Electric Kool-Aid, Add Fresh Paint by aesc
Dec. 5th, 2006 12:33 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
aesc.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
sga_flashficTitle: Electric Kool-Aid, Add Fresh Paint
By: HF/![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
aesc
Rating: PG13/Rish
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Disclaimers: Not mine!
Word count: c. 1500
References: This follows The Aquarians, and while it'd be groovy if you read that first, what you really need to know is that this takes place in 1969, at a concert. *coughs significantly* Thanks tocesperanza for saying this is okay :)
Notes: Is it weird to relax from writing with more writing? And is it weird to write something profoundly depressing one day and a bit tripped-out the next? *ponders these things*
ELECTRIC KOOL-AID, ADD FRESH PAINT
Down the hill, the Dead are somewhere in the middle of “Turn On Your Love Light” and Rodney’s busy rendering a not-to-scale version of the solar system on John’s chest (John’s right nipple is the Sun and his left will end up being Saturn, and this makes Rodney inexplicably happy) when John moves.
John moves, after Rodney’s explicit instructions that he remain very, very still.
Conclusion: the blob of red that’s supposed to be Jupiter smears wildly up toward John’s collar bone.
Rodney squawks in annoyance.
“I don’t remember bringing these,” John says absently, ignoring Rodney’s indignation and reaching for the container of finger paints. Pleasure subsumes annoyance at the feeling of John twisting underneath him, press of hip and belly between his legs. It’s very nice, and the smirk on John’s face agrees.
Yes, John’s smirk says. Yes it is very nice.
“Bobby Mulroney,” John reads off the bottom of the container. He raises an eyebrow, looking up at Rodney, managing to be reproving even behind his aviator glasses. “You stole finger paints from a kid?”
“I was out of yellow.” Rodney’s wearing most of the paint John, “Teyla,” and “Ronon” have brought with them; what else was he supposed to do? Besides, any kid whose parents brought him to a concert like this would probably be too brain damaged to appreciate anything as complex as finger paint. “Now, be quiet and lie back down.”
“Yes sir,” John says, military-precise. “Anything you say – mmph.”
“Qui-ut.”
“Mmmph,” John says again behind the hand Rodney’s smacked over his mouth to reinforce his command to be kweye-ut. “Mmmpgrss.”
“What?” Rodney removes his hand and sits back, blinks in vague surprise at the smear of red paint decorating John’s mouth.
“Gross.”
“And take those off. You’re probably rolling your eyes at me behind those things.” Rodney pulls John’s sunglasses off his nose and tosses them off into the muck. John protests and hitches futilely, but while Rodney isn’t incredibly fit he has inertia and a lot of solidity on his side, and also it helps that John’s just as distracted by friction as he is.
“Rodney,” John says, rough and entirely too pretty, all locked-up energy between Rodney’s legs, and Rodney can’t help but kiss him.
His arms shake from supporting his weight, and also because he really wants to feel John’s chest against him, but the painting, he’ll mess up the painting…
“I’m sure Bobby Mulroney won’t mind if you use some more,” John tells him, hooking one arm around Rodney’s neck – and whiplash, John, watch it – to pull him down, and the paint is sticky, slippery, sliding between them, warm from John’s skin, and bitterly chemical when Rodney, in a moment of insanity and forgetfulness, kisses him.
“Fuck!” Rodney tries to spit out red paint. It doesn’t work; neither does scrubbing a forearm across his mouth. That just adds mud.
John laughs at him, bright and hot, teasing him into another kiss, and Rodney scowls, realizing that, not only does he have paint all in his teeth and he’s probably contracted some oral infection from the mud, but he’s just destroyed the entire solar system.
Solution: kiss John until asphyxiation induces memory loss.
* * *
“Teyla” and “Ronon” come back, just in time to witness Rodney complete – and sign – the restored version his masterwork. It’s not to scale – Rodney has to explain the impossibility of this – but it’s still impressive, with all the planets right in a row and painted their proper colors. Ronon grunts something and wanders off to do… whatever it is that Ronon does, but Teyla inspects John’s chest and nods in approval.
“You are very artistic, Rodney,” she says, so precise Rodney knows she has to be stoned. Only high or drunk people enunciate that properly.
“Thank you.” Rodney is not above accepting praise from the mentally altered. “See here?” He points to a dried smear of yellow on John’s chest. “That’s a comet.”
“Wonderful,” Teyla says, and actually sounds sincere.
John snorts.
“Thank you,” Rodney says again, and beams at her.
“My people would welcome you among them,” Teyla informs Rodney solemnly. Teyla’s people, John’s told him, is actually the commune she and “Ronon” (Rodney refuses to believe that this is his actual name) run together, the Ashram of the Athosian Sister- and Brotherhood of Karmic Peace or something like that, really long and flowery and Rodney had lost track of it after about two seconds.
“It’s really a nice place,” John says to Rodney now. “They grow roots. Very… peaceful.”
“I can feel my brain atrophying as we speak.” Teyla and Ronon are very peaceful, though. Perhaps too peaceful, because anyone that nice and blissed out has to secretly be some kind of psychotic maniac. “Brain cell death, John. You can’t get those back, you know.”
“No, that would be the Kool-Aid.” John takes a meditative gulp of beer. “Want to do my back?”
* * *
John’s back ends up being a map of the winter constellations, but Rodney plays connect-the-dots wrong and Orion comes out looking like Godzilla.
Not like John can tell, though, and it doesn’t really matter because just after The Who start playing they end up falling into a mud puddle, and that’s about it for the body painting.
* * *
At the end of the weekend, Rodney looks more like a savage from some seriously deprived backwater of the Amazon and less like the graduate student he needs to be in the next twenty-four hours.
“I guess I’m going to have to wash this off.” Rodney gazes down at the swirls, dots, planets, and the pink cat decorating his torso. There’s more in the back, and judging from the smirks he gets, whatever John had put there was either suggestive, filthy, and very likely both, but he hasn’t been able to find a mirror to verify this.
“Not many showers around here,” John points out sensibly from his – their – sleeping bag, unconcerned about the time or the fact that Rodney can’t report to the lab smelling like mud, booze, paint, and John. “You’ll have to wait until you get back to Boston, I guess.”
“Carson’s going to kill me for getting this in his car.” And speaking of Carson… Oh. My. God. “I just realized I have no idea where we parked.” Friday seems like a long time ago. A really long time ago, on the other side of a time warp created by drugs, alcohol, and a lot of sex with John.
“Too bad,” John says, in a way that manages to be restrained and shout woo hoo! at the same time. Rodney frowns.
“Do you realize how colossally bad this is? I have experiments waiting, important experiments, and they just can’t be left, and oh my God I’m never going to graduate – ”
“Rodney.” John’s voice is sharp, like if he weren’t too busy being a hippie and wearing love beads and paint he’d be good at ordering people around. “Rodney, come back to bed – um, sleeping bag. Teyla, Ronon, and I will drive you back home.”
“Oh.” Rodney doesn’t really have anything to say to that, and really, the only sensible thing to do is crawl back onto the sleeping bag and turn so that he’s tucked close to John’s rangy, painted self. “That sounds good.”
“Good,” John says, one hand drifting across Rodney’s back, tracing random patterns.
Downward curve, straight line vertical, horizontal, vertical again.
Not random, letters.
“You did not paint that on me,” Rodney hisses, though in fact he’s very pleased.
“I did,” John tells him, grinning and Rodney knows John’s heard the pleasure in his voice.
Sheppard’s is scrawled where Rodney’s shoulders are their broadest, in some color Rodney doesn’t know, and that’s okay because Rodney’s initials are on John’s ass (R on the left, McK on the right). It evens out, which is what the ‘karma’ thing is all about, if Rodney understands Teyla’s ramblings correctly.
Rodney indulges in a moment of twelve-year-old-girl insanity and vows never to take a bath again.
Then again, if he hangs out with John, Teyla, and Ronon much longer, “never taking a bath again” will start looking like a distinct possibility. He’s seen John’s VW, which John lovingly calls his “puddle jumper,” and the thing hasn’t seen a car wash in months. Rodney hadn’t even been able to see the floor, or out the windows for that matter.
Very carefully, Rodney pulls away from thoughts of joining John and his friends at the Athosian Ashram of Peace, Love, and Karmic &C., &C. He has work to do. Important work, waiting for him back at the lab.
“Quit thinking about it,” John advises him, the words sleepy and muffled from being spoken against Rodney’s shoulder.
“Yeah,” Rodney agrees, because that’s really what you do with John – agree and go along with him, wherever that ends up being. So he ends up lying there, feeling John’s fingers curling around the letters on his back.
-end-
Post-fic notes: I might continue this over at my LJ in the future, maybe. It's fun.
By: HF/
aescRating: PG13/Rish
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Disclaimers: Not mine!
Word count: c. 1500
References: This follows The Aquarians, and while it'd be groovy if you read that first, what you really need to know is that this takes place in 1969, at a concert. *coughs significantly* Thanks to
cesperanza for saying this is okay :)Notes: Is it weird to relax from writing with more writing? And is it weird to write something profoundly depressing one day and a bit tripped-out the next? *ponders these things*
ELECTRIC KOOL-AID, ADD FRESH PAINT
Down the hill, the Dead are somewhere in the middle of “Turn On Your Love Light” and Rodney’s busy rendering a not-to-scale version of the solar system on John’s chest (John’s right nipple is the Sun and his left will end up being Saturn, and this makes Rodney inexplicably happy) when John moves.
John moves, after Rodney’s explicit instructions that he remain very, very still.
Conclusion: the blob of red that’s supposed to be Jupiter smears wildly up toward John’s collar bone.
Rodney squawks in annoyance.
“I don’t remember bringing these,” John says absently, ignoring Rodney’s indignation and reaching for the container of finger paints. Pleasure subsumes annoyance at the feeling of John twisting underneath him, press of hip and belly between his legs. It’s very nice, and the smirk on John’s face agrees.
Yes, John’s smirk says. Yes it is very nice.
“Bobby Mulroney,” John reads off the bottom of the container. He raises an eyebrow, looking up at Rodney, managing to be reproving even behind his aviator glasses. “You stole finger paints from a kid?”
“I was out of yellow.” Rodney’s wearing most of the paint John, “Teyla,” and “Ronon” have brought with them; what else was he supposed to do? Besides, any kid whose parents brought him to a concert like this would probably be too brain damaged to appreciate anything as complex as finger paint. “Now, be quiet and lie back down.”
“Yes sir,” John says, military-precise. “Anything you say – mmph.”
“Qui-ut.”
“Mmmph,” John says again behind the hand Rodney’s smacked over his mouth to reinforce his command to be kweye-ut. “Mmmpgrss.”
“What?” Rodney removes his hand and sits back, blinks in vague surprise at the smear of red paint decorating John’s mouth.
“Gross.”
“And take those off. You’re probably rolling your eyes at me behind those things.” Rodney pulls John’s sunglasses off his nose and tosses them off into the muck. John protests and hitches futilely, but while Rodney isn’t incredibly fit he has inertia and a lot of solidity on his side, and also it helps that John’s just as distracted by friction as he is.
“Rodney,” John says, rough and entirely too pretty, all locked-up energy between Rodney’s legs, and Rodney can’t help but kiss him.
His arms shake from supporting his weight, and also because he really wants to feel John’s chest against him, but the painting, he’ll mess up the painting…
“I’m sure Bobby Mulroney won’t mind if you use some more,” John tells him, hooking one arm around Rodney’s neck – and whiplash, John, watch it – to pull him down, and the paint is sticky, slippery, sliding between them, warm from John’s skin, and bitterly chemical when Rodney, in a moment of insanity and forgetfulness, kisses him.
“Fuck!” Rodney tries to spit out red paint. It doesn’t work; neither does scrubbing a forearm across his mouth. That just adds mud.
John laughs at him, bright and hot, teasing him into another kiss, and Rodney scowls, realizing that, not only does he have paint all in his teeth and he’s probably contracted some oral infection from the mud, but he’s just destroyed the entire solar system.
Solution: kiss John until asphyxiation induces memory loss.
“Teyla” and “Ronon” come back, just in time to witness Rodney complete – and sign – the restored version his masterwork. It’s not to scale – Rodney has to explain the impossibility of this – but it’s still impressive, with all the planets right in a row and painted their proper colors. Ronon grunts something and wanders off to do… whatever it is that Ronon does, but Teyla inspects John’s chest and nods in approval.
“You are very artistic, Rodney,” she says, so precise Rodney knows she has to be stoned. Only high or drunk people enunciate that properly.
“Thank you.” Rodney is not above accepting praise from the mentally altered. “See here?” He points to a dried smear of yellow on John’s chest. “That’s a comet.”
“Wonderful,” Teyla says, and actually sounds sincere.
John snorts.
“Thank you,” Rodney says again, and beams at her.
“My people would welcome you among them,” Teyla informs Rodney solemnly. Teyla’s people, John’s told him, is actually the commune she and “Ronon” (Rodney refuses to believe that this is his actual name) run together, the Ashram of the Athosian Sister- and Brotherhood of Karmic Peace or something like that, really long and flowery and Rodney had lost track of it after about two seconds.
“It’s really a nice place,” John says to Rodney now. “They grow roots. Very… peaceful.”
“I can feel my brain atrophying as we speak.” Teyla and Ronon are very peaceful, though. Perhaps too peaceful, because anyone that nice and blissed out has to secretly be some kind of psychotic maniac. “Brain cell death, John. You can’t get those back, you know.”
“No, that would be the Kool-Aid.” John takes a meditative gulp of beer. “Want to do my back?”
John’s back ends up being a map of the winter constellations, but Rodney plays connect-the-dots wrong and Orion comes out looking like Godzilla.
Not like John can tell, though, and it doesn’t really matter because just after The Who start playing they end up falling into a mud puddle, and that’s about it for the body painting.
At the end of the weekend, Rodney looks more like a savage from some seriously deprived backwater of the Amazon and less like the graduate student he needs to be in the next twenty-four hours.
“I guess I’m going to have to wash this off.” Rodney gazes down at the swirls, dots, planets, and the pink cat decorating his torso. There’s more in the back, and judging from the smirks he gets, whatever John had put there was either suggestive, filthy, and very likely both, but he hasn’t been able to find a mirror to verify this.
“Not many showers around here,” John points out sensibly from his – their – sleeping bag, unconcerned about the time or the fact that Rodney can’t report to the lab smelling like mud, booze, paint, and John. “You’ll have to wait until you get back to Boston, I guess.”
“Carson’s going to kill me for getting this in his car.” And speaking of Carson… Oh. My. God. “I just realized I have no idea where we parked.” Friday seems like a long time ago. A really long time ago, on the other side of a time warp created by drugs, alcohol, and a lot of sex with John.
“Too bad,” John says, in a way that manages to be restrained and shout woo hoo! at the same time. Rodney frowns.
“Do you realize how colossally bad this is? I have experiments waiting, important experiments, and they just can’t be left, and oh my God I’m never going to graduate – ”
“Rodney.” John’s voice is sharp, like if he weren’t too busy being a hippie and wearing love beads and paint he’d be good at ordering people around. “Rodney, come back to bed – um, sleeping bag. Teyla, Ronon, and I will drive you back home.”
“Oh.” Rodney doesn’t really have anything to say to that, and really, the only sensible thing to do is crawl back onto the sleeping bag and turn so that he’s tucked close to John’s rangy, painted self. “That sounds good.”
“Good,” John says, one hand drifting across Rodney’s back, tracing random patterns.
Downward curve, straight line vertical, horizontal, vertical again.
Not random, letters.
“You did not paint that on me,” Rodney hisses, though in fact he’s very pleased.
“I did,” John tells him, grinning and Rodney knows John’s heard the pleasure in his voice.
Sheppard’s is scrawled where Rodney’s shoulders are their broadest, in some color Rodney doesn’t know, and that’s okay because Rodney’s initials are on John’s ass (R on the left, McK on the right). It evens out, which is what the ‘karma’ thing is all about, if Rodney understands Teyla’s ramblings correctly.
Rodney indulges in a moment of twelve-year-old-girl insanity and vows never to take a bath again.
Then again, if he hangs out with John, Teyla, and Ronon much longer, “never taking a bath again” will start looking like a distinct possibility. He’s seen John’s VW, which John lovingly calls his “puddle jumper,” and the thing hasn’t seen a car wash in months. Rodney hadn’t even been able to see the floor, or out the windows for that matter.
Very carefully, Rodney pulls away from thoughts of joining John and his friends at the Athosian Ashram of Peace, Love, and Karmic &C., &C. He has work to do. Important work, waiting for him back at the lab.
“Quit thinking about it,” John advises him, the words sleepy and muffled from being spoken against Rodney’s shoulder.
“Yeah,” Rodney agrees, because that’s really what you do with John – agree and go along with him, wherever that ends up being. So he ends up lying there, feeling John’s fingers curling around the letters on his back.
-end-
Post-fic notes: I might continue this over at my LJ in the future, maybe. It's fun.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2006-12-05 05:56 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-12-06 02:57 am (UTC)(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
Date: 2006-12-05 06:01 am (UTC)Please do!
(no subject)
Date: 2006-12-06 02:58 am (UTC)Heh heh. I'll do my best! Thanks for reading!
(no subject)
Date: 2006-12-05 06:26 am (UTC)Hmm... I wonder how they could possibly occupy themselves on the long drive back to Boston?
(no subject)
Date: 2006-12-06 02:58 am (UTC)Oh, I'm sure they'd figure something out :D
(no subject)
Date: 2006-12-05 08:18 am (UTC)Great story.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-12-06 02:57 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-12-05 09:44 am (UTC)It's awesome to see this AU continued!
(no subject)
Date: 2006-12-05 10:06 am (UTC)(no subject)
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Date: 2006-12-05 11:13 am (UTC)but! I loved this, the slowness, and the sight of impending seperation, but ignoring it, and how Rodney starts to think of joining John's gang, and puddle jumper! and omg possessivness! yes continuation would be really really good. and I agree with the person above who mentioned John background, I'd like to see where he was and what he's doing (ok he doesn't have to be/had been in a war either, he could be doing a math degree :D)
(no subject)
Date: 2006-12-06 03:03 am (UTC)If it's written, you'll know about it there :D I post to both those places.
and omg possessivness!
It's one of my kink buttons. I just love it :D
I'd like to see where he was and what he's doing (ok he doesn't have to be/had been in a war either, he could be doing a math degree :D)
There are a couple places in both this story and the other one where it's hinted that John is military--the way he behaves, says things, etc. But I haven't really committed to it yet. I like the idea for the angst factor, and that it does tie in with the canon universe, but I need to give it some more thought :D
(no subject)
Date: 2006-12-05 01:29 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-12-06 03:04 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-12-05 01:41 pm (UTC)God yes. Sweet and calm, with spot-on voices and a lovely flow throughout it all.
More could be good... :D
(no subject)
Date: 2006-12-06 03:06 am (UTC)Thank you! Despite all the laid-backness, John would make a terrible hippie :D The sense that's slowly developing for me is that "Teyla" and "Ronon" are his friends, so he's hanging out with them for some reason, not necessarily because he's completely into the hippie ideology or subculture.
Also, if you weren't peaceful enough, Ronon would kick your ass.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-12-05 02:15 pm (UTC)I'd love to see this continue!
(no subject)
Date: 2006-12-06 03:06 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-12-05 02:52 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-12-06 03:07 am (UTC)Rodney's inner twelve-year-old girl sometimes comes perilously close to the surface :D
(no subject)
Date: 2006-12-05 04:12 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-12-06 03:08 am (UTC)it just makes me gigglyhappy to read it.
*is gigglyhappy too*
(no subject)
Date: 2006-12-05 06:42 pm (UTC)Yes, please! =D
I truly love this story. It's wonderful, and your writing is lovely. Also, there should be icons of 60's hippy John, Rodney, Teyla, and Ronon. *g*
(no subject)
Date: 2006-12-06 03:09 am (UTC)It's wonderful, and your writing is lovely. Also, there should be icons of 60's hippy John, Rodney, Teyla, and Ronon. *g*
I actually dug up a 60s-era font and am thinking about this :D I really want to get one more icon post done before I have to head away from my good computer and go home *sniffles pathetically at this*, so I hope I can include some hippie-ish ones.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-12-05 07:33 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-12-06 03:10 am (UTC)I was so happy when the challenge was announced, my happiness expressed itself along the lines of ZOMGJOHNRODNEYFINGERPAINTAHHHHHH!!!!!
(no subject)
Date: 2006-12-05 08:16 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-12-06 03:12 am (UTC)The "Trinity" reference was pretty much necessary *g*
(no subject)
Date: 2006-12-05 09:03 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-12-06 03:13 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-12-05 09:04 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-12-06 03:11 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-12-06 01:20 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-12-06 03:17 am (UTC)Eee! Thank you! This is a fun universe to write and I'm happy I got the chance to continue with it. Rodney confronted with a sea of muddy, stoned, and partially naked people? RESISTANCE IS FUTILE.
John covered with finger paint = also hard to resist.
(no subject)
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Date: 2006-12-06 03:21 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-12-06 03:25 am (UTC)The first flower child who tries to change Rodney's name to "Harmony," "Tranquility," "Oak," or something like that will be comprehensively slaughtered :D
(no subject)
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Date: 2006-12-06 04:36 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-12-06 04:46 am (UTC)I totally agree that Teyla does sound trying-to-sound-sober most of the time
She has this really precise diction... Which, oddly, makes her sound exotic. Or drunk and overcompensating for it :D
(no subject)
Date: 2006-12-06 07:57 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-12-07 01:12 am (UTC)*hearts your icon* Team is love!
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
Date: 2006-12-07 05:01 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-12-07 06:01 am (UTC)and the body paint
Yay the body paint!
(no subject)
Date: 2006-12-07 05:45 am (UTC)Also, for some reason, I have the vague feeling that at least one of Rodney's experiment proposals consisted of a lot of academic doubletalk to cover the fact that the actual experiment is geared towards discovering some way of building a wireless telephone small enough to fit inside a pen. ^_^ Either that or a way to get a computer to accept vocal input.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-12-07 06:08 am (UTC)Either that, or a pen that triples as a pen, phone, and microcomputer. And it would be one of those cool pens that can write in three colors, and has a highlighter at one end.
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
Date: 2006-12-08 08:33 pm (UTC)(no subject)
From:(no subject)
Date: 2006-12-09 10:37 pm (UTC)Then I'm on my way over there now to friend you! You've been warned.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-12-09 10:53 pm (UTC):D
(no subject)
Date: 2007-08-06 02:51 am (UTC)