SGA FIC: Out Of Bounds - John/Rodney - NC-17 (looks shifty)

[icarus]

You can get caught up here: Out Of Bounds.

Title: Out Of Bounds
Author: Icarus
Rating: NC-17 (eventually, honest to god)
Pairing: John/Rodney
Summary: 'A death spiral is really a controlled crash -- oh, look at you light up.'
A/N: Thank you to perfica for playing OOB badminton with me, amothea for listening to me whine, teaphile for her birds eye view, and many tolerant readers during a week as frustrating (writing wise) as John's has been (skating wise). Note: I've learned that the Four Continents Championship did not exist yet John and Rodney's time period, so I've invented a new competition, the America Cup. No, there's no such thing.

Previously in Out Of Bounds: Known more for his jumps than his artistry, figure skater John Sheppard hired ex-skating champion and 'artiste' Rodney McKay to be his coach. A teasing friendship (perhaps more?) developed between them, but John just learned that skating's gold medalist has pulled out of a competition: he might get that phone call inviting him to compete. Well, as long as the 2nd, 3rd, 5th, 6th, 7th, and 8th place skaters ahead of him remain injured/on honeymoon/retired. Bad news. While practicing his jumps behind Rodney's back, John spots the 5th place Christian Yong Suk ... not injured at all. John's not sulking, no, not at all.

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Out Of Bounds
by Icarus




At eight p.m. the lights in most of the rink's winding white halls were dimmed. The girl at the front desk wasn't anyone Rodney recognized. She only glanced up once before she returned to a spread of open college textbooks, the equations easy first year physics from what Rodney could tell upside down. In the remaining lit hallway a woman with a heavy Russian face and green janitor's uniform was emptying the trash, dragging a wheeled white cart behind her. The air smelled sharply of disinfectant and flat paper-soaked Pepsi.

The music from the ice downstairs was cranked loud enough to be heard as a faint hum in the parking lot. Louder inside, it wasn't exactly the Hurwitzes' usual combination of Frank Sinatra and show tunes, but the college student and the janitor ignored it, their shoulders hunched.

Scuffing down steps, the thumping slow drumbeat and whine of electric guitar resolved and became more familiar to Rodney. He leaned folded elbows on the edge of the boards, calling out, "It figures you're a Hendrix fan."

John turned, shifting edges to a stop, one foot in midair as he skid. He grinned. "I like the blues. And they've been playing Phantom of the Opera all afternoon. If I hear 'All I Ask Of You' one more time...."

"That's not so bad."

"'Let me be your shelter, let me be your light'?" John quoted.

"Well...."

"Barbra Streisand." John gave him a flat stare.

Rodney turned Hendrix up another notch without hesitation. "We'll have our revenge."

While Rodney put his skates on, John sprawled with a sigh on the bench next to him, his black T-shirt dark with sweat under his arms and in a vee down his chest, letting the electric squeal of Jimi Hendrix wash over them. It clicked over into his softer "Little Wing."

"Ready to go?" Rodney said, energized, pulling the last lace tight. He was by nature a night person.

"No hurry." John shrugged, staring up at the ceiling. He observed, one finger trailing over the seat back. "You know, my other coaches hardly set foot on the ice. Mostly they just directed me from the sidelines."

"Cowards." Rodney banged his heel into place with a pleased victorious smile over at John, chin up. "They just don't want to be shown up as washed up old has-beens, which I certainly am not."

"Oh?" John cocked an eyebrow.

"I could compete still if I chose to, or so I've been very recently informed." Rodney beamed.

"You think you could take me?" John stood, his eyes gleaming and sharp, a competitive edge to his smile.

"If I wanted to," Rodney hedged, shoulders squirming. "I'd have to get back into form."

"And lose about twenty pounds," John said, stepping over the edge onto the rink.

Rodney shot him a resentful, hurt look.

"We skating pairs today?" John spun around, an arm in the air like he'd circled a lasso.

"Sure, if you want."

"Good. I have an idea."

He caught Rodney's hand and dragged him out onto the ice, startling him. John's CD clicked over to the guitar licks of Hendrix's "Voodoo Child."

They circled the rink in a basic hold, Rodney's right arm curved around the small of John's back, hands clasped in front. They let go as the drum kit and bass line kicked in, separating around the corner with a little spinning hop, John slightly behind Rodney's beat. Rodney didn't waste time for more than a quick smirk, knee drawn up, arm high as he counted off their fast side-by-side twizzle steps, "One – two – three – four! You're off!"

Then he cut a diagonal line across the rink, varying his footwork and making it up as he went, forcing John to watch carefully. Getting it right wasn't the point anyway, though John fumbled through half of it.

He gave John a bit of straight line skating to catch his breath. John glided in smooth steps alongside him.

"You know that was impossible without a Vulcan mind meld, right?" John said, hands on his hips.

"Vulcan mind meld? You just blew about ten thousand cool points with that," Rodney answered.

"I have plenty to spare," John said, then followed Rodney as he prepped and tipped into their usual side by side camel spins.

As Rodney counted out loud on each turn, he had to admit that John was on the beat and he was the one going too fast.

"Okay, you've got that. Now some basic gestures."

He rolled his arms in a circle like a train as he stroked for some speed, watching John follow this easy one, then snapped his fingers, rocked his shoulders and turned to face the other way with a wally jump, John right behind him. Then Rodney drew his elbow back like he was drawing a bow, the other arm forward in a slicing gesture. He extended his skate like a karate kick and John followed. John straightened his leg a little more and cocked his elbow back further with a flickering glance at Rodney to check his position. They held it for a quarter of the rink.

Rodney let him drop the extension. "Now for something hard." Rodney snickered, because that last one hadn't exactly been simple.

John nodded. He knew this one. They separated and skated in opposite directions, completing two sides of a wide figure eight. As they met in the middle, John was grinning. They grabbed each other's hands and jerked into a spin as they squatted down, their outside skates angled up off the ice. This was faster than they usually did the maneuver. Gritting his teeth, John pulled in closer -- too close. There was a click as his skate nicked Rodney's and they collided. "Shit!" Rodney let go and they sprawled out, skidding on his shoulder.

John laughed up at the ceiling as he lay flat on the ice. "That one's hard on the knees," he explained as he rolled up, reaching over to help Rodney to his feet.

Rodney stayed where he was. "Ow. Never mind, I retire." Then he sat up. "And don't you have drugs for that?"

"I don't take them before I skate." In several quick pushes John skated to the edge of the rink. He tipped back the water bottle and wiped his mouth.

Rodney blinked at him. "You're insane," he concluded. He got up, dusting his ass off. "So what was your idea?"

John swallowed quickly and beamed. "Teach me how to do a death spiral."

"I rest my case," Rodney said, circling over to him. "Start with the easy stuff, why don't you?"

"Too hard for you?" John said with an insufferable smirk, hands on his hips.

"I've done them," Rodney said, his jaw jutting out.

"Show me then."

"It's not that simple. A death spiral is really a controlled crash -- oh, look at you light up." Rodney rolled his eyes. "You don't need drugs, you're an adrenaline junkie," he spluttered, but John just continued to look interested. "Anyhow, my theory is the death spiral was discovered by accident when someone slid in a pairs spin and their partner just held on for dear life."

"Yeah?"

Rodney heaved a sigh and acquiesced against his better judgement. "Okay. But try to hang on."

He gripped John's forearm, just above the wrist. "Come straight at me and grip my wrist in the same—yeah, that's it." He pulled to test the lock of their grip.

He paused, a hand to his mouth, considering. "I don't suppose you have a bike helmet, because your head's going to be very close to the—" John glared at him. "—okay, I learned it before helmets existed and, fortunately, my sister isn't dead or paraplegic, so I can probably manage...."

"Rodney...." John growled.

"All right, fine, fine." He made a brushing gesture.

On the first pass, John yanked Rodney forward, off-balance.

"Well. That was a quarter turn at least."

On the second try, John's skates slid out, turning and slamming him to his knees. Mouth open and blinking, John said in a tight, pained voice, "Knee pads wouldn't be a bad idea."

"You have to trust me and stretch your legs out."

The next try they made it three quarters of a circle, when Rodney suddenly let go, sending John sliding on his butt.

"Sorry, sorry," Rodney said, shaking his wrist. "I thought my arm was going to come out of its socket."

"Let's do it again," John said, determined.

"This really doesn't help your training much...." Rodney began, but caved at another annoyed look from John.

Their fourth pass, John pulled Rodney off his center. But they went two full revolutions, Rodney wobbling behind him before they slid to a stop.

"It's no use," Rodney said. "Your mass is too close to mine."

"No, keep trying. We'll get it right."

"It's not a matter of 'getting it right' -- it's a sheer impossibility."

"You mean you don't have the upper body strength," John sneered.

"Considering the angle of declination, the circumference of your swing resulting from the fact that you're taller than me, not to mention the added Gs from centrifugal forces, no, as a matter of fact, I do not," Rodney said. He snowplowed to a stop, making two fists with his hands. "Look. We can circle each other like two stars in a binary system, but you can't circle me as a central point, not unless, well," he sniggered, "you lose an awful lot of weight."

"How much weight?"

"Thirty, forty pounds, give or take," Rodney offered brightly, head tipped in a cheerful smirk.

John rubbed the back of his head. "Yeah, anorexia's not really my thing."

They took a break, leaning on the boards. Rodney handed John's water bottle back to him.

"You seem to be getting into this pairs skating anyway."

John smiled, shifting his hips and squirming a little as he shook his head. "It's easier when no one else is around."

He dug around in his backpack, pulling out a bottle of juice. He tossed it and caught in one hand, then drew out a sleeve of plastic cups. He quirked a questioning eyebrow at Rodney, who smiled and shrugged his answer.

As he poured, Rodney gave him an ironic smirk then clinked the edge of John's cup in a mock toast. He chuckled. "It's like a party."

"I like parties," John said.

"I highly doubt that." Rodney snorted.

"What?"

"Well, you're not the most sociable person I've ever met."

"I'm very friendly and sociable. I got all A's in fourth grade civics. Besides--" He tapped Rodney's plastic cup with his own with an ironic smile. "--your kind of party's pretty low key."

John tossed his back in one long swallow. He breathed and jumped to chuck his cup at a trash can by the back row. It tipped the edge then went in. "You think you can do a lift?"

Rodney snorted. "I used to be a pairs skater, of course I can do lots of -- oh." Rodney paused as he got it, long eye lashes fluttering in surprise. Then he scowled. "Do I look like I enjoy lifts? Why do I always have to do everything? Why can't you lift me?"

The look John gave him was doubtful.

"Okay, fine," Rodney snapped. "What do you weigh anyhow? 180... 190 pounds?"

"Um. 168." John blushed, looking down at his skates.

"No chance do you weigh—"

"Are you going to argue with my bathroom scale?"

"Really?" Rodney marveled. "You've got a head start on that anorexia -- you're a twig." He tossed his own cup at the garbage can and pretended to ignore it as it bounced off the edge and hit the floor, rolling in a little circle. "Hmm. I think I can do that. My sister weighed 130."

"130 pounds?" John's eyebrows raised.

"The other reason I gave up pairs."

Rodney pushed off from the wall.

"I need you to bounce in place, make yourself weightless."

"Like in the jumps." John nodded.

Of course John understood. "Exactly like that."

Rodney's hands clamped on his hips, narrow and solid, his eyes half-lidded with a pleased little smile. John licked his lips unconsciously. He wiped the sweat off his palms on his thighs.

John then leapt up, one leg ending up wrapped around Rodney's waist as he clung, his chest hard and warm, chin over his shoulder, clutching the back of Rodney's shirt. Rodney wobbled backward.

"I feel like you're gonna fall."

"I won't fall. Trust me," Rodney said with supreme confidence. "Just bounce straight up, like a jump."

John slid down Rodney's chest, his belt catching on Rodney's buttons.

"Need a little more height," John commented.

He skated back two steps this time. He jumped up into Rodney's hands, light for a moment. Then he was suddenly too heavy, too low, pulling Rodney forward. "Oh my fucking god, you're heavy!" He slid off while Rodney caught himself with a wild corrective sweep of his arm.

"Again," Rodney said, tapping his chest to indicate where John needed to jump. "I need you up here for me to hold you -- any lower and we're going down."

John grunted and jumped, higher this time, his thighs and balls pressed against Rodney's chest, right in the sternum—and Rodney had him. Grinning, his teeth bared, arms bracketed under his round ass. They curved in a slight spin from the centrifugal forces. Rodney held him as long as he could. John held his back straight without overbalancing, perfect, his eyes darkening as he looked down at Rodney's face with an unreadable expression.

Rodney looked up at him, breath short, not entirely from the effort, then he let John slide down his body, his gaze steady and still on Rodney.

John gave him a slow smile, eyes sharp and glittering.

Then John did three spiraling steps away, marking out the rink, fast and alive. He popped up into a flying kick, taking it down to a fierce spin, before he came back around, carving the ice left in a fast glide.

Rodney just watched him, wondering if he was letting his own feelings color his judgement, or if he was really seeing what he thought he was seeing in the sudden intensity of John's skating. There was a sharpness to the edges, and fire to his movements, like a weapon that had just been drawn – quick, clean, and dangerous. He was different than anything Rodney had seen. He reminded Rodney not of a dancer, but of a kung-fu fighter, or a soldier.

John returned, cutting an edge at frightening speed, stopping so close Rodney had to force himself not to flinch.

Rodney said softly, his eyes speculative, "Do that again."

"Do what again?"

"What you just did."

John's face went blank. "I don't know what I just did."

Rodney rattled off the list of moves he could remember, counting them on his fingers. "Three twizzle steps, crossovers, a butterfly into a death drop, then complete the circuit."

John's forehead crinkled into a frown. "Okay...." he said, drawing the word out in confusion. He repeated the moves one by one.

But it was gone. Whatever that intangible quality was, it had vanished. Rodney tapped his lips, thinking.


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Barbra Streisand - All I Ask Of You. Listen for five minutes. Then picture John being stuck listening all afternoon.
Jimi Hendrix - Little Wing
Jimi Hendrix - Voodoo Child






Whoops. Sorry about the Streisand link. It's fixed now. So, what do you think? Which retaliatory Hendrix song was John playing when Rodney arrived?

ETA: Almost forgot perfica's suggestion -- This is a death spiral. (And here's the cartoon version.)