A follow-up to Last Port Of Call.
Aug. 24th, 2006 03:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
icarusA couple people expressed an interest in seeing the next tidbit on Last Port Of Call.
I have no intention of continuing the story -- I'm not sure I want to tinker with it. It was a pretty powerful piece and I'm fairly sure anything I write next won't be as good.
However, I did write this next part and I haven't accomplished anything else this week. *cough, hack, sniffle* I've been worried a smidge about wank, but heck, it's my story and people are either gonna like it or not. Not my problem.
So, for those of you who are interested, Rodney's POV in Last Port Of Call:
Last Port Of Call
by Icarus
Rodney ran a hand up the back of his head where he sat slumped on the floor, knees drawn up. A circle of soldiers were getting a demonstration of the Athosian stick-fighting. If the Wraith landed in the city, John had just explained, his arms folded across his chest, you were better off knowing some hand-to-hand combat moves that kept them at a distance. No one answered, shifting uncomfortably.
Rodney liked women. For a lot of reasons, not all of them the obvious ones. Although he definitely likes the curves pressed up against him and the way his hair stylist’s breast used to brush his back, just a little, while she worked. When he fell off his bike and April Bingham walked him home, okay, he might have exaggerated the limp a teeny bit just to get his arm around her shoulder and smell her hair. She probably noticed, but didn’t seem to mind.
Rodney had had more sexual harassment complaints filed against him than any other staff member at Area 51, a record he regarded with a mixture of embarrassment and pride, although really-? He was just caught more often, that’s all. Casual Fridays were a nightmare, especially in Nevada.
John circled Teyla, moving in – and had to retreat quickly, her sticks meeting his with a violent crack.
Unfortunately, Rodney had never really perfected the, you know, up and down look, where you glanced over a woman and pretended to be gazing off in the distance. He always got lost somewhere between the cleavage and the hips, whichever she had in most abundance, his mouth falling open until by the time he looked back up her body, he'd meet a disdainful glare... 90%... 97%... okay, pretty much 100% of the time. He operated at disadvantage from that point onward.
Elizabeth had mentioned his record in Rodney’s interview back in Antarctica, giving him a hard, tight look that told him he’d nearly missed going to Atlantis – by that much – but that, once again, his expertise could not be ignored. Women bosses were never good for Rodney.
He’d been very careful with Elizabeth ever since, and worked very hard to prove himself until she finally lost that disapproving downward tilt of her head. He could almost see the words cross her mind the moment she decided, “I made the right choice.” Of course, he’d been laying half-dead on the floor at the time, but that made it almost worth it.
There was a loud crack and clatter as a stick flew out of John’s hand. He rolled to retrieve it and several men edged back.
Rodney didn’t get the Major’s interest in archaic outmoded fighting techniques until he watched Teyla – a tit-bounce, a flash of thigh in a split-skirt – and decided he didn’t blame John one bit. Especially when she hauled him off the floor, her chest heaving, the stick across his neck and her knee in his back.
Teyla released him and let him stand, and John passed out sets of sticks to the men. Rodney shook his head and brushed away the pair offered to him. John gave him a curious look because, no, Rodney didn’t usually attend these training exercises. Though of course Rodney would try it all later when no one was looking.
Frankly, women were better than men in Rodney's opinion. The proverbial “weaker sex” was simply easier for Rodney to work with. The stupid ones got out of his way, scattering as he shouldered into his office. With a few choice words he could cow them with his brilliance and usually had them eating out of his hand at the end of a week (or else they’d quit, a satisfactory outcome either way). The rare woman who could keep up with McKay, well, Samantha Carter was a perfect example. Even when she was sure her cockamamie idea was right (and it shouldn’t have worked, really) she stood aside and let him work his magic first and, okay, her idea had worked and his hadn’t, but she hadn’t been too much of a jerk about it. Except for getting him sent to Siberia. That had hurt.
Men on the other hand had to turn everything into a pissing contest, stood their ground on their idiocy no matter how solidly they were proven wrong, which forced Rodney to waste valuable time yelling at them. And the Kavanagh-types were far more common in science than the cooperative Zelenkas.
Plus women never forgot to refill the coffee pot.
If Rodney had his way, he’d staff his entire science team with women. Though that would probably look bad. Elizabeth would never understand.
Sheppard demonstrated one of Teyla’s moves with a young Marine, moving smoothly as a drawn blade. The major always looked vulnerable, like he couldn’t possibly be dangerous, but the Marine went down and John didn’t. John gave the man one of his little pleased smiles and helped him to his feet. Rodney squirmed uncomfortably. That shouldn’t be hot.
Try as he might, Rodney could find no sign that Sheppard was gay, even though he obviously was, given what they’d been up to last night. All of last night. Rodney shifted, because sitting was not entirely pleasant at the moment. He felt too-open and sore. He may have caved to John’s understandable persistence given his one and only shot at Rodney McKay, a rarity in his homosexual world no doubt –- he’d heard some gay men liked to poach on the other side of the fence –- but Sheppard? Had demonstrated his orientation in no uncertain terms. Rodney felt a smug surge of power that he knew Sheppard’s “little secret.”
Sheppard moved with a swagger, every bit a man who’d gotten laid the last night. Rodney wanted to block him with one of those sticks and say, It was me, Sheppard, so it doesn’t count. Though he wasn’t sure about that.
There was nothing Rodney had missed before. No fruity gestures, no staring at men's crotches, no getting a little "handsy" with the manly pats on the ass with the soldiers –- did soldiers pat each other on the ass? Rodney shook off the thought, letting his head dip between his arms with a deep calming breath. It was not a good idea to start thinking that way. Though he took a quick surreptitious glimpse around the room to see if there was any ass-patting going on anyway, trying to squelch the "full contact" version that kept blooming in his mind.
Sheppard probably had to be careful in the military, Rodney decided. And wouldn't it be sad, Rodney thought happily, if the vaunted leader of the military, the one everyone wanted, was forced to be celibate? He smirked. He had a new vision of Chaya's visit to savor, one where she learned the truth and then left like a bat out of hell as Sheppard chased her in a jumper to apologize. Rodney chuckled to himself.
"Something funny?" a soldier waiting his turn asked, hands folded behind his back.
"Oh, nothing, nothing," Rodney smiled.
The exercise over, Rodney leveraged himself awkwardly off the floor, feeling inexplicably smug, his curiosity satisfied. Tall soldiers filtered around him, talking amongst themselves as lieutenant Kane shoved one of the marines playfully. Another pulled on a sweatshirt and tossed a sweaty towel at the laundry bin, the last to exit. Rodney winced and bit his lip as the attempt to move tensed muscles that had been used in entirely inappropriate ways the night before, proving definitively that the ass was not meant to be a sexual organ.
"Hey, Rodney…"
Sheppard approached, and Rodney felt unaccountably nervous, heart fluttering as he stood, dusting off his pants with a sigh. He stared at the ground a moment to get himself under control. Under control, yes.
"Come for your watch?" Sheppard asked with a slow smile.
Rodney blinked up at him, distracted by the non sequitur. "What?"
"On the radio. This morning."
And Rodney flushed at the mention of "this morning" and everything that meant. He'd even left his headset and socks in Sheppard's quarters. "Shh! Would you be quiet?" Rodney complained with a quick hushing gesture, glancing about. The room was still empty. "Someone will suspect!"
"Rodney. There's no one here."
The warm tone of that "Rodney" was way too intimate for Rodney's good. He looked around, anywhere but at Sheppard, and tried to think "manly, manly," right. He cleared his throat and puffed out his chest, thinking of every spy movie he'd ever seen, raising his chin. "Yes, well. You can't be too careful."
Rodney rocked back on his heels swinging his arms, still not looking at John or thinking of John's hairy chest. He'd slept with someone who had a hairy chest. And he also had hairy -- oh, he had to get far, far away from Sheppard. He was contagiously gay. Rodney bounced a little, tapping his fist into his palm, wondering when it would be polite to leave.
"Rodney, are you okay?" A frown crossed Sheppard's face.
"No, not really," Rodney answered honestly, still waiting for his moment to make a break for it. They were having a conversation, so leaving now would be rude. Although, so was walking in on someone in the bathroom. "And you have no manners, you know that?"
Sheppard's eyebrows raised in clear surprise. Rodney rolled his eyes at the typical military short-term memory loss. He figured they issued selective memories in boot camp so the soldiers would forget they'd been traumatized. "Just waltzing in on me? In the bathroom?"
"Oh, yeah. Sorry." John dipped his head sheepishly. "I guess I didn't realize you'd be shy, you know, given the circumstances."
Rodney was sure that was a leer. He was being leered at. "Look, can we not talk about this?"
"Well," and now John leaned against the wall in an obviously-intending-to-continue manner, despite the fact that Rodney was fully prepared to claw past him. "That was sort of the whole point with the watch. Conversation."
Watch? Rodney gave him a strange look.
Then he saw it. His watch.
On John's wrist. His mind went completely blank, stunned.
April Bingham had worn his jacket home in grade eleven, and yes, he'd never gotten it back and got in trouble with his parents for "losing" it -- since there was no way he'd give his sister Jeannie that much ammo -- but April had worn it home. In front of everyone. With her trapper keeper pressed to her chest and his jacket baggy about her. She'd looked ridiculous, actually, but everyone knew that jacket was his. Losing his jacket should not have felt that good.
Now Sheppard was wearing his watch. It was an astoundingly stupid risk and he should demand that he take it off, right now, but Rodney couldn't quite close his mouth or catch his breath.
"Rodney." Sheppard snapped his fingers. "Are you with me here?"
"It's – it's okay. You can wear it. Have it, even. I've…" Rodney gestured over his shoulder vaguely, in no particular direction, and laughed. "I've got plenty of clocks, and there's one on my laptop that keeps perfect time -- I mean, of course it does, computer technology is far superior to-- but that's neither here nor there. That watch keeps Atlantis time, I'll have you know."
"Yeah, I noticed that," Sheppard said with a smile, adjusting his back against the wall, turning the watch towards him. "I tried to reset mine but couldn't get it to work."
Rodney tried to catch his breath but there wasn't enough air, not with John taking so much of it. "I--"
He fled without further comment, leaving John staring after him and back at the watch, his lips parted, eyes startled and mystified.
I have no intention of continuing the story -- I'm not sure I want to tinker with it. It was a pretty powerful piece and I'm fairly sure anything I write next won't be as good.
However, I did write this next part and I haven't accomplished anything else this week. *cough, hack, sniffle* I've been worried a smidge about wank, but heck, it's my story and people are either gonna like it or not. Not my problem.
So, for those of you who are interested, Rodney's POV in Last Port Of Call:
Last Port Of Call
by Icarus
Rodney ran a hand up the back of his head where he sat slumped on the floor, knees drawn up. A circle of soldiers were getting a demonstration of the Athosian stick-fighting. If the Wraith landed in the city, John had just explained, his arms folded across his chest, you were better off knowing some hand-to-hand combat moves that kept them at a distance. No one answered, shifting uncomfortably.
Rodney liked women. For a lot of reasons, not all of them the obvious ones. Although he definitely likes the curves pressed up against him and the way his hair stylist’s breast used to brush his back, just a little, while she worked. When he fell off his bike and April Bingham walked him home, okay, he might have exaggerated the limp a teeny bit just to get his arm around her shoulder and smell her hair. She probably noticed, but didn’t seem to mind.
Rodney had had more sexual harassment complaints filed against him than any other staff member at Area 51, a record he regarded with a mixture of embarrassment and pride, although really-? He was just caught more often, that’s all. Casual Fridays were a nightmare, especially in Nevada.
John circled Teyla, moving in – and had to retreat quickly, her sticks meeting his with a violent crack.
Unfortunately, Rodney had never really perfected the, you know, up and down look, where you glanced over a woman and pretended to be gazing off in the distance. He always got lost somewhere between the cleavage and the hips, whichever she had in most abundance, his mouth falling open until by the time he looked back up her body, he'd meet a disdainful glare... 90%... 97%... okay, pretty much 100% of the time. He operated at disadvantage from that point onward.
Elizabeth had mentioned his record in Rodney’s interview back in Antarctica, giving him a hard, tight look that told him he’d nearly missed going to Atlantis – by that much – but that, once again, his expertise could not be ignored. Women bosses were never good for Rodney.
He’d been very careful with Elizabeth ever since, and worked very hard to prove himself until she finally lost that disapproving downward tilt of her head. He could almost see the words cross her mind the moment she decided, “I made the right choice.” Of course, he’d been laying half-dead on the floor at the time, but that made it almost worth it.
There was a loud crack and clatter as a stick flew out of John’s hand. He rolled to retrieve it and several men edged back.
Rodney didn’t get the Major’s interest in archaic outmoded fighting techniques until he watched Teyla – a tit-bounce, a flash of thigh in a split-skirt – and decided he didn’t blame John one bit. Especially when she hauled him off the floor, her chest heaving, the stick across his neck and her knee in his back.
Teyla released him and let him stand, and John passed out sets of sticks to the men. Rodney shook his head and brushed away the pair offered to him. John gave him a curious look because, no, Rodney didn’t usually attend these training exercises. Though of course Rodney would try it all later when no one was looking.
Frankly, women were better than men in Rodney's opinion. The proverbial “weaker sex” was simply easier for Rodney to work with. The stupid ones got out of his way, scattering as he shouldered into his office. With a few choice words he could cow them with his brilliance and usually had them eating out of his hand at the end of a week (or else they’d quit, a satisfactory outcome either way). The rare woman who could keep up with McKay, well, Samantha Carter was a perfect example. Even when she was sure her cockamamie idea was right (and it shouldn’t have worked, really) she stood aside and let him work his magic first and, okay, her idea had worked and his hadn’t, but she hadn’t been too much of a jerk about it. Except for getting him sent to Siberia. That had hurt.
Men on the other hand had to turn everything into a pissing contest, stood their ground on their idiocy no matter how solidly they were proven wrong, which forced Rodney to waste valuable time yelling at them. And the Kavanagh-types were far more common in science than the cooperative Zelenkas.
Plus women never forgot to refill the coffee pot.
If Rodney had his way, he’d staff his entire science team with women. Though that would probably look bad. Elizabeth would never understand.
Sheppard demonstrated one of Teyla’s moves with a young Marine, moving smoothly as a drawn blade. The major always looked vulnerable, like he couldn’t possibly be dangerous, but the Marine went down and John didn’t. John gave the man one of his little pleased smiles and helped him to his feet. Rodney squirmed uncomfortably. That shouldn’t be hot.
Try as he might, Rodney could find no sign that Sheppard was gay, even though he obviously was, given what they’d been up to last night. All of last night. Rodney shifted, because sitting was not entirely pleasant at the moment. He felt too-open and sore. He may have caved to John’s understandable persistence given his one and only shot at Rodney McKay, a rarity in his homosexual world no doubt –- he’d heard some gay men liked to poach on the other side of the fence –- but Sheppard? Had demonstrated his orientation in no uncertain terms. Rodney felt a smug surge of power that he knew Sheppard’s “little secret.”
Sheppard moved with a swagger, every bit a man who’d gotten laid the last night. Rodney wanted to block him with one of those sticks and say, It was me, Sheppard, so it doesn’t count. Though he wasn’t sure about that.
There was nothing Rodney had missed before. No fruity gestures, no staring at men's crotches, no getting a little "handsy" with the manly pats on the ass with the soldiers –- did soldiers pat each other on the ass? Rodney shook off the thought, letting his head dip between his arms with a deep calming breath. It was not a good idea to start thinking that way. Though he took a quick surreptitious glimpse around the room to see if there was any ass-patting going on anyway, trying to squelch the "full contact" version that kept blooming in his mind.
Sheppard probably had to be careful in the military, Rodney decided. And wouldn't it be sad, Rodney thought happily, if the vaunted leader of the military, the one everyone wanted, was forced to be celibate? He smirked. He had a new vision of Chaya's visit to savor, one where she learned the truth and then left like a bat out of hell as Sheppard chased her in a jumper to apologize. Rodney chuckled to himself.
"Something funny?" a soldier waiting his turn asked, hands folded behind his back.
"Oh, nothing, nothing," Rodney smiled.
The exercise over, Rodney leveraged himself awkwardly off the floor, feeling inexplicably smug, his curiosity satisfied. Tall soldiers filtered around him, talking amongst themselves as lieutenant Kane shoved one of the marines playfully. Another pulled on a sweatshirt and tossed a sweaty towel at the laundry bin, the last to exit. Rodney winced and bit his lip as the attempt to move tensed muscles that had been used in entirely inappropriate ways the night before, proving definitively that the ass was not meant to be a sexual organ.
"Hey, Rodney…"
Sheppard approached, and Rodney felt unaccountably nervous, heart fluttering as he stood, dusting off his pants with a sigh. He stared at the ground a moment to get himself under control. Under control, yes.
"Come for your watch?" Sheppard asked with a slow smile.
Rodney blinked up at him, distracted by the non sequitur. "What?"
"On the radio. This morning."
And Rodney flushed at the mention of "this morning" and everything that meant. He'd even left his headset and socks in Sheppard's quarters. "Shh! Would you be quiet?" Rodney complained with a quick hushing gesture, glancing about. The room was still empty. "Someone will suspect!"
"Rodney. There's no one here."
The warm tone of that "Rodney" was way too intimate for Rodney's good. He looked around, anywhere but at Sheppard, and tried to think "manly, manly," right. He cleared his throat and puffed out his chest, thinking of every spy movie he'd ever seen, raising his chin. "Yes, well. You can't be too careful."
Rodney rocked back on his heels swinging his arms, still not looking at John or thinking of John's hairy chest. He'd slept with someone who had a hairy chest. And he also had hairy -- oh, he had to get far, far away from Sheppard. He was contagiously gay. Rodney bounced a little, tapping his fist into his palm, wondering when it would be polite to leave.
"Rodney, are you okay?" A frown crossed Sheppard's face.
"No, not really," Rodney answered honestly, still waiting for his moment to make a break for it. They were having a conversation, so leaving now would be rude. Although, so was walking in on someone in the bathroom. "And you have no manners, you know that?"
Sheppard's eyebrows raised in clear surprise. Rodney rolled his eyes at the typical military short-term memory loss. He figured they issued selective memories in boot camp so the soldiers would forget they'd been traumatized. "Just waltzing in on me? In the bathroom?"
"Oh, yeah. Sorry." John dipped his head sheepishly. "I guess I didn't realize you'd be shy, you know, given the circumstances."
Rodney was sure that was a leer. He was being leered at. "Look, can we not talk about this?"
"Well," and now John leaned against the wall in an obviously-intending-to-continue manner, despite the fact that Rodney was fully prepared to claw past him. "That was sort of the whole point with the watch. Conversation."
Watch? Rodney gave him a strange look.
Then he saw it. His watch.
On John's wrist. His mind went completely blank, stunned.
April Bingham had worn his jacket home in grade eleven, and yes, he'd never gotten it back and got in trouble with his parents for "losing" it -- since there was no way he'd give his sister Jeannie that much ammo -- but April had worn it home. In front of everyone. With her trapper keeper pressed to her chest and his jacket baggy about her. She'd looked ridiculous, actually, but everyone knew that jacket was his. Losing his jacket should not have felt that good.
Now Sheppard was wearing his watch. It was an astoundingly stupid risk and he should demand that he take it off, right now, but Rodney couldn't quite close his mouth or catch his breath.
"Rodney." Sheppard snapped his fingers. "Are you with me here?"
"It's – it's okay. You can wear it. Have it, even. I've…" Rodney gestured over his shoulder vaguely, in no particular direction, and laughed. "I've got plenty of clocks, and there's one on my laptop that keeps perfect time -- I mean, of course it does, computer technology is far superior to-- but that's neither here nor there. That watch keeps Atlantis time, I'll have you know."
"Yeah, I noticed that," Sheppard said with a smile, adjusting his back against the wall, turning the watch towards him. "I tried to reset mine but couldn't get it to work."
Rodney tried to catch his breath but there wasn't enough air, not with John taking so much of it. "I--"
He fled without further comment, leaving John staring after him and back at the watch, his lips parted, eyes startled and mystified.
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Date: 2006-08-29 03:00 am (UTC)Thank you, I appreciate it. Rodney is a lot more interested in lording it over Sheppard than anything else. That solves the hit his ego took by being the bottom with his having to deal with any "gay" issues. After all, if Sheppard's more gay than he is, that makes him by comparison... more straight.
Icarus