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Title: Comprehension
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Rating: PG
Summary: 290 words. "You used to think in diagrams."
You lie awake thinking (as if you ever do anything else), but it’s still different. You used to think in diagrams, plots connecting and intersecting, sharp angles and symmetrical curves. Normally the facts line up, marching like good little soldiers towards solutions, equations, theories, and line upon line of your own utter brilliance (brilliance is right).
But now…it’s all soft-focus, it shimmers and shows you the tip of the iceberg, but nothing deeper (like soft core, all promise, no payoff).
It’s why you don’t deal with people (all idiots, no point, better things to care about). You’re not happy there, you don’t understand intuitively, and that scares you (don’t need it anyway).
But it all somehow drifts back, no matter how hard you concentrate. Ranks break, and swirl into glorious Technicolour fantasies, surround sound and all (physicists imagination, lucky you).
You sigh, and turn over, staring at the wall.
Obviously there’s sex, and sex is always great (mouth and cock and hands and power). Only now more so, and it doesn’t add up. Conceptual leap across the conceptual chasm, and you’re left hanging by your fingertips as the gloves slowly slide off.
You can’t understand, it’s your worst nightmare, and it’s keeping you awake at night (oh, how poetic).
(This shouldn’t be happening, it’s stupid, pointless, asinine, insane, ludicrous, any word in the fucking thesaurus).
“Rodney”
You blink, turning, and he’s there, grinning, like he gets it all and is just waiting to explain it to you (first time for everything). Then he leans in towards you and something flickers and suddenly there are rows and columns and series all lined up and waiting in front of you and stretching out as far as the eye can see.
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Rating: PG
Summary: 290 words. "You used to think in diagrams."
You lie awake thinking (as if you ever do anything else), but it’s still different. You used to think in diagrams, plots connecting and intersecting, sharp angles and symmetrical curves. Normally the facts line up, marching like good little soldiers towards solutions, equations, theories, and line upon line of your own utter brilliance (brilliance is right).
But now…it’s all soft-focus, it shimmers and shows you the tip of the iceberg, but nothing deeper (like soft core, all promise, no payoff).
It’s why you don’t deal with people (all idiots, no point, better things to care about). You’re not happy there, you don’t understand intuitively, and that scares you (don’t need it anyway).
But it all somehow drifts back, no matter how hard you concentrate. Ranks break, and swirl into glorious Technicolour fantasies, surround sound and all (physicists imagination, lucky you).
You sigh, and turn over, staring at the wall.
Obviously there’s sex, and sex is always great (mouth and cock and hands and power). Only now more so, and it doesn’t add up. Conceptual leap across the conceptual chasm, and you’re left hanging by your fingertips as the gloves slowly slide off.
You can’t understand, it’s your worst nightmare, and it’s keeping you awake at night (oh, how poetic).
(This shouldn’t be happening, it’s stupid, pointless, asinine, insane, ludicrous, any word in the fucking thesaurus).
“Rodney”
You blink, turning, and he’s there, grinning, like he gets it all and is just waiting to explain it to you (first time for everything). Then he leans in towards you and something flickers and suddenly there are rows and columns and series all lined up and waiting in front of you and stretching out as far as the eye can see.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-04-16 02:12 am (UTC)*shivers*
I really love how you used the parentheses.
Thank you for sharing this!
(no subject)
Date: 2006-04-16 07:48 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-04-16 07:26 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-04-16 07:51 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-04-17 04:24 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-04-24 01:08 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-04-24 03:47 am (UTC)I adore it.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-04-24 01:10 pm (UTC)