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icarusCouldn't resist. John drabble. Untitled, unbeta'd.
The Other Side Of Oblivious
by Icarus
Rodney had dreamed of it for years. He and Colonel Sheppard, retired, living together in a Victorian mansion (okay, split-level ranch) in a gay neighborhood. Showing up at the grocery store with John in tight jeans. PDAs in the park (okay, fine, the parking lot, but close enough). Envious glances from his so-called colleagues at scientific conferences as John's mere presence confirmed Rodney's claims that he'd been working for the military all these years. While his hotness confirmed Rodney's masculinity, thank you very much.
The fantasy had been so strong, so lived-in -- even before it became a reality -- that it took a while for Rodney to notice.
But change sneaked up on everyone, didn't it?
All right, General O'Neill had made a few snide comments to Sheppard, looking him over and saying with a smile, "Enjoying your retirement? Been taking it easy, I see." And Major Lorne had made some crack about John "eating for two" which Rodney had duly ignored with a sniff of disdain.
Frankly, he'd appreciated the fact that John no longer collapsed in the bed sweaty after all those daily jogs. The barbells were gathering dust, sure, but that had been fine by Rodney since it had always made him feel like he ought to be working out, too. And it wasn't as if they had to run for their lives anymore, as John himself had stated.
Then one morning when Rodney was in the shrubbery fiddling with the electric meter (the city was overcharging them, he was sure of it), John bent over to pick up the Sunday newspaper.
With a grunt. He put his hand on the driveway to push himself back up.
Rodney frowned, his vision narrowing in on John.
His T-shirt had ridden up. He was wearing tight cut-offs. Ones that hadn't been all that tight two years ago.
His hot military boyfriend had a definite roll over his waistband.
John turned sideways, whistling. He sauntered up the sidewalk without a care.
Rodney's vision readjusted as his fantasy realigned with reality. The rock solid abs of his memory had collapsed like an avalanche into a definite pot belly. Those tanned and muscular thighs? Were looking not-so-tanned at the moment. There was even evidence of a little jiggle as he walked. John's shoulders were still broad -- there was no changing what Mother Nature had given him -- but his biceps were now as skinny as a fifteen-year-old's.
The screen door sighed shut behind him.
Rodney heard John click on a football game. Moments later, there came the predictable slam of the refrigerator door, followed by a metallic pop and hiss as he opened a can of beer, then John's low satisfied hum as he settled into his favorite Lay-Z-Boy.
Rodney brushed the dirt off his hands. He pushed himself up with a grunt.
Something had to be done.
The Other Side Of Oblivious
by Icarus
Rodney had dreamed of it for years. He and Colonel Sheppard, retired, living together in a Victorian mansion (okay, split-level ranch) in a gay neighborhood. Showing up at the grocery store with John in tight jeans. PDAs in the park (okay, fine, the parking lot, but close enough). Envious glances from his so-called colleagues at scientific conferences as John's mere presence confirmed Rodney's claims that he'd been working for the military all these years. While his hotness confirmed Rodney's masculinity, thank you very much.
The fantasy had been so strong, so lived-in -- even before it became a reality -- that it took a while for Rodney to notice.
But change sneaked up on everyone, didn't it?
All right, General O'Neill had made a few snide comments to Sheppard, looking him over and saying with a smile, "Enjoying your retirement? Been taking it easy, I see." And Major Lorne had made some crack about John "eating for two" which Rodney had duly ignored with a sniff of disdain.
Frankly, he'd appreciated the fact that John no longer collapsed in the bed sweaty after all those daily jogs. The barbells were gathering dust, sure, but that had been fine by Rodney since it had always made him feel like he ought to be working out, too. And it wasn't as if they had to run for their lives anymore, as John himself had stated.
Then one morning when Rodney was in the shrubbery fiddling with the electric meter (the city was overcharging them, he was sure of it), John bent over to pick up the Sunday newspaper.
With a grunt. He put his hand on the driveway to push himself back up.
Rodney frowned, his vision narrowing in on John.
His T-shirt had ridden up. He was wearing tight cut-offs. Ones that hadn't been all that tight two years ago.
His hot military boyfriend had a definite roll over his waistband.
John turned sideways, whistling. He sauntered up the sidewalk without a care.
Rodney's vision readjusted as his fantasy realigned with reality. The rock solid abs of his memory had collapsed like an avalanche into a definite pot belly. Those tanned and muscular thighs? Were looking not-so-tanned at the moment. There was even evidence of a little jiggle as he walked. John's shoulders were still broad -- there was no changing what Mother Nature had given him -- but his biceps were now as skinny as a fifteen-year-old's.
The screen door sighed shut behind him.
Rodney heard John click on a football game. Moments later, there came the predictable slam of the refrigerator door, followed by a metallic pop and hiss as he opened a can of beer, then John's low satisfied hum as he settled into his favorite Lay-Z-Boy.
Rodney brushed the dirt off his hands. He pushed himself up with a grunt.
Something had to be done.
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Date: 2009-03-09 09:42 pm (UTC)