps…." John shrugged. "I worked as a dishwasher for a while but got fired: four am skate times and late shifts just don't seem to mix."
"Well, if it gets too bad you can always move in with me."
Rodney froze, stunned at what had just come out of his mouth. No, stunned that he'd even thought it. John's work out equipment would never fit, and that was just for starters.
John's expression went blank and oddly vulnerable. Not turning his head, he eyed Rodney. "Do you make that offer to all your students?"
"Not if they're under the age of nine, no. Their parents would find it very upsetting." Rodney tried to make light of it with a nervous little laugh. "So, ah, did you bring the music?" he asked in a tight, desperate voice, eager to change the subject. "And the boombox?"
John blinked and handed Rodney a plastic bag of CDs. He reached up and made an irritated growl in the back of his throat, rubbing the inside of the windshield with his sleeve; the heater being out apparently meant that the defroster didn't work either.
"I didn't mean for that to seem…" Rodney began, circling one hand as he held the bag limply in the other.
"No, it's all right. It's a generous offer." John flashed him a smile.
"I was just thinking about wheelchairs…" Rodney said absently.
"What?" John twisted in his direction, brows furrowed.
But Rodney was already distracted as he stared into the bag, "What is this crap?"
"What crap?"
"Keith Urban? Johnny Cash? You can't skate to any of this!"
"You said pick out something I like," John frowned, a little petulant.
"That was founded on the assumption you had a modicum of taste and some concept of what makes appropriate skating music," Rodney said in exasperation. "I realize you learned how to skate at ma and pa's ce-ment swimming hole, but you've been doing it long enough to know better." Rodney dug through the bag irritably.
"I hate classical…." John whined.
Rodney produced one CD, waving it in the air. "Aha! The Clash. Now we're getting somewhere."
John gave him an uncomfortable half-smile. "Well, that's more for listening than for skating."
"Obviously. But at least I can tolerate hearing it for months on end." He turned towards John, brandishing the CD. "Look, the rule of skating music is simple: pick out something you like but not something you love. That way you can live with it, but you don't ruin it for yourself by having to play it nine billion times."
John nodded. "Take Johnny Cash out of there."
"We're gonna go one better." Rodney patted his shoulder. John stared at that spot, but Rodney ignored him and jerked his chin in the direction of his house. "C'mon, follow me. I should've done this to begin with."
Inside his house, Rodney tried the technique of pretending the mess was invisible. Ignore the piles of papers, medicine bottles, empty dishes and glasses, the dirty clothes strewn about the couch and on the floor, and hopefully your guest would be immediately struck blind. Naturally, it didn't work on John.
John paused in the doorway, looking around hesitantly as he slipped the door shut behind him. He stood with his hands on his hips, his gaze openly taking in the wreckage.
"Nice place you've got here." He glanced up at the ceiling as he picked his way across the room. "I'm thinking of turning down your offer."
"Shut up, you people take up all my time," Rodney snapped as he crouched down and slid open his dusty stereo cabinet. "Though maybe if you paid me I could afford a cleaning lady."
"I'm guessing there're not a lot of guests rolling through here, are there? Because something this impressive takes effort."
"Of course not."
"So, no parade of international stardom?" John said meaningfully.
Rodney gave him a hard look. "Ten years ago, yes. It's amazing I found any time to skate. Now, no. No one's interested in a slightly overweight has-been."
"Well. I wouldn't say no one."
Their eyes met for a moment.
"This is hero worship, isn't it?" Rodney asked calmly as he returned to digging through his CDs.
"You did just offer to be my sugar daddy," John said with a dry smirk.
Rodney sighed. "I'm never going to hear the end of that, am I?"
John crouched beside Rodney with a satisfied little grunt. "Not a chance."
"Wasting time here. We're already late." Rodney gestured to the line of CDs he'd just reorganized by composer. "I've picked out the most likely candidates for your -- and please be aware I'm stretching the term here -- 'style' of skating."
"Just now?"
"Well, I am a genius. I simply just chose to, oh," Rodney beamed beatifically at him, "follow my muse."
John rolled his eyes in disgust, changing the subject as he scanned the entire cabinet. "That's a lot of CDs."
"I've an exceptional collection. Now. What do you like that doesn't include caterwauling about broken hearts and truck pulls? Tchaikovsky's always reliable -- 'Romeo and Juliet,' perhaps? You have to like it or it won't work."
John wrinkled his nose and shook his head. "Classical's boring."
"You clearly haven't heard the right kind of classical music. Handel is boring."
"I like drum solos… guitar solos…." John suggested doubtfully.
Rodney brightened, snapping his fingers. "Oh! I know just the thing." He grabbed a handful of CDs and gestured John to the door, checking his watch. "If we cut short your spins we can still try this."
"Try what? And I saw you pick up that Tschaikovsky, Rodney."
"Always have a back-up plan."
"Yeah, I've got a back-up plan," John said, following Rodney carefully as they trampled down the front steps to John's car. "If what you picked sucks I'm skating to Willie Nelson."
On to part six!
No music for this ep. :D Though I like the fact that we're going to end up with a soundtrack by the end of this.
Part one is here
Out Of Bounds
by Icarus
The morning was off to a terrific start when Rodney slammed the door of John's Chevy, hopping onto the vinyl seats with a whuff of breath -- and discovered it just as cold inside as outside. "Hey…."
"Sorry. Heater broke," John explained ruefully. He lifted his chin and peered at the rear view mirror, adjusting it.
"You need to win a competition or the lottery or something," Rodney complained. "So you can pay me and put your life back together."
"There's always male prostitution," John drawled.
Rodney's jaw dropped and his mouth went dry.
"Kidding, McKay."
"Oh," Rodney sighed and he started breathing again. "Of course you are." But his mind was still reeling through the dangers of that. HIV, Hepatitis, assault and battery, John injured for life, wheelchairs, never able to skate again… John would leave a tragically good looking corpse.
"My parents send me what they can, but I don't like to ask. The apartment's subsidized so that helps…." John shrugged. "I worked as a dishwasher for a while but got fired: four am skate times and late shifts just don't seem to mix."
"Well, if it gets too bad you can always move in with me."
Rodney froze, stunned at what had just come out of his mouth. No, stunned that he'd even thought it. John's work out equipment would never fit, and that was just for starters.
John's expression went blank and oddly vulnerable. Not turning his head, he eyed Rodney. "Do you make that offer to all your students?"
"Not if they're under the age of nine, no. Their parents would find it very upsetting." Rodney tried to make light of it with a nervous little laugh. "So, ah, did you bring the music?" he asked in a tight, desperate voice, eager to change the subject. "And the boombox?"
John blinked and handed Rodney a plastic bag of CDs. He reached up and made an irritated growl in the back of his throat, rubbing the inside of the windshield with his sleeve; the heater being out apparently meant that the defroster didn't work either.
"I didn't mean for that to seem…" Rodney began, circling one hand as he held the bag limply in the other.
"No, it's all right. It's a generous offer." John flashed him a smile.
"I was just thinking about wheelchairs…" Rodney said absently.
"What?" John twisted in his direction, brows furrowed.
But Rodney was already distracted as he stared into the bag, "What is this crap?"
"What crap?"
"Keith Urban? Johnny Cash? You can't skate to any of this!"
"You said pick out something I like," John frowned, a little petulant.
"That was founded on the assumption you had a modicum of taste and some concept of what makes appropriate skating music," Rodney said in exasperation. "I realize you learned how to skate at ma and pa's ce-ment swimming hole, but you've been doing it long enough to know better." Rodney dug through the bag irritably.
"I hate classical…." John whined.
Rodney produced one CD, waving it in the air. "Aha! The Clash. Now we're getting somewhere."
John gave him an uncomfortable half-smile. "Well, that's more for listening than for skating."
"Obviously. But at least I can tolerate hearing it for months on end." He turned towards John, brandishing the CD. "Look, the rule of skating music is simple: pick out something you like but not something you love. That way you can live with it, but you don't ruin it for yourself by having to play it nine billion times."
John nodded. "Take Johnny Cash out of there."
"We're gonna go one better." Rodney patted his shoulder. John stared at that spot, but Rodney ignored him and jerked his chin in the direction of his house. "C'mon, follow me. I should've done this to begin with."
Inside his house, Rodney tried the technique of pretending the mess was invisible. Ignore the piles of papers, medicine bottles, empty dishes and glasses, the dirty clothes strewn about the couch and on the floor, and hopefully your guest would be immediately struck blind. Naturally, it didn't work on John.
John paused in the doorway, looking around hesitantly as he slipped the door shut behind him. He stood with his hands on his hips, his gaze openly taking in the wreckage.
"Nice place you've got here." He glanced up at the ceiling as he picked his way across the room. "I'm thinking of turning down your offer."
"Shut up, you people take up all my time," Rodney snapped as he crouched down and slid open his dusty stereo cabinet. "Though maybe if you paid me I could afford a cleaning lady."
"I'm guessing there're not a lot of guests rolling through here, are there? Because something this impressive takes effort."
"Of course not."
"So, no parade of international stardom?" John said meaningfully.
Rodney gave him a hard look. "Ten years ago, yes. It's amazing I found any time to skate. Now, no. No one's interested in a slightly overweight has-been."
"Well. I wouldn't say no one."
Their eyes met for a moment.
"This is hero worship, isn't it?" Rodney asked calmly as he returned to digging through his CDs.
"You did just offer to be my sugar daddy," John said with a dry smirk.
Rodney sighed. "I'm never going to hear the end of that, am I?"
John crouched beside Rodney with a satisfied little grunt. "Not a chance."
"Wasting time here. We're already late." Rodney gestured to the line of CDs he'd just reorganized by composer. "I've picked out the most likely candidates for your -- and please be aware I'm stretching the term here -- 'style' of skating."
"Just now?"
"Well, I am a genius. I simply just chose to, oh," Rodney beamed beatifically at him, "follow my muse."
John rolled his eyes in disgust, changing the subject as he scanned the entire cabinet. "That's a lot of CDs."
"I've an exceptional collection. Now. What do you like that doesn't include caterwauling about broken hearts and truck pulls? Tchaikovsky's always reliable -- 'Romeo and Juliet,' perhaps? You have to like it or it won't work."
John wrinkled his nose and shook his head. "Classical's boring."
"You clearly haven't heard the right kind of classical music. Handel is boring."
"I like drum solos… guitar solos…." John suggested doubtfully.
Rodney brightened, snapping his fingers. "Oh! I know just the thing." He grabbed a handful of CDs and gestured John to the door, checking his watch. "If we cut short your spins we can still try this."
"Try what? And I saw you pick up that Tschaikovsky, Rodney."
"Always have a back-up plan."
"Yeah, I've got a back-up plan," John said, following Rodney carefully as they trampled down the front steps to John's car. "If what you picked sucks I'm skating to Willie Nelson."
On to part six!
No music for this ep. :D Though I like the fact that we're going to end up with a soundtrack by the end of this.
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Date: 2006-03-08 12:32 am (UTC)Icarus