icarus | SGA FIC: Out Of Bounds - John/Rodney

Part one: 'Get back out there.' – 'No. I'm taking up hockey. It'll *hurt* less.'
Part two: 'So why do we have to skate in the nude again?'
Part three: Naturally, John had brought the boom box but had forgotten to bring any music.
Part four: Rodney wondered if John knew 'Mustang Sally' was a favorite with strippers the world over.
Part five: 'This is hero worship, isn't it?'
Part six: 'Me coach. You student. You keep forgetting that lately.'
Part seven: It was just hockey, not a cardinal sin.
Part eight: I'm sure when we were being chased by sabre-toothed tigers we did all kinds of neat tricks.
Part nine: 'You want to be alone?' Kim-the-unutterably-stupid asked.
Part ten: He mentally took back his den and no longer had to worry about John's exercise equipment.
Part eleven: 'I take American Express.'
Part twelve: Give John a spotlight and what does he do? Skate in the dark.
Part thirteen: Something about a dead hamster-?
Part fourteen: Being a UPS driver had been great, nice people, but it worked all the wrong muscle groups.
Part fifteen: 'I don't think she actually skates -- she just floats over the ice like a fruit fly!'

Out Of Bounds
by Icarus

The gleaming black SUV purred in front of John's apartment building. Despite the cold, the tinted driver's side window rolled down, as smooth as black silk, while Rodney climbed out the side door.

"I wish you could come with us to Montreal…" the unfamiliar woman in red was saying, one hand curled around the steering wheel. She was nearly invisible behind her dark glasses.

Rodney stood stiffly with his back to John, but his voice was clipped. "Well. You know my policy."

"C'mon, Rod-neeeeey…." A tiny little girl in a lilac snowsuit that almost hid her completely hopped down from the SUV. She was no higher than Rodney's hip as she tugged on his belt, leaning backward with her full weight. Rodney didn't budge a millimeter. "Pleeeeease?"

Rodney shook his head and tiredly pulled her upright, steadying her hips, and knelt down on the sidewalk. He held up a forefinger in front of her face. She raised her chin to see past the cinched hood of the snowsuit.

"Take some time before you skate, remember what I said," Rodney said with very adult intensity, waiting a moment to catch distracted eyes, "Don't compete the whole time!"

She nodded twice, decisive, chewing on the drawstring of her hood.

"Good. Now up--" Rodney lifted her easily under her arms, swinging her into the back seat of the SUV, then slid the door shut on well-oiled hinges. "And good luck," he said, perfunctory and plainly insincere. He patted the door and waved to the woman as the window whirred back up. Rodney watched them as they pulled away.

"Policy?" John asked.

"I don't do competitions." Rodney scowled after them as the vehicle reached the corner. The turn signal flashed. "That woman should get a dog and take it to shows."

"Well, she looked like a pretty tough kid to me," John said just to mollify him. Actually, what he really thought was that he didn't know skates even came that small.

"Tough?! Like hell!" Rodney squawked. "She's so fragile you could break her just by breathing wrong! I don't think she actually skates -- she just floats over the ice like a fruit fly!" Rodney's gestures flew. "Her mother wants her to 'get used to' the pressure of competing -- as if that's possible. And of course -- of course! -- all her little friends are going, so she just has to follow like a little lemming. That way they can all have cartilage damage and arthritis in their thirties, chat about the good old days as they sit around in rocking chairs."

John stared at him quietly.

"Didn't you used to compete as a kid?"

Rodney didn't answer.

As they slid into the front seat of John's car, John chewed his lip and finally asked, with a pensive intake of breath, "You're going to my competitions, right?"

"Of course I am," Rodney said with an off-handed flutter of his fingers, then returned to chewing his thumbnail and staring out the side window. John nodded slowly as if this made sense, unwilling to push it as he put the car in gear.

~*~*~

A half-circle drive curved to a series of broad shallow steps that led up to a wall of glass doors. John backed into the parking lot, his arm slung around Rodney's seat, and his eyes flicked over to him.

"You know, if this is a problem…." John began.

"No, no, it should be perfectly fine." Rodney's hands tapped a rhythm on his knee before he nodded, and with a deep breath, got out.

It was a ridiculously long walk to the front door.

The picture was straight ahead as visitors entered through the glass doors, framed over a display of local art: Mayor Schmidt with a pair of over-sized fake scissors, and next to him, a teenager with wide blue eyes and a familiar sardonic smile. The young Rodney had curly brown hair falling over his forehead and way too much mousse as he held up his half of the ribbon. Beside it was a plaque of dedication with the date: 1985.

Head down and not examining the picture, Rodney tugged on John's arm. "Come along, no distractions."

The lobby echoed, and had plants. The receptionist was busy behind a modern angular counter. John gazed up at the skylights and all around, following Rodney reluctantly.

Rodney guided them away from the main hallway into what appeared to be a side route, cutting through a row of business offices with oak doors. Rodney rapped the button to a back elevator.

The rink was larger, more brightly lit, with a huge dome ceiling and advertisements plastered along all the sides. The section at the far end didn't have the overhead lights flickering that John had gotten used to, and the aisles circling the rink were comfortably wide. Clusters of people in team jackets hovered rink-side. On the far edge a trio of cameras were setting up to film a dark-haired skater.

John scanned the ice with sharp competitive eyes. Two or three skaters had staked out their corners. Not a nine-year-old in sight. One woman executed a really professional triple-toe loop with great speed and a solid landing, her skirt and brown hair flying. John gave a slow satisfied smile.

Rodney hurried them through a cluster of people, head down. "Okay, we'll, ah, go over there where it's quiet…." He edged gingerly towards a patch of empty stands.

A face glanced up at Rodney's voice. "Is that--?"

She turned to her friend and whispered, and then two faces were aimed their way. Rodney rubbed the back of his neck and moved a little faster.

"McKay?" asked a questioning female voice behind them, hoarse from cigarettes or a sex change, who knew. "You're Rodney McKay, aren't you?"

Rodney winced and turned around slowly with a forced smile.

"I saw you in the World's -- Jesus, how long ago was that?" she turned to a darkly tanned woman in a pink sweater next to her.

"Ten… twelve years?" she offered.

"1984. That's right," the first woman nodded.

A teenager next to them chirped up, "Hey, isn't he the same one in the picture--?"

"Shh! Don't be rude!" The woman with the gravelly voice cut her off. "Don't mind her. Skating's decayed so much since you left. Nothing but acrobatics now."

Rodney finally found his voice. "I… I saw it heading in that direction. Once they got rid of the compulsories…."

"Downhill from there," the woman nodded sagely.

"Rodney McKay?" A querying voice came from across the ice. A man in warm-ups and streaky blond hair nodded to a younger skater and then turned their way, gliding to a stop. He eyed Rodney up and down, sharply appraising, his friendly, hearty tone not quite reaching his eyes. "I thought that was you. Careful, they've got the cameras out, doing set up shots." He winked as if they had some sort of inside joke. "Kyle Fletcher's practicing, you know how it is."

"Yeah," Rodney said in a shaky voice. John had never seen Rodney so… shy.

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence. "Hey, you've never met Paul, have you?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Paul!" He waved to the young skater. He couldn't have been more than seventeen. "I'm sure you recognize--"

"Rodney McKay," the kid said, reaching over the barricade to shake his hand, "they have your picture on the wall."

"Yes. I know that," Rodney said wryly.

"I saw your stuff back in '83," the kid continued, bright-eyed. "You were really good. It was either the Nationals or the World's … that Korsakov piece."

"I did the same program at both." Rodney gave him a funny look. "How old were you in…?"

"Mom's got the tape. Says you're a real artist. Seen it a million times."

"Ah."

"Uh-oh," the blond man said cheerfully, glancing over his shoulder. A handsome man in a dark suit was working his way around the rink flanked by two men in t-shirts. "Sorry, looks like I've blown your cover. Brett Jordan's gotten wind of this. I'm making a break for it -- see you around, McKay?"

Rodney just nodded absently, eyes fixed on the man in the suit who approached with a broad, beaming and completely plastic smile.

"Rodney McKay. It's been a very long time." He had a low, ringing voice like a baseball announcer's. He held out his hand and clasped Rodney's in a firm handshake. "Come to watch Kyle Fletcher skate? I understand he's looking for a coach."

"Oh, ah, I have my hands full right now," Rodney said, bouncing nervously on his toes with a quick look back at John. Brett Jordan followed Rodney's glance with a flick of steady eyes.

"I'm sorry, and you are--?" he said, with well-practiced politeness.

"Sorry, sorry," Rodney waved a hand nervously. "John Sheppard, Brett Jordan."

John gave him a disingenuous smile and a brief nod.

"Is this someone we should be keeping an eye on?" he asked with a sharp-eyed sparkle that wasn't quite humor, no longer looking at Rodney. John suddenly felt like he had a gun to his head.

"Yes, sir," John said.

"So are we going to see you skate today?" Brett asked, and muttered to his assistant over his shoulder, "Allen, camera two's free, right?"

"Uh," John said, blank-faced.

"No, no, I was just swinging by, seeing the old haunts." Rodney swung his arms. "Showing off a little, you know me!"

Jordan gave a belly laugh. "We sure do. Well, keep in touch, Rodney." He held out his hand to John. "John Sheppard, nice meeting you. We'll be keeping an eye on you. Never forget to watch for the dark horse, I've learned." He winked broadly at Rodney. "Or else some fifteen-year-old will upset everything in the World's."

Rodney laughed, unnaturally high-pitched. John shot him a funny look.

It took two little girls in sneakers seeking autographs (their mom beamed and had Rodney sign the back of their t-shirts), several more old friends, a hug from a complete stranger -- until they finally escaped.

Rodney sagged back against the wall outside the darkened business offices as the elevator door glided shut.

John leaned against the elevator door, still blinking and stunned. "Thanks for getting me out of there."

Rodney cringed apologetically, letting out a breath. "Sorry. I thought they would have forgotten me by now. I can never get anything done in this place."

John peered at him irritably. "Not likely. Your picture's on the damned wall."

"Never, ever open a skating center." Rodney raised a cautioning finger. "Not even if the mayor's office calls -- although my mother was so excited, it might have been worth it." He sighed. "Luckily, it's died down quite a bit. I used to have to carry signed eight-by-tens."

Zee next part is here.

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Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

lillian78.livejournal.com

Okay, have John & Rodney secretly taken a super-secret vow of chastity? *shakes fist at characters* But the skating and build up is, as ever, super delcious. ^__~

From:

Students? I like to think of them as "test subjects".....

SGA FIC: Out Of Bounds - John/Rodney - NC-17, no, still no sex

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