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icarusYou can get caught up here: Out Of Bounds.
Another part is coming shortly. I need to get the music link. :)
Title: Out Of Bounds
Author: Icarus
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: John/Rodney
Summary: John was starting to think Rodney had brought him out here just to torture him.
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.
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Out Of Bounds
by Icarus
A blaze of sun reflected off the lake and John squinted away, shading his eyes as he watched the back of Rodney's SUV rock and bump down the gravel road. While John was in the bath Rodney had offered to take him into town with him.
"What do people consider a town around here?" John had flicked a little water at him. They'd left the bathroom door open to let in the heat. He had his cast up on the edge of the tub while Rodney jutted his chin at the mirror, shaving.
"Mmm. A grocery store, antique shop, post office, and a gas station. More like a street," Rodney said.
"I'll pass."
Looking down the empty road, John kind of regretted staying.
The remains of the log Rodney had split were scattered around John in front of the cabin.
John wasn't sure if Rodney had tried it because he didn't want to go into town, or if he was afraid to leave John without wood, but he could have told Rodney those last two logs had been abandoned for good reason. He'd missed most of Rodney's attempts while he was pulling on a sweatshirt, feeling warm and relaxed for the first time in days, just heard the steady thwack of the ax and then suddenly a long stream of profanity.
By the time he got his crutches and reached the door, Rodney was dusting himself off. Though he was still swearing. There was a large, dark muddy patch on his rear and left knee. The ax was embedded in the log.
"Not one word," Rodney said, pointing.
John smiled. "A little knotty?"
"I swear to god, if I can get one end to squeeze into the grate that'll be good enough." He reached for the ax and the log lifted up with it. This was the best entertainment John had had since his injury.
Now John had one hand on his hip and an afternoon alone. By the shore, a blue tarp covered a rowboat up on sawhorses for the winter. If John weren't on crutches he'd see if he could get it cleaned out and in the water. It was deep and clear and curved just beyond an overgrown spit, leggy tree roots reaching into the water. Begging for exploration. Behind the cabin a faint trail led through the trees up the hill and promised a great view of the surrounding area. He wondered how big the lake was. It wasn't very far across, but seemed to stretch as long as a river.
Of course, since he was injured he couldn't do any of these things. He was starting to think Rodney had brought him out here just to torture him.
With a sigh, John hobbled inside.
Within the space of an hour, he had dinner simmering on the wood stove. Rodney had predictably bought spaghetti and the makings for sandwiches, but John dug around and discovered a bag of potatoes in a drawer. Most of them had grown to the point of looking like alien creatures, but he salvaged a few. Dusty cans of kidney beans joined the carrots Rodney had brought along with his ubiquitous canned tomatoes, making a simple minestrone.
Rodney would have to make the bed; that was beyond John right now, needed both hands and took too much off-center shifting around -- but he did scoop the clothes off the floor and fold them. Then it occurred to him there was something useful he could do. He swung over to the bright astroturf porch and cracked open the door. Sure enough, bark, twigs, and leaves were scattered all over the place.
He set to separating the kindling and tinder like he'd been taught back in cub scouts. It went slower than he would have liked, but using just one crutch worked pretty well.
After about forty-five minutes, he propped back against the wall and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, sweat cooling. He leaned his head on the smooth wood and thought of taking the meds, mind drifting. He frowned, his eyebrows going up as he tipped his head with a strange expression. His leg wasn't bothering him much; he'd practiced on worse.
~*~*~
At dusk, Rodney's SUV returned. John sat on the front steps, his leg stretched out in front of him. The clouds were stained orange and gold and reflected on the water save where the wind rippled the surface in a long v-shape. The little bay in front of the cabin was golden pink and nearly smooth. Just breaking the surface, a loon, its head like a dark periscope, crossed into the bay then turned in slow sentry duty.
John gazed after it, then returned to his task. He had a small hatchet buried into the top of a section of log, a pile of pale kindling at his feet. As Rodney watched, John slammed the log on the step, flaking off fleshy-white wood.
"You know, we weren't allowed to chop wood on the steps, something about the wholesale destruction of property," Rodney observed as he shut the door.
"I only clipped the step a couple of times," John smiled back at him.
"Just don't give Jeannie an excuse to replace the stairs," Rodney said as he walked up them to the door, edging around John who leaned aside, "I don't think I can afford it this year – ooo." He lifted his nose at the scent of minestrone, paused with the door open, letting the heat out. "Hmph. Someone's been making himself useful today. I almost feel guilty – though I'm sure I'll feel considerably less so after an hour of menial labor."
"Yeah, well. I need to stay busy."
John slammed the hatchet into the log, breaking off another piece.
[Previous][Next]
Another part is coming shortly. I need to get the music link. :)
Title: Out Of Bounds
Author: Icarus
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: John/Rodney
Summary: John was starting to think Rodney had brought him out here just to torture him.
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
A blaze of sun reflected off the lake and John squinted away, shading his eyes as he watched the back of Rodney's SUV rock and bump down the gravel road. While John was in the bath Rodney had offered to take him into town with him.
"What do people consider a town around here?" John had flicked a little water at him. They'd left the bathroom door open to let in the heat. He had his cast up on the edge of the tub while Rodney jutted his chin at the mirror, shaving.
"Mmm. A grocery store, antique shop, post office, and a gas station. More like a street," Rodney said.
"I'll pass."
Looking down the empty road, John kind of regretted staying.
The remains of the log Rodney had split were scattered around John in front of the cabin.
John wasn't sure if Rodney had tried it because he didn't want to go into town, or if he was afraid to leave John without wood, but he could have told Rodney those last two logs had been abandoned for good reason. He'd missed most of Rodney's attempts while he was pulling on a sweatshirt, feeling warm and relaxed for the first time in days, just heard the steady thwack of the ax and then suddenly a long stream of profanity.
By the time he got his crutches and reached the door, Rodney was dusting himself off. Though he was still swearing. There was a large, dark muddy patch on his rear and left knee. The ax was embedded in the log.
"Not one word," Rodney said, pointing.
John smiled. "A little knotty?"
"I swear to god, if I can get one end to squeeze into the grate that'll be good enough." He reached for the ax and the log lifted up with it. This was the best entertainment John had had since his injury.
Now John had one hand on his hip and an afternoon alone. By the shore, a blue tarp covered a rowboat up on sawhorses for the winter. If John weren't on crutches he'd see if he could get it cleaned out and in the water. It was deep and clear and curved just beyond an overgrown spit, leggy tree roots reaching into the water. Begging for exploration. Behind the cabin a faint trail led through the trees up the hill and promised a great view of the surrounding area. He wondered how big the lake was. It wasn't very far across, but seemed to stretch as long as a river.
Of course, since he was injured he couldn't do any of these things. He was starting to think Rodney had brought him out here just to torture him.
With a sigh, John hobbled inside.
Within the space of an hour, he had dinner simmering on the wood stove. Rodney had predictably bought spaghetti and the makings for sandwiches, but John dug around and discovered a bag of potatoes in a drawer. Most of them had grown to the point of looking like alien creatures, but he salvaged a few. Dusty cans of kidney beans joined the carrots Rodney had brought along with his ubiquitous canned tomatoes, making a simple minestrone.
Rodney would have to make the bed; that was beyond John right now, needed both hands and took too much off-center shifting around -- but he did scoop the clothes off the floor and fold them. Then it occurred to him there was something useful he could do. He swung over to the bright astroturf porch and cracked open the door. Sure enough, bark, twigs, and leaves were scattered all over the place.
He set to separating the kindling and tinder like he'd been taught back in cub scouts. It went slower than he would have liked, but using just one crutch worked pretty well.
After about forty-five minutes, he propped back against the wall and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, sweat cooling. He leaned his head on the smooth wood and thought of taking the meds, mind drifting. He frowned, his eyebrows going up as he tipped his head with a strange expression. His leg wasn't bothering him much; he'd practiced on worse.
At dusk, Rodney's SUV returned. John sat on the front steps, his leg stretched out in front of him. The clouds were stained orange and gold and reflected on the water save where the wind rippled the surface in a long v-shape. The little bay in front of the cabin was golden pink and nearly smooth. Just breaking the surface, a loon, its head like a dark periscope, crossed into the bay then turned in slow sentry duty.
John gazed after it, then returned to his task. He had a small hatchet buried into the top of a section of log, a pile of pale kindling at his feet. As Rodney watched, John slammed the log on the step, flaking off fleshy-white wood.
"You know, we weren't allowed to chop wood on the steps, something about the wholesale destruction of property," Rodney observed as he shut the door.
"I only clipped the step a couple of times," John smiled back at him.
"Just don't give Jeannie an excuse to replace the stairs," Rodney said as he walked up them to the door, edging around John who leaned aside, "I don't think I can afford it this year – ooo." He lifted his nose at the scent of minestrone, paused with the door open, letting the heat out. "Hmph. Someone's been making himself useful today. I almost feel guilty – though I'm sure I'll feel considerably less so after an hour of menial labor."
"Yeah, well. I need to stay busy."
John slammed the hatchet into the log, breaking off another piece.
[Previous][Next]
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Date: 2007-12-14 03:04 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-14 05:01 am (UTC)