FIC: Out Of Bounds - John/Rodney - NC-17
Dec. 8th, 2007 01:33 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
icarus*pant* *pant* Okay, my last three essays are done, including the one for my incomplete from last spring. Now I have just one more final next week.
I have this vague plan to more or less write a section a day between now and Christmas. Sound good?
You can get caught up here: Out Of Bounds.
Title: Out Of Bounds
Author: Icarus
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: John/Rodney
Summary: "Spending time in sub-human conditions with a recovering drug addict is sounding like less and less of a good idea."
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 all these months. Thank you to libitina and roaringmice for inside intel and spywork at Skate America. Any similarities to my dad's cabin on Lake Kashabog is completely coincidental, of course.
[Previous][Next]
Out Of Bounds
by Icarus
The light was dim by the time they found the old dirt road, rutted enough to make John's teeth jangle. Fortunately, the ground was still pretty frozen. In a month or so John would bet any money they'd be sinking to the wheel wells in mud.
"Sure you know where we're going?" John asked for the third time.
"It was right here," Rodney complained, peering into the trees.
But then the road curved left and the trees cleared to the right, revealing an open sky and the bright chop of water reflecting twilight gray. The grade was at an angle and there was a strip of sandy gravel straight ahead, leading to moorings where there might be a dock come summer. Rodney turned the SUV sharp to the left and uphill, and John found himself looking at a cabin with dark windows like eyes, tucked into the side of the hill. John let his gaze trail up the crest where the trees were bent southeast in the direction of the long lake from prevailing winds.
With a huff of a sigh, Rodney shut off the engine.
The silence was almost surreal. No road noise. No hum of street lights. Just the hush of the water and faint hiss of wind. Briefly, John wanted to turn around and go home. This was about as far as he could get from his fantasies of curling up by a cozy fire. He zipped up his jacket instead and Rodney creaked the driver's side door open, the cold rushing in.
John's breath misted as he stepped out onto hard ground, ignoring the sound of Rodney's grumbling. Rodney bundled up a huge armload of blankets, slinging the strap of a bag over his shoulder. He staggered a step.
"Need a hand?" John asked, adjusting the crutch under his arm.
Rodney gave him a dismal look and snorted. "Just bang on the hood of the car."
"What?"
"In case a bear has broken into the cabin," Rodney said. "Of course it would only be a hazard if someone were idiotic enough to leave food there over the winter -- which, given my relatives I would not be surprised -- but I'd rather not risk being eaten alive."
"There are bears out here?" John growled, leaning closer, his head turning slowly towards Rodney.
"It's only happened once and our parents had us bang pots and pans and it swam away -- and did I not tell you that I had good reason to never want to come here again?"
John's mouth worked soundlessly for a moment. "And you didn't bring a .357?"
"What is it with you and the military thing?" Rodney adjusted his load of blankets. He made a flicking gesture. "Now. Bang away."
"Let's not. Instead, why don't we walk around the cabin and see if any doors or windows are broken in," John suggested with slow sarcasm. "Unless you think a bear would lock the door nicely behind him."
"Oh." Rodney blinked.
"And while we're at it, if we're going to be facing a bear I really don't think standing there with an arm full of blankets is such a hot idea," John pointed out. "Now. Why don't we start the engine. I'll leave the passenger side door open. Since I can't run from a bear, I'll sit in the driver's seat with my foot on the gas. If you come running, you jump in, shut the door, and we'll get the hell out of here."
"Oh." Rodney tipped his head quizzically at John. "You know, that sounds like a considerably better plan than what my parents had."
"Well, if we had a gun we could just shoot the bear."
"I like the idea of running better. No offense, but I'm not wearing hunter's orange and if you missed...."
"I wouldn't miss." He accepted the blankets from Rodney and dumped them in the back seat. "Check your shoelaces first. You don't want to trip."
Jacket zipped, shoelaces ready, Rodney hoisted a flashlight and shone it across the face of the cabin.
"Nothing there," he said, glancing back at John. "I think that's good enough, don't you? A bear's far more likely to enter on the southeast side from across the water since—"
"Rodney...."
"Okay. Going, going."
With mincing steps, Rodney edged around the side of the cabin, the light playing across the sides wildly. It cast up, highlighting the bare branches, then outlined the house shape, shining for a moment through the cabin windows. There was a nerve-wracking sound of snapping branches that was most likely Rodney pushing through the brush, but John's eyes widened.
Then Rodney reappeared on the opposite side of the cabin.
"Looks like everything's fine," he called out, brushing his hands on his jeans.
John froze. This was the point in a horror movie where a giant creature would launch out of a window at Rodney's throat.
But nothing happened. Rodney cheerfully jogged down the hill toward the car. "Maybe we can rig your backpack so you can help me haul in the wood." He thumbed over his shoulder. "And, god, I hope that was just mud I stepped in because there's no telling what's back there."
"Really? Do bears shit in the woods?" John grinned, and was rewarded with a roll of Rodney's eyes.
Rodney held the door open while John navigated up the four plank steps. And wasn't that going to be a joy if he had to go to an outhouse every day.
As John stepped in he automatically reached for a light switch and his hand swept along a bare wall. Rodney's flashlight shone jaggedly around the inside of the cabin. The floors were dusty wood, the ceilings vaulted with open beams. In the far right corner stood an old fashioned wood-burning stove. On the opposite side was a double bed with a bare mattress. A ladder next to the bed led up to a small loft. They stood in a kitchen which was nothing more than a long counter bisected by a sink and two cupboards overhead, with a picnic table shoved into the corner by a window.
It was as cold inside as it was outside.
"How about we build a fire?" John suggested. Rodney had his arms wrapped around himself and shuddered out loud, nodding.
But on his first trip he returned with the blankets and a second flashlight. "Bundle up," he said, dumping them on the bed.
John ignored this advice in favor of exploring, clicking the flashlight on. He shook it and scowled when it flickered.
By the time Rodney got back from the car, bumping and swearing through the door, John had found half a dozen oil lanterns and some fairly damp matches that still worked. He'd lit the one by the bed. There was no stove, which shouldn't have been a surprise given the lack of electricity, but a cast iron skillet and teapot on the wood stove answered that one. It also promised to be a royal pain. The good news was the bathroom under the loft. With a shower, tub, and a toilet. This at the moment struck John as the lap of luxury as he shelved his dreary pictures of trying to maneuver an outhouse on crutches.
"Huh," Rodney said across the room. He'd lit an oil lamp in the kitchen, the wisp of kerosene scent filling the cabin. He stood in front of the sink, shutting the knobs on and off. Nothing came out. He sighed and slumped, hand pressed to his forehead like he had a headache. "They turned the water off for the winter."
John processed this, pausing. "That means the toilet doesn't work."
"No, no, it's composting, we put that in a couple years ago – well, technically my sister did and then, surprise! Forced everyone to cough up the money to pay her back. But I'll have to see how to turn the water on tomorrow; I'm not crawling around under the house in the dark. Let's just pray they thought to bleed out the pipes."
"So. No hot showers," John said, nodding. He could live with that for a night.
Rodney gave him a dismal look. "Did I say anything about hot water? This place is primitive."
"Cold showers then." John cast his flashlight over the loft again, peering up at what looked like another bed, possibly two. "Somehow I have trouble picturing you here."
"Again with the not listening! Need I remind you that I've not been here since childhood?"
"Need I remind you that this was your idea?"
"Yes, well, spending time in sub-human conditions with a recovering drug addict is sounding like less and less of a good idea."
"I'm not a drug addict."
The statement was automatic at this point. John no longer expected Rodney to believe him but he wasn't about to let it pass either. He hadn't taken a single one of his pills all day and his leg ached. His gaze fell on the two bundles of wood stacked inside the kitchen. "You want to get the rest of that?" John asked in a harassing tone.
"What?" Rodney blinked. His eyes flicked to the little stack of wood. "No, that's it."
"It's thirty degrees out. We'll go through that in a matter of hours."
"It's minus one degree, someday soon you shall discover the magic of the Celsius system, and," Rodney swept a finger triumphantly through the air, "the McKays plan better than that."
He led John to a door he hadn't paid attention to in his first sweep of the area. He walked backward as it opened onto a porch covered in green astroturf and explained, "Every spring we have a dozen or so cords of wood delivered. Then throughout the summer each family brings in wood and restocks as they leave. Granted, I didn't bring enough on the way in this time but I'll make up for it."
"Uh. Rodney."
The porch behind him was empty, aside from several large unsplit logs, leaves, and scattered bark. An ax and splitting maul leaned against one wall.
Rodney ran his hand down his face, then tapped his lip with a forefinger. "It's always so much better in theory than in practice."
[Previous][Next]
I have this vague plan to more or less write a section a day between now and Christmas. Sound good?
You can get caught up here: Out Of Bounds.
Title: Out Of Bounds
Author: Icarus
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: John/Rodney
Summary: "Spending time in sub-human conditions with a recovering drug addict is sounding like less and less of a good idea."
A/N: Thank you to
perfica for playing OOB beta badminton with me all these months. Thank you to libitina and roaringmice for inside intel and spywork at Skate America. Any similarities to my dad's cabin on Lake Kashabog is completely coincidental, of course.Previously in Out Of Bounds: Known more for his jumps than his artistry, figure skater John Sheppard hires ex-skating champion and 'artiste' Rodney McKay to be his coach. As John recovers from his injury, Rodney discovers he might have a little problem. His solution? Get out of town.
[Previous][Next]
Out Of Bounds
by Icarus
The light was dim by the time they found the old dirt road, rutted enough to make John's teeth jangle. Fortunately, the ground was still pretty frozen. In a month or so John would bet any money they'd be sinking to the wheel wells in mud.
"Sure you know where we're going?" John asked for the third time.
"It was right here," Rodney complained, peering into the trees.
But then the road curved left and the trees cleared to the right, revealing an open sky and the bright chop of water reflecting twilight gray. The grade was at an angle and there was a strip of sandy gravel straight ahead, leading to moorings where there might be a dock come summer. Rodney turned the SUV sharp to the left and uphill, and John found himself looking at a cabin with dark windows like eyes, tucked into the side of the hill. John let his gaze trail up the crest where the trees were bent southeast in the direction of the long lake from prevailing winds.
With a huff of a sigh, Rodney shut off the engine.
The silence was almost surreal. No road noise. No hum of street lights. Just the hush of the water and faint hiss of wind. Briefly, John wanted to turn around and go home. This was about as far as he could get from his fantasies of curling up by a cozy fire. He zipped up his jacket instead and Rodney creaked the driver's side door open, the cold rushing in.
John's breath misted as he stepped out onto hard ground, ignoring the sound of Rodney's grumbling. Rodney bundled up a huge armload of blankets, slinging the strap of a bag over his shoulder. He staggered a step.
"Need a hand?" John asked, adjusting the crutch under his arm.
Rodney gave him a dismal look and snorted. "Just bang on the hood of the car."
"What?"
"In case a bear has broken into the cabin," Rodney said. "Of course it would only be a hazard if someone were idiotic enough to leave food there over the winter -- which, given my relatives I would not be surprised -- but I'd rather not risk being eaten alive."
"There are bears out here?" John growled, leaning closer, his head turning slowly towards Rodney.
"It's only happened once and our parents had us bang pots and pans and it swam away -- and did I not tell you that I had good reason to never want to come here again?"
John's mouth worked soundlessly for a moment. "And you didn't bring a .357?"
"What is it with you and the military thing?" Rodney adjusted his load of blankets. He made a flicking gesture. "Now. Bang away."
"Let's not. Instead, why don't we walk around the cabin and see if any doors or windows are broken in," John suggested with slow sarcasm. "Unless you think a bear would lock the door nicely behind him."
"Oh." Rodney blinked.
"And while we're at it, if we're going to be facing a bear I really don't think standing there with an arm full of blankets is such a hot idea," John pointed out. "Now. Why don't we start the engine. I'll leave the passenger side door open. Since I can't run from a bear, I'll sit in the driver's seat with my foot on the gas. If you come running, you jump in, shut the door, and we'll get the hell out of here."
"Oh." Rodney tipped his head quizzically at John. "You know, that sounds like a considerably better plan than what my parents had."
"Well, if we had a gun we could just shoot the bear."
"I like the idea of running better. No offense, but I'm not wearing hunter's orange and if you missed...."
"I wouldn't miss." He accepted the blankets from Rodney and dumped them in the back seat. "Check your shoelaces first. You don't want to trip."
Jacket zipped, shoelaces ready, Rodney hoisted a flashlight and shone it across the face of the cabin.
"Nothing there," he said, glancing back at John. "I think that's good enough, don't you? A bear's far more likely to enter on the southeast side from across the water since—"
"Rodney...."
"Okay. Going, going."
With mincing steps, Rodney edged around the side of the cabin, the light playing across the sides wildly. It cast up, highlighting the bare branches, then outlined the house shape, shining for a moment through the cabin windows. There was a nerve-wracking sound of snapping branches that was most likely Rodney pushing through the brush, but John's eyes widened.
Then Rodney reappeared on the opposite side of the cabin.
"Looks like everything's fine," he called out, brushing his hands on his jeans.
John froze. This was the point in a horror movie where a giant creature would launch out of a window at Rodney's throat.
But nothing happened. Rodney cheerfully jogged down the hill toward the car. "Maybe we can rig your backpack so you can help me haul in the wood." He thumbed over his shoulder. "And, god, I hope that was just mud I stepped in because there's no telling what's back there."
"Really? Do bears shit in the woods?" John grinned, and was rewarded with a roll of Rodney's eyes.
Rodney held the door open while John navigated up the four plank steps. And wasn't that going to be a joy if he had to go to an outhouse every day.
As John stepped in he automatically reached for a light switch and his hand swept along a bare wall. Rodney's flashlight shone jaggedly around the inside of the cabin. The floors were dusty wood, the ceilings vaulted with open beams. In the far right corner stood an old fashioned wood-burning stove. On the opposite side was a double bed with a bare mattress. A ladder next to the bed led up to a small loft. They stood in a kitchen which was nothing more than a long counter bisected by a sink and two cupboards overhead, with a picnic table shoved into the corner by a window.
It was as cold inside as it was outside.
"How about we build a fire?" John suggested. Rodney had his arms wrapped around himself and shuddered out loud, nodding.
But on his first trip he returned with the blankets and a second flashlight. "Bundle up," he said, dumping them on the bed.
John ignored this advice in favor of exploring, clicking the flashlight on. He shook it and scowled when it flickered.
By the time Rodney got back from the car, bumping and swearing through the door, John had found half a dozen oil lanterns and some fairly damp matches that still worked. He'd lit the one by the bed. There was no stove, which shouldn't have been a surprise given the lack of electricity, but a cast iron skillet and teapot on the wood stove answered that one. It also promised to be a royal pain. The good news was the bathroom under the loft. With a shower, tub, and a toilet. This at the moment struck John as the lap of luxury as he shelved his dreary pictures of trying to maneuver an outhouse on crutches.
"Huh," Rodney said across the room. He'd lit an oil lamp in the kitchen, the wisp of kerosene scent filling the cabin. He stood in front of the sink, shutting the knobs on and off. Nothing came out. He sighed and slumped, hand pressed to his forehead like he had a headache. "They turned the water off for the winter."
John processed this, pausing. "That means the toilet doesn't work."
"No, no, it's composting, we put that in a couple years ago – well, technically my sister did and then, surprise! Forced everyone to cough up the money to pay her back. But I'll have to see how to turn the water on tomorrow; I'm not crawling around under the house in the dark. Let's just pray they thought to bleed out the pipes."
"So. No hot showers," John said, nodding. He could live with that for a night.
Rodney gave him a dismal look. "Did I say anything about hot water? This place is primitive."
"Cold showers then." John cast his flashlight over the loft again, peering up at what looked like another bed, possibly two. "Somehow I have trouble picturing you here."
"Again with the not listening! Need I remind you that I've not been here since childhood?"
"Need I remind you that this was your idea?"
"Yes, well, spending time in sub-human conditions with a recovering drug addict is sounding like less and less of a good idea."
"I'm not a drug addict."
The statement was automatic at this point. John no longer expected Rodney to believe him but he wasn't about to let it pass either. He hadn't taken a single one of his pills all day and his leg ached. His gaze fell on the two bundles of wood stacked inside the kitchen. "You want to get the rest of that?" John asked in a harassing tone.
"What?" Rodney blinked. His eyes flicked to the little stack of wood. "No, that's it."
"It's thirty degrees out. We'll go through that in a matter of hours."
"It's minus one degree, someday soon you shall discover the magic of the Celsius system, and," Rodney swept a finger triumphantly through the air, "the McKays plan better than that."
He led John to a door he hadn't paid attention to in his first sweep of the area. He walked backward as it opened onto a porch covered in green astroturf and explained, "Every spring we have a dozen or so cords of wood delivered. Then throughout the summer each family brings in wood and restocks as they leave. Granted, I didn't bring enough on the way in this time but I'll make up for it."
"Uh. Rodney."
The porch behind him was empty, aside from several large unsplit logs, leaves, and scattered bark. An ax and splitting maul leaned against one wall.
Rodney ran his hand down his face, then tapped his lip with a forefinger. "It's always so much better in theory than in practice."
[Previous][Next]
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-12-08 10:08 pm (UTC)Such a dork. Also, this is going to be a disaster, isn't it? ;)
Although somehow it's just like Rodney to bring a drug addict into the wilderness, to a place with no hot water, no electricity, no phone (I'll assume) and little to no firewood. What does he think is going to happen when/if John goes into withdrawal? *pets him*
no subject
Date: 2007-12-08 10:20 pm (UTC)Because in Rodney-land, his main problem was to get John away from fiendish suppliers. He didn't even read the pamphlet on withdrawal until they were on the road.
no subject
Date: 2007-12-08 11:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-09 04:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-08 11:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-09 04:43 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-09 05:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-09 12:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-09 04:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-09 01:09 am (UTC)Also, wow, good timing. I have JUST caught up with SGA. Like, I've been watching episodes slowly, and then today I watched all the rest of them. And wow. Sign me on for this fandom. Now, I only need to figure out where precisely it is...
no subject
Date: 2007-12-09 03:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-12 03:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-09 04:05 am (UTC)When I was a kid, the Scout troop I was briefly in went on a camping trip to the rough side of Catalina Island (So. Calif.). It was so cold we could send up signals with our breath...and that was before the sun went down. I hate camping.
no subject
Date: 2007-12-09 04:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-12 03:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-12 03:13 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-09 05:09 am (UTC)You've definitely got the episodic structure down. Bears! Freezing! Skaters! Dum dum dum!!! :o
no subject
Date: 2007-12-12 03:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-12 06:35 am (UTC)Because you're giving us flashbacks!
no subject
Date: 2007-12-09 03:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-12 03:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-09 03:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-12 03:06 am (UTC)Yes, there is more!
Date: 2007-12-10 02:52 am (UTC)Re: Yes, there is more!
Date: 2007-12-10 07:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-10 04:41 pm (UTC)Him, I married.
no subject
Date: 2007-12-12 03:01 am (UTC)