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sga_flashficTitle: Magic Marker
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
trinityofone
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Length: ~1700 words
Summary: John’s eyes were wide with horror. “You’re telling me that I walked around all day with ‘Property of Dr. Rodney McKay’ written on my ass?”
Magic Marker
It had been a quiet day. Elizabeth was resolutely not thinking about this. Reflecting on a quiet day in Atlantis was the equivalent of calling attention to your approaching retirement and subsequent decision to buy a boat in a certain kind of cop movie. In other words, it spelled DOOM.
Ripping her mind away from the tantalizing prospect of tranquility, Elizabeth turned her attention to John, who was sauntering into the briefing room. “What’s up?” he said.
Elizabeth forced herself to smile. “Nothing bad,” she said--unfortunately; if there could at least be, say, a minor sewage backup, that’d probably take the heat off them for the day. “I’ll tell you as soon as the others get here; it shouldn’t take more than fifteen minutes.”
“Okay.” He hopped up onto the table, swinging his legs like a little boy. Elizabeth was tempted to ask if he’d like a lollipop while he was waiting.
The door opened behind them and both John and Elizabeth turned their heads. Rodney came in grousing. “What’s this about? It’d better be important; I’m right in the middle of...”
He trailed off, his eyes going wide and his cheeks turning a remarkable shade of scarlet. “Colonel!” he said, his voice cracking a little on the second syllable. “Uh...I’ve got--I need--look, just come with me for a moment, come on, yes, now!”
He had grabbed John by the arm and was hustling him toward the door. “Rodney,” John said, and Elizabeth couldn’t tell if he was pissed off or amused at being manhandled. “Can’t this wait?”
“No!” sharply; “No, essential--vital, even! Sorry, Elizabeth, we’ll be right--”
The door hissed shut behind them. Elizabeth sank back into her chair. “Okay...” she said.
Well, that ought to take care of tranquility, anyway.
*
Rodney dragged a protesting John all the way back to his quarters, opened the door, and shoved him inside. “All right,” he said, “take off your pants.”
John pinched the bridge of his nose. “Rodney, as flattered as I am, is this really the time?”
Rodney barely restrained himself from stomping his foot. “No, you idiot! You’re wearing my underwear!”
John took a discreet gander down the front of his trousers. “Oh.” He glanced up at Rodney, who looked like cartoon smoke was about to start pouring out of his ears. “Okay, that’s kind of gross, but I don’t see why--”
Rodney folded his arms. “They have my name written on the waistband.”
“What?” John shucked his pants faster than a man who’d just felt the first exploratory tickle of a tarantula on the inside of his thigh. For several awkward and amusing seconds, he tried to twist his body in a manner that’d allow him to read his own ass. Realizing the futility of such an action, he stripped off the boxers as well. And thus John ended up standing in the middle of the room, naked from the waist down, holding the offending article and blinking.
“‘Property of Dr. Rodney McKay,’” he read. His head snapped up and he stared at Rodney, his eyes wide with horror. “You’re telling me that I walked around all day with ‘Property of Dr. Rodney McKay’ written on my ass?”
“Yes,” Rodney said, flatly.
“You’re telling me that I taught Jinto and Wex how to do handstands with ‘Property of Dr. Rodney McKay’ written in black Magic Marker on my ass?”
“Apparently so.”
“You’re telling me,” John said slowly, “that I helped Colonel Caldwell get a box down from a very high shelf with ‘Property of Dr. Rodney McKay’ written--in black Magic Marker--in huge capital letters--on my ASS?”
“Yes!” Rodney shouted. “Yes, already! Christ, this isn’t Beetlejuice--saying it three times isn’t going to make it go away!”
John appeared to think about this. “Hey, remember when Tim Burton didn’t suck?”
“It all went down hill after Ed Wood,” Rodney agreed. “And, hey, speaking of inappropriate undergarments--my boxers? You wearing them? Why?”
John twisted the troublesome piece of fabric in his hands. “It was dark?” he tried. Rodney shot him a look that said that was no excuse. “And hey,” John said hopelessly, “I have a stripy blue pair, too.”
“You have no observational skills whatsoever, do you?” Rodney sounded disgusted. “Yours are thick navy stripe, two thin indigo stripes, thick navy stripe. Those--” His hand darted forward, just in case John was confused by what was meant by “those.” “--are clearly thick navy stripe, thin azure stripe, thick navy stripe. Totally different!”
“You’d have to be observing my underwear pretty closely to come up with a detailed description like that,” John said dryly.
Rodney rolled his eyes. “They’re boxers,” he said. “You wear them against your ass. Of course I’ve been observing them closely.”
A wicked glint came into John’s eyes. “Are you saying I have a nice ass?”
“No, I’m saying that I’m worried that if I stop watching it, it’ll disapp--ow! Oh, you did not just hit me in the face with my own underwear!”
“Well, you either just insulted the size of my ass or became an antirealist all of a sudden. Either way, I figured I needed to knock some sense into you.”
Rodney stood dumbly for a minute. “I hate that you can do that,” he said finally. “You drop one little reference to quantum physics into a conversation and I completely lose my train of thought. What was I saying?” He snapped his fingers. “Something cutting and brilliant...” His gaze drifted downward. “Um. You do realize that you’re not wearing any pants.”
John grinned. “Noticed that, did you?” he said. “Your observational skills astound me.”
“Mmm, yes,” Rodney said pensively. “Uh-huh. I think we need to have sex now.”
“What about Elizabeth?” John asked, stepping closer. “Or the fact that a pair of boxers may have recently outed us to half the city?”
“I’m an antirealist now, remember?” Rodney said, kissing him. “The problem doesn’t exist until I observe it.”
“Hm,” said John, wrapping his fingers around Rodney’s waistband. “No wonder that theory was so popular.” He gave a tug. “Let’s verify the existence of your underwear, shall we?”
*
When Rodney awoke in the middle of the night, he immediately observed that John was no longer sprawled at his side. Rather than ceasing to exist, however, John had simply migrated: he was straddling Rodney’s bare chest, the moonlight flashing white off his narrow arc of teeth. Rodney’s thoughts turned, not unpleasantly, to incubi. “What are you doing?” he asked.
John’s grin grew wider. “Getting my revenge,” he said.
It was then that Rodney noticed the Magic Marker.
“Oh no.” He bucked his hips, but John had strong hands and sharp knees. “You have got to be kidding me!”
“Not at all,” said John. “Now, should I write my full title, or just my name?” He lowered the pen so that the tip hovered above Rodney’s right nipple. “I wanna make sure I have enough room. Maybe if I abbreviate ‘Lieutenant’...”
Rodney swatted at his hand. “You can’t!”
John gnawed on his lip. “You’re right, it’s a much too elegant word. Maybe--”
“No.” Rodney caught his hand, his fingers threading through John’s and over the marker. “John. You can’t.”
The effect was immediate and just what he’d feared. John’s face shut down. “I know,” he said.
“John--”
“I know, all right?” The click of the pen getting capped seemed as loud as a gunshot. “No matter where I...you could get hurt and...someone could see. I get it.”
They lapsed into silence. John was still straddling Rodney’s body, sitting straight and still in a beam of moonlight. Rodney watched the shadows play across his face, the firm set of his chin, his mouth.
“You see,” he said, “this is why antirealism is stupid.”
John’s expression didn’t change. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. It’s quantum’s version of getting stoned and blathering on about how maybe the universe is just a piece of lint in the armpit of a giant. It’s like walking out of The Matrix and concluding that it was a documentary.”
“Hey,” John said, clearly just to be difficult, “you never know.”
“Yes, yes I do know!” Rodney said, pushing himself up. John bumped down his body until he was practically sitting in Rodney’s lap; and well, if that was kind of weird, so was this conversation. “I do know. This is real. I don’t need outside confirmation. It’s real.”
John stared at him for a moment. Then he very slowly leaned forward and pressed his lips to Rodney’s. A closed-mouthed kiss, completely unlike their usual hungry gropings. Rodney realized he was holding his breath.
“Okay,” John said, drawing back. “But still...”
His eyes raked down Rodney’s frame--mouth and chin and throat; collarbone, chest, the soft rise of his stomach--to the place where their bodies interlocked. “Lie back,” he said.
Rodney did. John raised the marker again and Rodney opened his mouth to protest. John held up a finger--wait--and with effort, Rodney swallowed his complaint.
The marker was still capped; John lowered it to Rodney’s chest and drew a short, vertical line. A tiny pressure and a slight chill from the cool plastic, but Rodney didn’t move. John’s brow was creased in concentration; Rodney watched, fascinated, as the tip of his tongue slipped from between his teeth and lingered lazily at the corner of his lips.
Stroke, stroke, stroke. White skin turning briefly red, then fading like a photograph in the sun. Like Braille in reverse, Rodney thought; though of course, that wasn’t it at all.
“There,” John said, finishing off with a rather emphatic exclamation mark. He tossed the Magic Marker away. “What do you think?”
It took Rodney a moment to find his voice. “You forgot the ‘Lieutenant Colonel,’” he said.
John shook his head. “That’s not the important part.”
Rodney swallowed. He stared down at his chest. He could still feel the press of John’s hands, the sweep. Indelible.
“You have terrible handwriting,” he said, after a moment. “Honestly, with penmanship like that, I’m surprised you passed the second grade.”
John laughed. “Yeah, but I can read it,” he said. “Isn’t that what matters?”
“Yes,” agreed Rodney, hand moving like a blind man’s. Finding John’s. “That’s what matters.”
*************
Author:
trinityofoneRating: PG-13
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Length: ~1700 words
Summary: John’s eyes were wide with horror. “You’re telling me that I walked around all day with ‘Property of Dr. Rodney McKay’ written on my ass?”
Magic Marker
It had been a quiet day. Elizabeth was resolutely not thinking about this. Reflecting on a quiet day in Atlantis was the equivalent of calling attention to your approaching retirement and subsequent decision to buy a boat in a certain kind of cop movie. In other words, it spelled DOOM.
Ripping her mind away from the tantalizing prospect of tranquility, Elizabeth turned her attention to John, who was sauntering into the briefing room. “What’s up?” he said.
Elizabeth forced herself to smile. “Nothing bad,” she said--unfortunately; if there could at least be, say, a minor sewage backup, that’d probably take the heat off them for the day. “I’ll tell you as soon as the others get here; it shouldn’t take more than fifteen minutes.”
“Okay.” He hopped up onto the table, swinging his legs like a little boy. Elizabeth was tempted to ask if he’d like a lollipop while he was waiting.
The door opened behind them and both John and Elizabeth turned their heads. Rodney came in grousing. “What’s this about? It’d better be important; I’m right in the middle of...”
He trailed off, his eyes going wide and his cheeks turning a remarkable shade of scarlet. “Colonel!” he said, his voice cracking a little on the second syllable. “Uh...I’ve got--I need--look, just come with me for a moment, come on, yes, now!”
He had grabbed John by the arm and was hustling him toward the door. “Rodney,” John said, and Elizabeth couldn’t tell if he was pissed off or amused at being manhandled. “Can’t this wait?”
“No!” sharply; “No, essential--vital, even! Sorry, Elizabeth, we’ll be right--”
The door hissed shut behind them. Elizabeth sank back into her chair. “Okay...” she said.
Well, that ought to take care of tranquility, anyway.
*
Rodney dragged a protesting John all the way back to his quarters, opened the door, and shoved him inside. “All right,” he said, “take off your pants.”
John pinched the bridge of his nose. “Rodney, as flattered as I am, is this really the time?”
Rodney barely restrained himself from stomping his foot. “No, you idiot! You’re wearing my underwear!”
John took a discreet gander down the front of his trousers. “Oh.” He glanced up at Rodney, who looked like cartoon smoke was about to start pouring out of his ears. “Okay, that’s kind of gross, but I don’t see why--”
Rodney folded his arms. “They have my name written on the waistband.”
“What?” John shucked his pants faster than a man who’d just felt the first exploratory tickle of a tarantula on the inside of his thigh. For several awkward and amusing seconds, he tried to twist his body in a manner that’d allow him to read his own ass. Realizing the futility of such an action, he stripped off the boxers as well. And thus John ended up standing in the middle of the room, naked from the waist down, holding the offending article and blinking.
“‘Property of Dr. Rodney McKay,’” he read. His head snapped up and he stared at Rodney, his eyes wide with horror. “You’re telling me that I walked around all day with ‘Property of Dr. Rodney McKay’ written on my ass?”
“Yes,” Rodney said, flatly.
“You’re telling me that I taught Jinto and Wex how to do handstands with ‘Property of Dr. Rodney McKay’ written in black Magic Marker on my ass?”
“Apparently so.”
“You’re telling me,” John said slowly, “that I helped Colonel Caldwell get a box down from a very high shelf with ‘Property of Dr. Rodney McKay’ written--in black Magic Marker--in huge capital letters--on my ASS?”
“Yes!” Rodney shouted. “Yes, already! Christ, this isn’t Beetlejuice--saying it three times isn’t going to make it go away!”
John appeared to think about this. “Hey, remember when Tim Burton didn’t suck?”
“It all went down hill after Ed Wood,” Rodney agreed. “And, hey, speaking of inappropriate undergarments--my boxers? You wearing them? Why?”
John twisted the troublesome piece of fabric in his hands. “It was dark?” he tried. Rodney shot him a look that said that was no excuse. “And hey,” John said hopelessly, “I have a stripy blue pair, too.”
“You have no observational skills whatsoever, do you?” Rodney sounded disgusted. “Yours are thick navy stripe, two thin indigo stripes, thick navy stripe. Those--” His hand darted forward, just in case John was confused by what was meant by “those.” “--are clearly thick navy stripe, thin azure stripe, thick navy stripe. Totally different!”
“You’d have to be observing my underwear pretty closely to come up with a detailed description like that,” John said dryly.
Rodney rolled his eyes. “They’re boxers,” he said. “You wear them against your ass. Of course I’ve been observing them closely.”
A wicked glint came into John’s eyes. “Are you saying I have a nice ass?”
“No, I’m saying that I’m worried that if I stop watching it, it’ll disapp--ow! Oh, you did not just hit me in the face with my own underwear!”
“Well, you either just insulted the size of my ass or became an antirealist all of a sudden. Either way, I figured I needed to knock some sense into you.”
Rodney stood dumbly for a minute. “I hate that you can do that,” he said finally. “You drop one little reference to quantum physics into a conversation and I completely lose my train of thought. What was I saying?” He snapped his fingers. “Something cutting and brilliant...” His gaze drifted downward. “Um. You do realize that you’re not wearing any pants.”
John grinned. “Noticed that, did you?” he said. “Your observational skills astound me.”
“Mmm, yes,” Rodney said pensively. “Uh-huh. I think we need to have sex now.”
“What about Elizabeth?” John asked, stepping closer. “Or the fact that a pair of boxers may have recently outed us to half the city?”
“I’m an antirealist now, remember?” Rodney said, kissing him. “The problem doesn’t exist until I observe it.”
“Hm,” said John, wrapping his fingers around Rodney’s waistband. “No wonder that theory was so popular.” He gave a tug. “Let’s verify the existence of your underwear, shall we?”
*
When Rodney awoke in the middle of the night, he immediately observed that John was no longer sprawled at his side. Rather than ceasing to exist, however, John had simply migrated: he was straddling Rodney’s bare chest, the moonlight flashing white off his narrow arc of teeth. Rodney’s thoughts turned, not unpleasantly, to incubi. “What are you doing?” he asked.
John’s grin grew wider. “Getting my revenge,” he said.
It was then that Rodney noticed the Magic Marker.
“Oh no.” He bucked his hips, but John had strong hands and sharp knees. “You have got to be kidding me!”
“Not at all,” said John. “Now, should I write my full title, or just my name?” He lowered the pen so that the tip hovered above Rodney’s right nipple. “I wanna make sure I have enough room. Maybe if I abbreviate ‘Lieutenant’...”
Rodney swatted at his hand. “You can’t!”
John gnawed on his lip. “You’re right, it’s a much too elegant word. Maybe--”
“No.” Rodney caught his hand, his fingers threading through John’s and over the marker. “John. You can’t.”
The effect was immediate and just what he’d feared. John’s face shut down. “I know,” he said.
“John--”
“I know, all right?” The click of the pen getting capped seemed as loud as a gunshot. “No matter where I...you could get hurt and...someone could see. I get it.”
They lapsed into silence. John was still straddling Rodney’s body, sitting straight and still in a beam of moonlight. Rodney watched the shadows play across his face, the firm set of his chin, his mouth.
“You see,” he said, “this is why antirealism is stupid.”
John’s expression didn’t change. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. It’s quantum’s version of getting stoned and blathering on about how maybe the universe is just a piece of lint in the armpit of a giant. It’s like walking out of The Matrix and concluding that it was a documentary.”
“Hey,” John said, clearly just to be difficult, “you never know.”
“Yes, yes I do know!” Rodney said, pushing himself up. John bumped down his body until he was practically sitting in Rodney’s lap; and well, if that was kind of weird, so was this conversation. “I do know. This is real. I don’t need outside confirmation. It’s real.”
John stared at him for a moment. Then he very slowly leaned forward and pressed his lips to Rodney’s. A closed-mouthed kiss, completely unlike their usual hungry gropings. Rodney realized he was holding his breath.
“Okay,” John said, drawing back. “But still...”
His eyes raked down Rodney’s frame--mouth and chin and throat; collarbone, chest, the soft rise of his stomach--to the place where their bodies interlocked. “Lie back,” he said.
Rodney did. John raised the marker again and Rodney opened his mouth to protest. John held up a finger--wait--and with effort, Rodney swallowed his complaint.
The marker was still capped; John lowered it to Rodney’s chest and drew a short, vertical line. A tiny pressure and a slight chill from the cool plastic, but Rodney didn’t move. John’s brow was creased in concentration; Rodney watched, fascinated, as the tip of his tongue slipped from between his teeth and lingered lazily at the corner of his lips.
Stroke, stroke, stroke. White skin turning briefly red, then fading like a photograph in the sun. Like Braille in reverse, Rodney thought; though of course, that wasn’t it at all.
“There,” John said, finishing off with a rather emphatic exclamation mark. He tossed the Magic Marker away. “What do you think?”
It took Rodney a moment to find his voice. “You forgot the ‘Lieutenant Colonel,’” he said.
John shook his head. “That’s not the important part.”
Rodney swallowed. He stared down at his chest. He could still feel the press of John’s hands, the sweep. Indelible.
“You have terrible handwriting,” he said, after a moment. “Honestly, with penmanship like that, I’m surprised you passed the second grade.”
John laughed. “Yeah, but I can read it,” he said. “Isn’t that what matters?”
“Yes,” agreed Rodney, hand moving like a blind man’s. Finding John’s. “That’s what matters.”
*************
(no subject)
Date: 2005-10-25 05:05 pm (UTC):D So cute adn funny - great story and great read.
Glad you wrote it.
*hugs*
Alex
(no subject)
Date: 2005-10-26 04:34 pm (UTC)I figure Rodney is just anal enough to justify it, although it actually makes more sense for John to label his (military thing and all). However, that's not as funny--nor do we have a canonical basis for Rodney flashing his boxers all over the place, like we do with John. *eg*
Glad you liked it!