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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: John couldn't wait to hear what Rodney would have to say about "bindoos."
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. This part is posted unbeta'd due to the holidays. Thank you to libitina and roaringmice for inside intel and spywork at Skate America. Special thanks to sarka for all the help with Czech history and language (not to mention the cool music).
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Out Of Bounds
by Icarus
"Gnnnhhhh," John groaned, letting himself flop onto the mat.
Ronon paced around him. "The girls are doing better than you," he taunted, with a smirk that somehow took the sting out of it. Well. Almost.
"I'll get it," John managed to say in a breezy tone, though it was hard to do through gritted teeth. Ronon flashed him a grin.
John lay flat on his back and let his head drop to the pad, ignoring the women who curled into the next pose as gracefully as cats. He tried not to think about the weakness in his take-off leg, or how many weeks it would take him to get it back into shape. He glanced around at the others as they lifted off their mats and then he pushed himself back up into position, wincing as the back of his calf muscles vibrated like harp strings. He could almost hear it, like the whine of an electric guitar.
He set his jaw and ignored the stream of mental complaints that invaded his mind. Om, he thought to himself with inward snort of amusement. But the vibration calmed. He felt his knee relax into a deeper stretch.
Ronon stood over him. "Don't go that deep, not yet," he said. He grasped John's foot and adjusted his stance, placing his feet closer together. "Instead, I want you to hold it for as long as you can."
Like increasing the weight instead of the number of reps in weight lifting; going for strength. John got that, and nodded.
He soon discovered this was easier said than done. A slow trail of sweat dripped into his eyes.
~*~*~
John ran his hand through his hair, his back slumped against the wall. He answered one of the other students' hello with a tired wave that was both a greeting and a brush off and she let him be.
He was maimed for life. His leg was too wobbly to stand right now, after less than an hour of just stretching. John was trying very hard not to be depressed.
As the little bell on the door rang behind the last of the yoga students, Ronon came over and crouched next to John.
"So. Let's see it," Ronon said.
Squeezing his eyes shut, John slowly bent his knee and pulled the leg of his sweats up to his thigh. He expected a whistle or some kind of reaction – because it looked bad, it really did – but Ronon's face stayed impassive. He put his hand on John's knee, which raised John's eyebrows, but then he just tipped the knee left and right, delicately, like it was made out of glass, studying it like a doctor. Then he explained about "nahdees" and "bindoos" and "psychic winds" with a slow, earnest intensity. It made no sense at all to John except that it sounded like he was saying what John already knew: that his leg was really fucked up.
Ronon seemed to read the disbelief or John's total blank look, because he stopped mid-sentence and stared into John's eyes for a moment. It was disconcerting. Then he patted John's other thigh with all the gentleness of a mountain lion, and stood, saying, "Never mind. Just do what I say and you'll be fine. You're coming back the day after tomorrow, right?"
He didn't say it like there was any question, and John found himself answering, "Okay. Sure."
When John stepped out of the yoga center, Rodney was waiting out front in the car, flipping through a magazine in the driver's seat as the exhaust from the tail pipe whipped away, white in the March wind. John hadn't zipped his coat ducked into the passenger seat, wrapping it around him. He wished that they could get the heat fixed. The yoga place had been as warm as a sauna by comparison.
"So how was it?" Rodney asked, putting the magazine down.
John zipped his jacket and blew on his hands. He'd forgotten his gloves at home.
He mentally spun through adjectives and came up with, "Interesting. Weird. Um. But okay, I guess." Then he gave Rodney a wide smirk. "Looks like I have a problem with my psychic winds," he said, nodding with mock thoughtfulness.
The strange look Rodney gave him as he put it in gear was priceless. He was really going to have to listen to Ronon more carefully next time. He couldn't wait to hear what Rodney had to say about "bindoos."
[Previous][Next]
Title: Out Of Bounds
Author: Icarus
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: John/Rodney
Summary: John couldn't wait to hear what Rodney would have to say about "bindoos."
A/N: Thank you to
perfica for playing OOB beta badminton with me all these months. This part is posted unbeta'd due to the holidays. Thank you to libitina and roaringmice for inside intel and spywork at Skate America. Special thanks to sarka for all the help with Czech history and language (not to mention the cool music).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. John struggles to recover from his injury.
[Previous][Next]
Out Of Bounds
by Icarus
"Gnnnhhhh," John groaned, letting himself flop onto the mat.
Ronon paced around him. "The girls are doing better than you," he taunted, with a smirk that somehow took the sting out of it. Well. Almost.
"I'll get it," John managed to say in a breezy tone, though it was hard to do through gritted teeth. Ronon flashed him a grin.
John lay flat on his back and let his head drop to the pad, ignoring the women who curled into the next pose as gracefully as cats. He tried not to think about the weakness in his take-off leg, or how many weeks it would take him to get it back into shape. He glanced around at the others as they lifted off their mats and then he pushed himself back up into position, wincing as the back of his calf muscles vibrated like harp strings. He could almost hear it, like the whine of an electric guitar.
He set his jaw and ignored the stream of mental complaints that invaded his mind. Om, he thought to himself with inward snort of amusement. But the vibration calmed. He felt his knee relax into a deeper stretch.
Ronon stood over him. "Don't go that deep, not yet," he said. He grasped John's foot and adjusted his stance, placing his feet closer together. "Instead, I want you to hold it for as long as you can."
Like increasing the weight instead of the number of reps in weight lifting; going for strength. John got that, and nodded.
He soon discovered this was easier said than done. A slow trail of sweat dripped into his eyes.
John ran his hand through his hair, his back slumped against the wall. He answered one of the other students' hello with a tired wave that was both a greeting and a brush off and she let him be.
He was maimed for life. His leg was too wobbly to stand right now, after less than an hour of just stretching. John was trying very hard not to be depressed.
As the little bell on the door rang behind the last of the yoga students, Ronon came over and crouched next to John.
"So. Let's see it," Ronon said.
Squeezing his eyes shut, John slowly bent his knee and pulled the leg of his sweats up to his thigh. He expected a whistle or some kind of reaction – because it looked bad, it really did – but Ronon's face stayed impassive. He put his hand on John's knee, which raised John's eyebrows, but then he just tipped the knee left and right, delicately, like it was made out of glass, studying it like a doctor. Then he explained about "nahdees" and "bindoos" and "psychic winds" with a slow, earnest intensity. It made no sense at all to John except that it sounded like he was saying what John already knew: that his leg was really fucked up.
Ronon seemed to read the disbelief or John's total blank look, because he stopped mid-sentence and stared into John's eyes for a moment. It was disconcerting. Then he patted John's other thigh with all the gentleness of a mountain lion, and stood, saying, "Never mind. Just do what I say and you'll be fine. You're coming back the day after tomorrow, right?"
He didn't say it like there was any question, and John found himself answering, "Okay. Sure."
When John stepped out of the yoga center, Rodney was waiting out front in the car, flipping through a magazine in the driver's seat as the exhaust from the tail pipe whipped away, white in the March wind. John hadn't zipped his coat ducked into the passenger seat, wrapping it around him. He wished that they could get the heat fixed. The yoga place had been as warm as a sauna by comparison.
"So how was it?" Rodney asked, putting the magazine down.
John zipped his jacket and blew on his hands. He'd forgotten his gloves at home.
He mentally spun through adjectives and came up with, "Interesting. Weird. Um. But okay, I guess." Then he gave Rodney a wide smirk. "Looks like I have a problem with my psychic winds," he said, nodding with mock thoughtfulness.
The strange look Rodney gave him as he put it in gear was priceless. He was really going to have to listen to Ronon more carefully next time. He couldn't wait to hear what Rodney had to say about "bindoos."
[Previous][Next]
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-12-26 03:01 pm (UTC)How much time does John have to recover before his next event? (Listen to me! I'm talking like they're real! You do this to me! And make me abuse the exclamtion point!!)
no subject
Date: 2008-03-03 06:38 am (UTC)Fortunately, as I'm sure you know by now, John has until September before his next event. But he has to be skating, training, and putting together this years programs by April at the latest. And it's March now.