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icarusWhen you find a story that hits your kink, and hits it again, over and over for thirteen chapters, it makes for a happy day.
General & Dr. Sheppard by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
xanthelj, NC-17.
This is what I love about fanfiction.
Plausible? Oh heck no! Gloriously, gleefully inplausible. An Alternate Universe full-time-BDSM John and Rodney are drawn into this universe (complete with Rodney in a collar and leash). Yeep! This universe's Rodney is freaked. Laughter, romance, self-discovery and lots of kinky sex ensues. Lots of kinky sex. The story delivers the goods.
The best scene is John training Rodney. You'll know the one when you read it.
You know you've been watching too much of the Olympics when...
I now want to read an SGA AU where John's a skater and Rodney's either a judge or his coach. *facepalm* My humiliation knows no bounds.
ETA: You can read the whole story thus far here -- Out Of Bounds.
Out Of Bounds
by Icarus
John slowly glided to edge of the rink, hands on his knees as he panted, the black jumpsuit a stark contrast to the ice. He cut a sharp edge when he reached Rodney, spraying him with ice, clearly more pissed off than hurt. Several other early morning skaters cast him a curious glance, then went about their business.
"Get back out there," Rodney said quietly, in his calmest, brooks-no-nonsense sort of voice.
"No. I'm taking up hockey. It'll hurt less." John glared at him, eyebrows drawn together over hazel eyes.
"Aw. Did baby fall down and go boom?" Rodney mocked him. "You're not good enough. You're nothing more than a gymnast on skates. Skate, skate, jump! Skate, skate, jump! Have you even noticed there's music playing?"
"At least I'm not a fifth-place failure, washed out at seventeen."
Rodney looked sucker-punched, but he took it in stride, chin out. John always lashed out after a bad practice. He counted to ten. "At least I made it. And I know what it takes to get there."
John dug in harder, his voice dry and mean. "You couldn't lay down the big moves. Couldn't take the pressure."
"And yet, strangely enough, somehow I got there. You've been competing for ten years and haven't even touched what I reached in grade twelve."
Rodney pulled off his jacket and adjusted his gloves with a long-suffering sigh. He stepped onto the ice and skated backwards, forcing John to reluctantly follow. Gaining some speed, Rodney laid down the pattern of footwork he'd asked of John.
John stopped, arms folded. He shouted to Rodney halfway across the rink, "It's easy."
"Prove it!" Rodney shouted back.
With an eyeroll, John picked up speed with two quick strokes, then turned around and repeated Rodney's pattern. Sloppy edges, hands careless, all elbows, he didn't point his toes, ice spray everywhere... then he threw in a perfect triple at the end. He skated back to Rodney with a bright grin.
"That was shitty," Rodney said about everything but the jump.
"Whatever."
John stretched one leg behind him, touching his skate nearly to his shoulder in an enviable display of careless balance and flexibility. Anyone watching would think he was a great skater, could see his potential, that effortless stregth and grace. Rodney stared.
Then John let his leg fall. "I'm giving hockey some serious thought." He nodded to himself as if this were a great idea.
"You'll look better with all your teeth," Rodney answered with a little wave. "Besides, the thought of you cooperating in a team is ludicrous: you don't even cooperate with me, and you're paying me to listen to you whine." Rodney didn't let John get a word in edge-wise, gliding closer to skate in a tight circle around him. "But you're right, it is easy. Why can't you do it?"
"Fuck your transitions. They throw everything off! I never missed a Quad until you showed up."
"Your coaches were all morons and should be shot. They let you get away with murder and they've almost ruined you as a skater. You're lucky I showed up."
Rodney pursed his lips and thought very quickly.
"All right. New rule: you're not to do any jumps."
"What?!"
"You are to only skate to music -- pick something you like -- and I want you to skate in a pair." Rodney ticked his rules off on gloved fingers.
"What? How am I supposed to keep in form on my jumps, pairs are a completely different type of skating, where am I supposed to find someone to skate with -- and are you out of your mind?" John growled, leaning closer. "The jumps are all I've got."
Rodney blinked. He hadn't realized John knew that. Even though everyone knew.
It suddenly made sense why he'd hired Rodney McKay, who had a reputation as an artist who couldn't keep up as the jumps progressed from triples to quads, becoming more and more important to the sport; John's total opposite. McKay's a solid skater, Frank, not a single wasted motion. His sense of timing is like a metronome. And look at that gesture, completely unique, wonderful choreography, great speed... he's so smooth you hardly know a jump is coming.
Oh-! That was supposed to be a triple and he doubled it.
That's going to cost him.
He's just not built for the jumps, Anne. He's stockier than the other skaters and it works against him. Those broad shoulders; I tell you, he's built more like a middle linebacker!
I remember him from the Nationals two years ago. He was fourteen, so light on the ice, such fire! But Frank, and this happens to a lot of young skaters: as they grow their bodies just change. And there's nothing you can do about it.
Rodney's spectacular falls and litany of injuries had made news for the next two years. He'd never landed a quad in competition. Photos of his miserable expression as he finished fifth, the sweat plastering longish curls to his forehead, had made Sports Illustrated. It was the most common photo to turn up if you Googled his name. Rodney hated that picture.
"I don't believe that's true." Rodney's voice came out a little hesitant, but he squared his shoulders in defiance against John's reputation. He added a little desperately, "You have to try. If it's true, then you're wasting your time and you might as well get your teeth knocked out in hockey."
"I thought you said I'd look terrible without my teeth."
John skated away from him a moment and threw a quick rebellious single jump.
Rodney watched him, shaking his head with an exaggerated huff. "Coaching is the sixth circle of hell. The Catholics were right. This is payment for something I did horribly wrong."
"How's not-jumping supposed to help?"
"Just... trust me? For once?" Rodney complained, letting his arms fall to his sides in frustration. "As for who you'll skate with: I'll skate with you."
John's eyebrows raised as he glided backwards with tiny little pushes, heading for the edge of the rink. "Are you hitting on me?"
"You'll have to pay me a lot more for that." Rodney skated behind him. As they reached their stuff, John threw Rodney a towel and Rodney mopped his forehead. "Besides -- and more to the point -- you're out of my league."
John frowned. "What makes you think I'm..."
"Oh, please. A straight figure skater is about as common as a straight dancer."
John tipped his head and conceded the point.
"Breakfast?" Rodney suggested, brightening.
"You like food too much. You probably only lost because you gained weight," John noted. He slung his skates over his shoulder.
"I'm off the clock, therefore not coaching, therefore I don't have to put up with your crap now, thank you very much," Rodney pointed out. "And bear in mind that if you don't improve I'm your only brush with greatness, so show some respect."
John made a face.
Heeeeere's part two, because I just can't resist this silliness.
General & Dr. Sheppard by
xanthelj, NC-17.This is what I love about fanfiction.
Plausible? Oh heck no! Gloriously, gleefully inplausible. An Alternate Universe full-time-BDSM John and Rodney are drawn into this universe (complete with Rodney in a collar and leash). Yeep! This universe's Rodney is freaked. Laughter, romance, self-discovery and lots of kinky sex ensues. Lots of kinky sex. The story delivers the goods.
The best scene is John training Rodney. You'll know the one when you read it.
You know you've been watching too much of the Olympics when...
I now want to read an SGA AU where John's a skater and Rodney's either a judge or his coach. *facepalm* My humiliation knows no bounds.
ETA: You can read the whole story thus far here -- Out Of Bounds.
Out Of Bounds
by Icarus
John slowly glided to edge of the rink, hands on his knees as he panted, the black jumpsuit a stark contrast to the ice. He cut a sharp edge when he reached Rodney, spraying him with ice, clearly more pissed off than hurt. Several other early morning skaters cast him a curious glance, then went about their business.
"Get back out there," Rodney said quietly, in his calmest, brooks-no-nonsense sort of voice.
"No. I'm taking up hockey. It'll hurt less." John glared at him, eyebrows drawn together over hazel eyes.
"Aw. Did baby fall down and go boom?" Rodney mocked him. "You're not good enough. You're nothing more than a gymnast on skates. Skate, skate, jump! Skate, skate, jump! Have you even noticed there's music playing?"
"At least I'm not a fifth-place failure, washed out at seventeen."
Rodney looked sucker-punched, but he took it in stride, chin out. John always lashed out after a bad practice. He counted to ten. "At least I made it. And I know what it takes to get there."
John dug in harder, his voice dry and mean. "You couldn't lay down the big moves. Couldn't take the pressure."
"And yet, strangely enough, somehow I got there. You've been competing for ten years and haven't even touched what I reached in grade twelve."
Rodney pulled off his jacket and adjusted his gloves with a long-suffering sigh. He stepped onto the ice and skated backwards, forcing John to reluctantly follow. Gaining some speed, Rodney laid down the pattern of footwork he'd asked of John.
John stopped, arms folded. He shouted to Rodney halfway across the rink, "It's easy."
"Prove it!" Rodney shouted back.
With an eyeroll, John picked up speed with two quick strokes, then turned around and repeated Rodney's pattern. Sloppy edges, hands careless, all elbows, he didn't point his toes, ice spray everywhere... then he threw in a perfect triple at the end. He skated back to Rodney with a bright grin.
"That was shitty," Rodney said about everything but the jump.
"Whatever."
John stretched one leg behind him, touching his skate nearly to his shoulder in an enviable display of careless balance and flexibility. Anyone watching would think he was a great skater, could see his potential, that effortless stregth and grace. Rodney stared.
Then John let his leg fall. "I'm giving hockey some serious thought." He nodded to himself as if this were a great idea.
"You'll look better with all your teeth," Rodney answered with a little wave. "Besides, the thought of you cooperating in a team is ludicrous: you don't even cooperate with me, and you're paying me to listen to you whine." Rodney didn't let John get a word in edge-wise, gliding closer to skate in a tight circle around him. "But you're right, it is easy. Why can't you do it?"
"Fuck your transitions. They throw everything off! I never missed a Quad until you showed up."
"Your coaches were all morons and should be shot. They let you get away with murder and they've almost ruined you as a skater. You're lucky I showed up."
Rodney pursed his lips and thought very quickly.
"All right. New rule: you're not to do any jumps."
"What?!"
"You are to only skate to music -- pick something you like -- and I want you to skate in a pair." Rodney ticked his rules off on gloved fingers.
"What? How am I supposed to keep in form on my jumps, pairs are a completely different type of skating, where am I supposed to find someone to skate with -- and are you out of your mind?" John growled, leaning closer. "The jumps are all I've got."
Rodney blinked. He hadn't realized John knew that. Even though everyone knew.
It suddenly made sense why he'd hired Rodney McKay, who had a reputation as an artist who couldn't keep up as the jumps progressed from triples to quads, becoming more and more important to the sport; John's total opposite. McKay's a solid skater, Frank, not a single wasted motion. His sense of timing is like a metronome. And look at that gesture, completely unique, wonderful choreography, great speed... he's so smooth you hardly know a jump is coming.
Oh-! That was supposed to be a triple and he doubled it.
That's going to cost him.
He's just not built for the jumps, Anne. He's stockier than the other skaters and it works against him. Those broad shoulders; I tell you, he's built more like a middle linebacker!
I remember him from the Nationals two years ago. He was fourteen, so light on the ice, such fire! But Frank, and this happens to a lot of young skaters: as they grow their bodies just change. And there's nothing you can do about it.
Rodney's spectacular falls and litany of injuries had made news for the next two years. He'd never landed a quad in competition. Photos of his miserable expression as he finished fifth, the sweat plastering longish curls to his forehead, had made Sports Illustrated. It was the most common photo to turn up if you Googled his name. Rodney hated that picture.
"I don't believe that's true." Rodney's voice came out a little hesitant, but he squared his shoulders in defiance against John's reputation. He added a little desperately, "You have to try. If it's true, then you're wasting your time and you might as well get your teeth knocked out in hockey."
"I thought you said I'd look terrible without my teeth."
John skated away from him a moment and threw a quick rebellious single jump.
Rodney watched him, shaking his head with an exaggerated huff. "Coaching is the sixth circle of hell. The Catholics were right. This is payment for something I did horribly wrong."
"How's not-jumping supposed to help?"
"Just... trust me? For once?" Rodney complained, letting his arms fall to his sides in frustration. "As for who you'll skate with: I'll skate with you."
John's eyebrows raised as he glided backwards with tiny little pushes, heading for the edge of the rink. "Are you hitting on me?"
"You'll have to pay me a lot more for that." Rodney skated behind him. As they reached their stuff, John threw Rodney a towel and Rodney mopped his forehead. "Besides -- and more to the point -- you're out of my league."
John frowned. "What makes you think I'm..."
"Oh, please. A straight figure skater is about as common as a straight dancer."
John tipped his head and conceded the point.
"Breakfast?" Rodney suggested, brightening.
"You like food too much. You probably only lost because you gained weight," John noted. He slung his skates over his shoulder.
"I'm off the clock, therefore not coaching, therefore I don't have to put up with your crap now, thank you very much," Rodney pointed out. "And bear in mind that if you don't improve I'm your only brush with greatness, so show some respect."
John made a face.
Heeeeere's part two, because I just can't resist this silliness.
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Date: 2006-03-01 04:52 pm (UTC)Truly, we are all insane.
Icarus