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icarusYou can get caught up here: Out Of Bounds.
Title: Out Of Bounds
Author: Icarus
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: John/Rodney
Summary: "He looks well fed. Coat's shiny. I'm pretty sure he has a home."
A/N: Thank you to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
perfica for playing OOB beta badminton with me. I know. This piece is too short and only serves to whet the appetite. I promise more after the Regionals.
[Previous][Next]
Out Of Bounds
by Icarus
"Go long!"
John reached back and slung the Nerf ball into a perfect spiral, his elbow narrowly missing the plastic arm of the chair. A stocky kid dove across Rodney's lawn, caught it and rolled into the damp grass and un-raked leaves, giggling. John stood up, balanced lightly on his cast and gestured to his chest.
"I can't chase it, so bring it home, right here." He thumped his chest and held out his arms, ready.
The kid, who looked about ten years old, flung it end over end. It bounced off the corner of Rodney's house and into the rose bushes. John laughed and shook his head.
"You're gonna have to go get it now," he said, stumbling to peer over the porch railing.
The kid made a weird groaning sound like a small animal and then ran across sunset-streaked lawn. He rooted around for it and the ball flipped up into John's hands as if of its own accord while a taxi pulled into the drive.
Rodney stepped out and shaded his eyes.
The ball made a straight short line to the kid, who'd scampered out of the brush. He caught it with a huff, and raised his arms in victory. Rodney paid the cab driver, grabbed his gym bag out of the back and wandered up the sidewalk to John. The ball narrowly missed him as it returned.
"Where did you find the urchin?"
John pursed his lips in amusement. "He was just wandering by." He shrugged and pointed with his chin. "I saw the football and bet him he couldn't reach the porch. He missed, so we went for two out of three... five out of seven...." John tipped his head and grinned, tossing the Nerf ball from hand to hand. "I think he needs the practice."
"I trust we don't have to feed him."
"He looks well fed. Coat's shiny. I'm pretty sure he has a home." John slung the football to the kid and called, "Looks like it's dinner time for me!"
The kid made a disappointed noise, popped the football in the air and waved goodbye.
"You're the Pied Piper of the neighborhood," Rodney said, making it sound like a complaint. Then he brightened. "You said you made dinner?"
"Just a hint to the urchin, Rodney," John said, collecting his crutches.
"Fine. I'll order Chinese." Rodney held the door for him. "No doubt you've made startling progress on choosing your program music. Short program? Long program? Ring a bell?"
John winced. "Mostly I've just been sleeping."
Rodney frowned as the door shut behind them. A rumpled blanket hung half off the couch, one of the bedroom pillows stuffed at the end and still dented. John had a cleared a space on the coffee table for the remote, his meds, and a half-full glass of water. John swung by the table, plucking up the open bottle of meds. Rodney shot him a puzzled look.
"I'm supposed to take them with meals," John explained, slipping the bottle into a pocket. "Plus the cold... it bugs the knee." He shrugged.
"Ah."
Rodney noted that the fine layer of dust on his collection of CDs lay almost completely undisturbed.
Later, picking at his Chinese food with his chopsticks, John admitted, staring into the depths of the box, "It's just kind of overwhelming." The chopsticks scraped. "I'd have an easier time in a record store. At least there it's organized."
"What? I have a highly sophisticated system of classification! The classical is organized by year and by opus," Rodney informed him.
"Yeah, see, that's not really all that helpful." John's eyes seemed more green than hazel today as they flicked up over the box. "Given the only 'opus' I know is a cartoon character."
"The opus is the order in which the composer wrote each piece," Rodney explained.
"I know that – okay, I didn't know that. But it doesn't matter because it's just a number," John said. "The names aren't even all that descriptive. Beethoven's Symphony Number 6. Might as well be Chanel Number 5."
Rodney swallowed his bite, thinking. "No. I think the Pastoral Symphony is far too..." He wiggled his fingers as he scrunched his face and looked for the word, "... something... for you...."
"Fruity?" John supplied, eyebrows raised.
"Balletic."
"Princess-y."
"It could only be performed in tights and those have been outlawed thanks to Brian Boitano," Rodney continued.
"God." John's laugh was breathy. "All you could watch was his nuts skating by."
"The cameras kept shifting to wide angle shots to keep it PG for the folks at home." Rodney snickered, his shoulders shaking.
"I know," John confessed with a devilish grin, tongue-in-cheek. "I've got the tape."
"Oh, everyone does."
John tapped his fingers. Licked his lips. "So. Anything I should consider for the top ten...?"
Rodney had already reached the bottom of his carton but he studiously avoided John's eyes. Every single one of his students was wracking their brains for music right now, humming snatches for their friends, "You remember the one that goes... hmmm, mmm, hmmm-aaah?" He'd spent the entire day fielding complaints. He'd discovered Mrs. Weir had picked out the music for her daughter – a definite no-no, it always showed – which put Melanie back to square one. Then he'd had to all but drag Melanie through the rest of the lesson by her hair. John might be older than Rodney's "girls," but he didn't get to be the exception.
It was a kind of torture he enjoyed, making them work for their programs. And, yes, even learn a little bit about classical music in the process. Rodney waited for it.
John continued, "I mean, I know a lot of music, it's just that it—"
Rodney lip synched the rest with John, rolling his eyes.
"—all has words."
Rodney pushed away from the table and gave him a sharp smile. "Let me know what you decide."
[Previous][Next]
Title: Out Of Bounds
Author: Icarus
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: John/Rodney
Summary: "He looks well fed. Coat's shiny. I'm pretty sure he has a home."
A/N: Thank you to
perfica for playing OOB beta badminton with me. I know. This piece is too short and only serves to whet the appetite. I promise more after the Regionals.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. After John's injures himself at the America Cup (and after), Rodney decides he'd better keep a closer eye on him.
[Previous][Next]
Out Of Bounds
by Icarus
"Go long!"
John reached back and slung the Nerf ball into a perfect spiral, his elbow narrowly missing the plastic arm of the chair. A stocky kid dove across Rodney's lawn, caught it and rolled into the damp grass and un-raked leaves, giggling. John stood up, balanced lightly on his cast and gestured to his chest.
"I can't chase it, so bring it home, right here." He thumped his chest and held out his arms, ready.
The kid, who looked about ten years old, flung it end over end. It bounced off the corner of Rodney's house and into the rose bushes. John laughed and shook his head.
"You're gonna have to go get it now," he said, stumbling to peer over the porch railing.
The kid made a weird groaning sound like a small animal and then ran across sunset-streaked lawn. He rooted around for it and the ball flipped up into John's hands as if of its own accord while a taxi pulled into the drive.
Rodney stepped out and shaded his eyes.
The ball made a straight short line to the kid, who'd scampered out of the brush. He caught it with a huff, and raised his arms in victory. Rodney paid the cab driver, grabbed his gym bag out of the back and wandered up the sidewalk to John. The ball narrowly missed him as it returned.
"Where did you find the urchin?"
John pursed his lips in amusement. "He was just wandering by." He shrugged and pointed with his chin. "I saw the football and bet him he couldn't reach the porch. He missed, so we went for two out of three... five out of seven...." John tipped his head and grinned, tossing the Nerf ball from hand to hand. "I think he needs the practice."
"I trust we don't have to feed him."
"He looks well fed. Coat's shiny. I'm pretty sure he has a home." John slung the football to the kid and called, "Looks like it's dinner time for me!"
The kid made a disappointed noise, popped the football in the air and waved goodbye.
"You're the Pied Piper of the neighborhood," Rodney said, making it sound like a complaint. Then he brightened. "You said you made dinner?"
"Just a hint to the urchin, Rodney," John said, collecting his crutches.
"Fine. I'll order Chinese." Rodney held the door for him. "No doubt you've made startling progress on choosing your program music. Short program? Long program? Ring a bell?"
John winced. "Mostly I've just been sleeping."
Rodney frowned as the door shut behind them. A rumpled blanket hung half off the couch, one of the bedroom pillows stuffed at the end and still dented. John had a cleared a space on the coffee table for the remote, his meds, and a half-full glass of water. John swung by the table, plucking up the open bottle of meds. Rodney shot him a puzzled look.
"I'm supposed to take them with meals," John explained, slipping the bottle into a pocket. "Plus the cold... it bugs the knee." He shrugged.
"Ah."
Rodney noted that the fine layer of dust on his collection of CDs lay almost completely undisturbed.
Later, picking at his Chinese food with his chopsticks, John admitted, staring into the depths of the box, "It's just kind of overwhelming." The chopsticks scraped. "I'd have an easier time in a record store. At least there it's organized."
"What? I have a highly sophisticated system of classification! The classical is organized by year and by opus," Rodney informed him.
"Yeah, see, that's not really all that helpful." John's eyes seemed more green than hazel today as they flicked up over the box. "Given the only 'opus' I know is a cartoon character."
"The opus is the order in which the composer wrote each piece," Rodney explained.
"I know that – okay, I didn't know that. But it doesn't matter because it's just a number," John said. "The names aren't even all that descriptive. Beethoven's Symphony Number 6. Might as well be Chanel Number 5."
Rodney swallowed his bite, thinking. "No. I think the Pastoral Symphony is far too..." He wiggled his fingers as he scrunched his face and looked for the word, "... something... for you...."
"Fruity?" John supplied, eyebrows raised.
"Balletic."
"Princess-y."
"It could only be performed in tights and those have been outlawed thanks to Brian Boitano," Rodney continued.
"God." John's laugh was breathy. "All you could watch was his nuts skating by."
"The cameras kept shifting to wide angle shots to keep it PG for the folks at home." Rodney snickered, his shoulders shaking.
"I know," John confessed with a devilish grin, tongue-in-cheek. "I've got the tape."
"Oh, everyone does."
John tapped his fingers. Licked his lips. "So. Anything I should consider for the top ten...?"
Rodney had already reached the bottom of his carton but he studiously avoided John's eyes. Every single one of his students was wracking their brains for music right now, humming snatches for their friends, "You remember the one that goes... hmmm, mmm, hmmm-aaah?" He'd spent the entire day fielding complaints. He'd discovered Mrs. Weir had picked out the music for her daughter – a definite no-no, it always showed – which put Melanie back to square one. Then he'd had to all but drag Melanie through the rest of the lesson by her hair. John might be older than Rodney's "girls," but he didn't get to be the exception.
It was a kind of torture he enjoyed, making them work for their programs. And, yes, even learn a little bit about classical music in the process. Rodney waited for it.
John continued, "I mean, I know a lot of music, it's just that it—"
Rodney lip synched the rest with John, rolling his eyes.
"—all has words."
Rodney pushed away from the table and gave him a sharp smile. "Let me know what you decide."
[Previous][Next]
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-10-20 06:45 pm (UTC)So stupid.
The Flan would have been fine on his climb if he took a few precautions. Thank God he didn't cause any permanent damage.
(They're such pretty eyes.) If I were his wife, after I make sure he was ok, I probably would have beat the poop out of him for that.
no subject
Date: 2007-10-30 08:50 pm (UTC)Though if I met him, I compliment him on his... hands... or something. Because people with gorgeous eyes always here the same thing.
Now, just to prove that I'm hard at work: the next part is up (http://icarusancalion.livejournal.com/692419.html).