Unholy Love in a Neat Little Box

Fic Roll Call 2007

2008-01-15T00:11:50Z

Should have had this up weeks ago but it's been disturbingly busy for winter break. *off to try and catch up on four weeks of flist*

Fic Roll Call for 2007

Summary: Significant majority is Stargate: Atlantis and most of that is McShep.
Note: Does not included snippets of WIPs still under f-lock

SGA by pairing
McKay/Sheppard
+1000 word Fiction
Of Candy & Puddlejumpers (R)
The Silence of It All (PG)
And We Breathe (PG)
Failure Isn’t Inevitable (PG-13)
Those Promises That You Made (G)
The Way a Rose Garden Burns (G) companion piece to Those Promises That You Made
Closer Than This Life (PG)
When Breathing Is Like Flying (R)
Of Yesterdays (PG)
In Time, All Is Understood (PG)
A Night of Waking (R)
Tonight I Lie (R)
keeping the world at bay (PG)
Having Love (PG)
Solutions Unnecessary (R)

Playing in openice’s Paradigm Shift Universe
Five Ficlets (G toPG-13)
The Puzzle (G)

Drabbles/Ficlets (under 1000 words)
Cars & Girls (G)
Breathe Me to Sleep (G)
The Ways (G)
The Simplest Touch (G)
Sometimes (G)
If Wishes Were Pennies (PG)

O’Neill/Sheppard
A Word Between Soldiers (NC-17)

OMC/OMC
The Choices We Make (PG-13) (based on Post Secret Challenge by elfbystarlight here)

Part of lyndseas’s Former Robin’s Club Universe.
Tim/Bernard
Losing Sense (NC-17)

SGA: S4ep10 aka another SG1 Remix

2007-12-08T10:29:41Z

General rundown of This Mortal Coil:

Hello, yet another SG1 rip off. (Has anyone ever counted just how many times they've done this, some much more successfully then others.) Truly I understand there are only so many ideas out there (especally with the same base people), and that reusing old plots are helpful but can't they at least change something about them besides the location?

First serious whoa moment after the inital snickering of "oh man, McKay broke the 'gate. Sheppard has gotta be pissed" was the Lorne moment. Lorne got owned. Sheppard totally told him off and I love Lorne deeply, really I do, but it was still a gleeful moment for me.

The team interaction with their counterparts was pretty much awesome. Sheppard being all confused about his pronouns and McKay with the self praise was totally adorable. Then the paralell scenes between Teyla and Ronon to their counterparts. Still pretty meh about Elizabeth and not all that happy nor impressed with her, she's done better. I think at this point I would have been happier if she'd been evil, though the self depriciating humor was a nicely unexpected touch.

Self-sacrficing blah blah blah.

Overall banter was still up to par and with the happy making. The ending kinda surprised me, more so I think because it was Zelenka he was talking to (not that I think he wouldn't talk to Zelenka) but I was startled that TPTB hadn't defaulted to Sheppard as the confident. Still lovely Zelenka-McKay moment.

In conclusion: Didn't care about the plot in the least bit but the characters maintained the good and as a follow up to Miller's Crossing it was lacking.

It is not good

2007-12-06T22:13:04Z

If I drank today would be the perfect day to get trashed, despite knowing that running from my problems aren't an acceptable solution. *sighs*

Ficlet: A Word Between Soldiers

2007-12-04T22:37:13Z

Written in April 28th 2007 for openice as a comment. Posted here for memory purposes.

Title: A Word Between Soldiers
Author: Astrid Maisiuil
Beta: (none)
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1,040
Summary: On the helicopter ride over O’Neill hadn’t seemed terribly impressed with him
Warnings: (none)
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Stargate people. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Holy fuck

The tongue slithering around and about, hot and wet with just enough rough, playing with him in the best possible ways and John can’t decide if it’s better to watch or pretend he doesn’t want it this much.

On the helicopter ride over O’Neill hadn’t seemed terribly impressed with him, in fact the General hadn’t taken much note of John until he’d lit up the chair. After that, John would catch the General watching him from behind those same dark glasses or with an intense gaze that John resented. John hadn’t suspected it was anything more than the usual authorial supervision until he’d come in from flying a scientist back and O’Neill had shoved him into a room and up against the wall.

“What the f—” John had fought against the hold only to have O’Neill roll his eyes and kiss him, hard and demanding. With John staring at him in shock, O’Neill had reached up and in a gesture almost tender caught John’s sunglasses between the tips of his fingers and slid them off, the edges gliding against John’s skin so he came out knowing he was blushing.

“Interested?” O’Neill had asked with a grin that almost made John tell him to fuck off for spite. Instead, John had thrust his hips forward and O’Neill had slid to his knees.

Holy fuck

John presses himself harder against the wall, hoping the scrap of cement through his shirt will center him against the pleasure twining up his arms from the fabric brushing his nipples and rushing his world at the slick heat of—

"Jesus", John stammers when he touches the back of the throat. Not to mention the idea, God the image, John allows himself a glance down, of a general on his knees with John in his mouth.

O’Neill grips his thigh suddenly, almost painfully and John looks down at him in confusion, not understanding anything in the waggling of the man’s eyebrows, not with his cock—

"Fuck", John hears his own voice ringing harsh in his ears.

Lips tighten all around, tongue flattening underneath and then it’s all motion and pleasure. The smooth press encircling him with quick almost jabbing movements John can’t keep up with, can’t do anything but feel, the shivering-good, hot, fuck yes more-contrast of the velvet of tongue beneath and the slick warmth everywhere else trapping him.

O’Neill slaps him on the thigh and between a nearly vicious graze of tooth and press of knuckles just behind he gets it. This time when O’Neill’s hand shoves his leg, John lets it relax and then it’s being pulled up and over O’Neill’s shoulder.

There is no nudging, no warning beyond a particularly wild shifting of lips meant to draw John’s attention and the spit slick finger is past any defenses. John hears a moan, low and rough, echoed from O’Neill’s lips and against his skin sending John high and free.

Fuck, he must look like some two-bit whore, leg hiked up, hands tangled in his own hair because he doesn’t dare touch O’Neill, rocking himself between hand and mouth not sure which he needs most and not willing to give up either to find out; because even though O’Neill’s the one of his knees fucking John over, John can’t—

Not with O’Neill smirking up at John, when John dares look down and watch, lips curled tight, moving his mouth like it’s for his pleasure, like he’s the one five thrusts from an aneurism.

John’s saying things like harder, again and just moans as he ruts between the two stimuli, needing, wanting, God yes having. He’s saying things O’Neill ignores in favour of teasing fingers and tongue edging the slit, dipping and pulling back until John’s mad with the heat coiled tight; until John can’t tell the difference between what he wants and what O’Neill’s giving him.

John breaks, biting his tongue and swallowing great bursts of air, so it hurts, to keep back the sounds trying to shove their way past his throat. Even among all the noise in his ears and the unfamiliar rush of sex with a superior officer and Christ blowjob by a male, it’s the thumb of O’Neill’s hand brushing the sharp tip of John’s hip that sets him off, body clawing at itself as he fights to stay silent while O’Neill swallows around him, drawing everything from him.

The moment fizzes in the back of his mind, settling into a thick blanket so it’s all John can do to slide down to the floor, foot catching the crook of O’Neill’s arm. A sound John blearily recognizes as a chuckle and there’s a consoling pat on his knee before it’s placed gently on the floor.

John shakes his head against the cotton, reaching for the belt O’Neill’s already working open. He takes O’Neill into his mouth, and though he’s not one to be out done, the tremors working through his body leave him with little to do but let O’Neill fuck his mouth, bitter and male. John adds his tongue when he remembers, but with O’Neill standing on his own two feet it’s easier to let him guide the pace.

O’Neill’s hand comes to rest in John’s hair, tangling tight and almost possessively. John rubs his tongue against the head until all he can taste is male and arousal. John’s not sure what he does but O’Neill’s holding his head steady and careful as he comes.

They don’t say anything as they straighten up and John is running everything through his mind, everything he could say and doesn’t, wouldn’t dare even if he wanted to.

O’Neill watches him for a moment then reaches out, and John’s half afraid he’s going to do something stupid like give a caressing thanks, or maybe something they both need and hit him. He does neither, instead touching the air around John’s dog tags, considering and when he looks up at John it’s with a warning and a quiet acceptance. The wave of relief that floods John is almost as powerful as his release. The General’s gone in the next movement of the door, leaving John grasping at the false heat of the metal and not for the first time searching for strength that won’t be there.

Ficlet: The Simplest Touch

2007-12-04T18:55:52Z

Written a couple of days ago for _kiden as a comment.

Author: Astrid Maisiuil
Beta: (none)
Rating: G
Word Count:
Summary: "What are you doing?" Rodney tries to turn and look at him, but John is too close.
Warnings: (none)
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Stargate people. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

John comes up behind him, pressing his front to Rodney's back, his hands settling comfortably, familiarly, on the other man's hips.

"What are you doing?" Rodney tries to turn and look at him, but John is too close.

"Nothing," John says letting his hands falling from their perch on Rodney's hips down to press insistently into his front pockets. Rodney huffs but relaxes infinitesimally against him, going back to fiddling with the crystal.

"I might need those pockets you know," Rodney informs him after a moment, and John obviously doesn't agree since his only response is to rub his face--and hello five o' clock shadow--against Rodney's neck.

"Okay, one, ow and two, I have important things to be doing right now, so if you could just." Unsuccessfully he tries to pull away from John, and the man is like a freaking octopus, with all the arms and recapturing Rodney every time he makes the least bit of head way in escaping.

"Hello, working," Rodney snips, feeling more than hearing John sigh behind him. Determined, Rodney wiggles and enunciates his displease with the arrangement with various forms of demands for release, that at first John seems to fight almost instinctively, but then Rodney feels him weaken (let go).

"Ha," Rodney crows in triumph as he breaks free and immediately dances (moves quickly) out of limb range. Several feet away John scowls at him, a tension in the line of his body and is that, disappointment?

"Wait, wait, wait," Rodney holds up a hand because deciphering Colonel language is best done with hand motions and whence no one else talking. When it hits him, the gears slowly working their way through the scene, Rodney's sighs in exasperation, "You with the arms and the stealth attack, was that," his eyes find John's, the look there soften his own gaze as he swallows, "Was that a hug?"

The flush that creeps up on John's neck makes a warm hum in Rodney's chest. Bashful, which is a look Rodney never expected to see on John Sheppard, is the only way to describe the way John's foot kicks out and drags back in a gentle scuff. John's hand awkwardly touches at the back of his neck in a gesture Rodney knows to be a goofy nervous tick that Rodney shouldn't find endearing but does.

"Look, Rodney," John starts the pink flush rising as his eyes dart away from Rodney's and Rodney knows, knows, the next words will be some excuse, some inconsequential comment to throw the tension off, but there's a simple desperation in his voice and the play of his hand at his side and Rodney has to shut that up, right now.

"God, you big idiot why didn't you just say so?"

John looks down, pretends like he isn't scuffing his foot and Rodney rolls his eyes, taking a determined step forward. It should be easy to just wrap his arms around John, but talking about it seems to have complicated the hell out of it, and Rodney suddenly can't figure out if he should bring both arms up around John's shoulders, or let one sneak down to wrap around his back or what if John wants to--

Okay, so maybe John had a point with the stealth thing. The way John's smirking at him he knows it, too.

Rodney looks at John and John just grins back at him.

"Okay, so this is stupid," Rodney announces and moves forward and John bumps into him halfway. During the ensuing tussle, Rodney gets elbowed in the solar plexus, steps not on one of John's feet but on both of them (let it never be said Rodney McKay does anything by halves); but then with one arm wrapped securely around John's waist to keep him close, John's arms wrapped impossibly tight in return, face pressed against the top of John's head, John's face buried in the side of Rodney's neck, they're there.

Sometimes You Just Need It to Hurt

2007-12-04T07:59:53Z

I have spent the evening digging around in other pairings within SGA, some het, some slash and this is the result.

Soft, damp press of John's lips, not quite touching his skin but almost; and the in out in out of breath, with John's hand folded so childishly under his cheek that Rodney could reach out and touch with nary a thought. The careful way John's body is turned towards him, close and something urgent in its pose. Gentle and content, words Rodney isn't use to associating with the Colonel, hasn't for years, and yet the lines on his face, relaxed as they are in sleep, spell them in the absence of the pained twitches born of the nightmares they all still have. Something in Rodney is scarily calm at that, as he watches John's eyes flutter in the sleep of dreams, in a complex trust shown by the light sheen of sweat on John's shoulders from earlier (oh god Rodney), visible in the too low light of the moon and Rodney wishes it were something he could want.

rolls eyes

2007-11-16T17:49:55Z

Um, I'm sorry I thought we were out of high school? Apparently not.

"[A] 23-year-old college student..was forced to alter her skimpy outfit before flying on Southwest Airlines."

From what little surface scratching I've done this is apparently old news now that she's posing in Playboy but truly it boggles the mind. Now we can't even wear what we want to fly? What happened to freedom of expression? Especially when I've seen kids "oh isn't she cute"ed over while wearing something I wouldn't be caught dead in (and for matter of record covers less than this 23 year-old's outfit did). What the hell is that? Why must we all be forced to cover every inch of skin to ride in an airplane (where maybe a hundred people catch a five second glimpse of you) but walk into a restaurant in a shirt that's more bra than shirt or shorts that if I didn't know better I'd swear were painted on and nobody says anything. Sure, I suppose I could understand if she'd shown up in something truly "skimpy" but her outfit, aside from possibly the miniskirt (and a show of hands how many of us have worn a miniskirt-come on now), covered more than most. [Censored comment about the flight attendant who complained] What is the world coming to, I ask, what indeed.

On a personal note, I don't actually see anything offensive about her outfit and would go as far as to say for today's "style" it was tasteful.

avoids NaNo

2007-11-12T05:50:29Z

*hasn't written anything NaNo related all day*

Sometimes he can't tell the difference between the churning scrounge in his gut (spawned from a familiar yet alien germ Rodney had told Carson, and now tells Keller time and time again is more than a simple bout of Pegasus flu) and the deep resentment of jealousy and fear from his own insecurities.

Sometimes, like when the smile John gifts one of his men (one of his men who happens to be a woman) spans his entire face, softening it with pride and laughter. Like now, when the woman, Captain Mason or Masters or something equally secret-societyesque--not that her name matters. What matters is the hand she half touches Sheppard's forearm with. The touch that despite the subtle stiffening of John's body, he doesn't brush off or move away from. And Rodney's seen enough of Sheppard's evasive maneuvers when dealing with personal spaceless natives to know the stillness is deliberate, meaningful and sure.

There are times when Rodney returns to the labs in such a fury he is silent. The other scientists have learned when he pulls over the white board with the remains of his brief stint pre-almost-ascension still scrawled on it, Zelenka is who you go to for nothing short of a galactic meltdown. On these days it is not unusual for the botanists to be found sulking in the mess hall having been evicted from their lab by the physicists, afraid to stay in Rodney's path.

Sometimes, he just thinks it would be better for both of them if, well, this hadn't happened. Though really it's not a this when Rodney's staring at the ceiling of his own room thinking about it, alone. No matter that he can still feel the phantom memory of John's skin against his, the chaste kiss from this morning that Rodney knows means something just beyond his grasp. And maybe, just maybe, if he could figure out what that something is then the other touches, the other people and the way John looks at them (careless and flirty), gives them these gifts that Rodney thought were his(an easy response to affection and that smile), maybe it wouldn't have this power to twist Rodney's gut up into the tangled mess of emotions Rodney can't single out.

When the door of his room slides open letting a stream of light into the darkness, Rodney sighs out the darkening whispers (not good enough and he could do better) rasping in his ears; planted by too long of self-doubt where genius doesn't matter so much. Two carpet dulled thuds and the mattress dips with Rodney's ears straining to catch each of John's soft breaths. Warmth rolls close, a hand coming to rest on his neck and a leg hooking over his hip, meshing them together with a casual ease that does squirmy things to Rodney's insides, despite the way he knows the joint will ache tomorrow from too much pressure. John rumbles a noise into Rodney shoulder blade.

"What?" Rodney prompts.

Letting out a breath that ruffles Rodney’s hair and sends shivers up his spine, John admits, "Couldn't sleep," sounding pained as if he hadn't meant to say it, then crowds into Rodney, the creases of their shirts clicking into place. Rodney presses back content, knowing this is a this and better than being his, is theirs; no matter the other looks, the other smiles, this moment of hushed ease is something secret and preciously theirs, and that, well, that's alright, too. John's heartbeat is steady and sure behind his own.

Sometimes, some days, he can't tell the difference between sickness and jealousy, fear and love, but for right now it doesn't matter. Right now, there is nothing but John's thumb stroking the skin just behind his ear and the easy warmth from skin pressed too close.

NaNo Day1: 1858wc

2007-11-02T05:57:50Z

Woo. I survived NaNo: Day 1. Even went over my quota, yay, and still had time to you know, have a life :D

This weekend will prove more challenging however, because I am literally booked to do things with people all weekend. I am offically insane to have decided to do NaNo, by the way.

Meh

2007-11-01T18:07:16Z

I never really was one for PWP, just doesn't interest me all that much. Lately though I've been unable to read even NC-17 stories with a vague plot, which previously was really the only way I would do PWP. It just seems like I am reading the same stories over and over again as far as PWP goes which is sad because some of the recent PWP have been by wonderful writers who I normally love. I think what makes it worse is that seems to be all that is being posted lately and I get so desperate for my fix of McShep that I will go read the PWP and come out even more displeased with that whole genre. Don't get me wrong there are days when I can really get into PWP, or as much as a person can get into a fic without a plot, but lately I find myself frustrated with them beyond belief.

Anyway.

NaNo started. I totally wrote 286 in the first fifteen minutes after midnight and then went to bed. *facepalm* And it's already mid-afternoon and I haven't written anymore. This is not a good way to start a mass project like this when I already have trouble completing said mass projects in the first place.

*wants to go clubbing tonight, which is so not going to help*

Blowing off time until my meeting

2007-10-09T21:46:03Z

Jipped from lyonza

Rules:
- Bold all of the following TV shows of which you've seen 3 or more episodes.
- Italicize a show if you're positive you've seen every episode.
- Asterisk if you have at least one full season on tape or DVD
- If you want, add up to 3 additional shows (keep the list in alphabetical order).

21 Jump Street
24
7th Heaven
8 Simple Rules
Adam-12
Aeon Flux
ALF
Alfred Hitchcock Presents
Alias
American Idol/Pop Idol/Canadian Idol/Australian Idol/etc.
America’s Next Top Model
Angel
Are You Afraid of the Dark?
Arrested Development
Babylon 5
Babylon 5: Crusade
Battlestar Galactica (the old one)
Battlestar Galactica (the new one)
Baywatch
Beavis & Butthead
Beauty and the Beast
Beverly Hills 90210
Blackadder
Bonanza
Bones
Bosom Buddies
Boston Public
Boy Meets World
Buck Rogers in the 25th Century
Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Bug Juice
Caitlin’s Way
Chappelle’s Show
Charlie’s Angels
Charmed
Cheers
Clarissa Explains It All
Columbo
Commander in Chief
Coupling
Cowboy Bebop
Crossing Jordan
CSI
CSI: Miami
CSI: NY
Curb Your Enthusiasm
Dallas
Dancing with the Stars
Danny Phantom
Dark Angel
Dark Skies
Davinci’s Inquest
Dawson’s Creek
Dead Like Me
Deadwood
Degrassi: The Next Generation
Designing Women
Desperate Housewives
Dexter
Dharma & Greg
Dinosaurs
Different Strokes
Dirty Jobs
Doctor Who (1963)
Doctor Who (2005)
Doctor Who (2006)
Dragnet
Due South
Earth 2
Emergency!
Entourage
ER
Everwood
Everybody Loves Raymond
Extreme Makeover: Home Edition
Facts of Life
Family Guy
Family Ties
Farscape
Father Ted
Fawlty Towers
Felicity
Firefly
Flash Forward
Forever Knight
Fraggle Rock
Frasier
Freaks and Geeks
Friday Night Lights
Friends
Futurama
Get Smart
Gilligan’s Island
Gilmore Girls
Gomer Pyle, U.S.M.C.
Greek
Green Wing
Grey’s Anatomy
Growing Pains
Gunsmoke
Hannah Montana
Happy Days
Hardcastle & McCormick
Heroes
Highlander
Highlander: The Raven
Hogan’s Heroes
Hillstreet Blues
Home Improvement
Homicide: Life on the Street
House
I Dream of Jeannie
I Love Lucy
Instant Star
Inuyasha
Invader Zim
Invasion
JAG
Jackass
Joey
John Doe
Just Shoot Me
Keen Eddie
Knight Rider
LA Law
Laverne and Shirley
Lexx
Life on Mars
Life With Derek
Little House on the Prairie
Lizzie McGuire
Lois and Clark: The New Adventures of Superman
Lost
Lost in Space
Love, American Style
M*A*S*H
MacGyver
Malcolm in the Middle
Mama’s Family
The Man from U.N.C.L.E
Married... With Children
Melrose Place
MI:5
Miami Vice
Millennium
Miracles
Mission: Impossible
Monk
Mork & Mindy
Murphy Brown
My Life as a Dog
My Name is Earl
My So-Called Life
My Super Sweet 16
My Three Sons
My Two Dads
News Radio
NCIS
Nip/Tuck
North Shore
Numb3rs
One Tree Hill
Oz*
Perry Mason
Phil of the Future
Pokemon
Power Rangers
Prison Break
Profiler
Project Runway
Psych
Quantum Leap
Queer As Folk (US)*
Queer as Folk (UK)
Red Dwarf
ReGenesis
Relic Hunter
Remington Steele
Rocco’s Modern Life
Rescue Me
Road Rules
Robotech
ROME
Roseanne
Roswell
Salute Your Shorts
Saved by the Bell
Scarecrow and Mrs King
Scooby-Doo, Where Are You?
Scrubs
Seinfeld
Sex and the City
Six Feet Under
Skins
Sliders
Slings and Arrows
Smallville
So Weird
South Park
Spaced
Spongebob Squarepants
Sports Night
Star Trek
Star Trek: The Next Generation
Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Star Trek: Voyager
Star Trek: Enterprise
Stargate Atlantis
Stargate SG-1
Superman
Supernatural
Surface
Survivor
Tales From the Crypt*
Taxi
Teen Titans
That 70’s Show
That’s So Raven
The 4400
The Addams Family
The Adventures of Pete and Pete
The Andy Griffith Show
The Apprentice
The A-Team
The Avengers
The Beverly Hillbillies
The Bionic Woman (the old one)
The Brady Bunch
The Cosby Show
The Daily Show
The Days and Nights of Molly Dodd
The Dead Zone
The Dick Van Dyke Show
The Dresden Files
The Famous Jet Jackson
The Flintstones
The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air
The Golden Girls
The Honeymooners
The Invisible Man
The Jeffersons
The Jetsons
The L Word
The Love Boat
The Lucille Ball Show
The Mary Tyler Moore Show
The Mighty Boosh
The Monkees
The Munsters
The Muppet Show
The Mythbusters
The O.C.
The Office (UK)
The Office (US)
The Pretender
The Real World
The Sentinel
The Shield
The Simpsons
The Six Million Dollar Man
The Sopranos
The Suite Life of Zack and Cody
3rd Rock from the Sun
Third Watch
Three’s Company
Top Gear
Torchwood
The Twilight Zone
Twin Peaks
Twitch City
Two and A Half Men
Ugly Betty
Veronica Mars
The Vicar of Dibley
The Waltons
The West Wing
Whose Line is it Anyway? (US)
Whose Line is it Anyway? (UK)
Will and Grace
Wings
Wiseguy
Without a Trace
WKRP in Cincinnati
The Wonder Years
The X-Files
Xena: Warrior Princess

Sometimes Doing Things Alone Sucks

2007-09-30T21:38:21Z

This fic I'm planning is a monster. A big scary intericate monster. It's been on and off in the works for six months now. After some bumps in the road, which mainly are a result of losing contact with the person who was to be my soundboard, I think I've finally managed to stumble my way through the central plot. Now it's mostly a matter of finding the time to write it and stop second guessing the choices for plot I've made. When I say mostly I mean that very loosely. Normally I can deal with my fic on my own but really this one is different from everything else I've written, not just in estimated length but in essence and I needed that soundboard person. Sigh. This fic is going to be a huge strain on what little writing ablility and creativity I have especially lacking input but I've settled down for the long haul. Of course this also means I am likely to not post anything until this is finished, or what I do post will be drabbles. I know as far as fic goes I really haven't posted anything in a long, long,long while, but my fingers are crossed that with this plot smoothed out I can start really writing again.

Offical Release Night

2007-09-29T05:19:45Z

I totally and completely forgot it was official release night. Oops. Not I suppose that it matters much since I don't get that channel anyway. But I did finally actually do something with my LJ layout so now it is all pretty. Also did a tiny bit of work on the profile. We shall say I did it in honor of the start of season four. As such here are a few thoughts on episode one.

Things I liked/Squeed about:
Ronon is awesome, if bizarrely anxious about Elizabeth.
Rodney is awesome and that's all there is to it.
Dr. Lee I have a bizarre residual fondness for from my week of cramming eight seasons of SG1 a year ago.
Zelenka and his inability to jump far distances.
John being in charge and his horribly amusing idea of throwing them both across a hundred foot ravine.

McShep. YES. He called him John and then John yelled at him and it was real yelling and then they made up by planning a heist. The McShepness in this episode totally wiped out the strange unflowyness of it for me.

Things that made me mad or go huh?:
Keller. Just yeah. Sorry no. And frankly it has nothing to do with the fact that she replaced Carson. I just don't like her. I like Carter being in this better than her, which considering my deep phobia of Carter stealing McKay from Sheppard, is saying something.
Teyla I really was fairly blah about this episode which doesn't bode well, especially since I'm already kinda meh about the upcoming pregnant arc.
Phallic symbolism. Everywhere. With shield in not so subtle places. *cough* I really don't have words.
Truthfully I can't say I ever cared enough about Elizabeth to be even slightly fazed by the weirdness of her situation.

I do have a huge burning question but I can't ask until episode two is officially released, which makes me sad because I am really curious. Also I'm pretty sure it was better with real music and sound beyond people yelling 'bang' and 'boom' on the background so I may have to look into getting a finished copy to watch, eventually.

On an unrelated note: lyndseas I miss this. You need to do some more in it. Please?

Rec: Fic/Video

2007-09-12T01:37:58Z

Normally I don't do recs and those I do are always fics. This is the expection. First off those of you who have not read Written by the Victors read it, read it now. Those of you who have read it and haven't watched this, what are you thinking? I don't care if you don't watch videos this is something you have to see if you got even a sliver of enjoyment out of the fic by cesperanza. You don't even have to download it as it's embedded. Go watch it! And if you want to download it, it's totally fucking worth it.

McShep_match is finished. Yay! Or boo rather...

2007-09-11T18:22:06Z

Oh my God. The last of the mcshep_match stories was released today. Now I can actually read them! I hate that it's over though cause it means there wont be anymore, which is sad. If only I didn't have exams this week-grrr. Evil professors and they're bad, horrible timing. Then again I have to take a break from studying sometime...

Way Number 627 To Know You Live In The Rural South

2007-07-06T21:07:35Z

When a snake is found (compliments of my six year old cousin) while picking up golf balls in the back pasture, the call for the hoe and shovel go up. Then the entire fourth of July party rolls up their jeans and proceeds-barefoot-through the yard and creek sporting said gardening tools. Upon arriving at where the snake has been cornered by my sibling and the dog (neither of whom is the least bit intimidated by the fierce rattling noise coming from the snake) against the fence it is seriously obvious the animal is not happy and very very very much huge. So is then the shovel and hoe used to cut off the snake's head, or shoo it into someone else's yard, especially considering it sounds like a rattler? No, of course not. The shovel is tossed aside and instead of chopping the snake's head off the hoe is used as a pole for the snake to curl up and around. Snake is then heaved off the ground so everyone can "ohh" and "ahh" over the five feet of pissed off male rat snake. The worst part? Or maybe the best part depending on how you look at it--it didn't even strike me as odd until I mentioned it to a non-Southerner and got a WTF were you thinking response.

Proof of how behind the times I am

2007-06-15T05:15:23Z

I know I haven't responded to the comments I've gotten in the past couple days but I swear I will just give me a little time. What have I been doing instead of keeping up with my beloved fandom? Well my dears, I have just (and yes I know this is obscenely late) discovered the flailing goodness that is Queer as Folk. Yes, yes I know it's been around for a long time as far as fandoms go but while it was on the rise I was fairly enamoured (monogamously so) with HP so lay off. I had some free time the other day and was handed a website for some reason or another and for shits and gigles I decided to watch the first episode. Thirty something odd hours later I am on Season two, episode three and currently bitching out my computer and the unreliability of torrents in general (first time user of torrents here-god how do you people do it?) I have up to S2E9 saved on the computer from various places but I'm missing episode four and I can't find it anywhere so in a fit of madness this afternoon I got a torrent client and have the second season downloading. It's telling me three days. I think I might die if I have to wait three days. Plus the other three seasons but the lack of ep four is currently what is causing me the most pain and anguish becuase I can't move on and I really, really don't want to skip it but my iron will was seriously worn down by the first three episodes of season two *sigh*

For those of you who know QaF already or don't care anything about my newest obsession please feel free to ignore this next part. Why, why dear god did I not get my ass in gear and go watch this sooner? I am appalled at myself. I'm really not thinking clearly right now so I really cant say much that would make sense. Emmett is positively adorable and I don't think anything he does will change that. Ted I enjoyed up until the past like two episodes and then I was kinda like what the fuck happened. Michael I spend half the time yelling at and the rest of the time hurting for. I relaly love all the characters in this series, really and truely which is totally weird for me. Seriously ask me to give you a run down of SGA characters I like and you'll get a handfull on a good day. But they aren't why I've been able to sit through and get seriosuly emotionally attached to this show. Brian is just, he's just. God Brian. He is one of the most complex characters I've ever seen. I'm sure some people are all no, not really, but see that's just it, you think you know exactly what he's going to do and then poof, he goes and does something you hadn't even thought was an option. He's one of those characters that has a permanent shrine in my heart. He always does and says exactly what I expect and yet not. I feel like watching this in so far as I have I am watching him come into something, maybe not himself or anything drastic like that but something extraordinary. It probably doesn't help that I'm pretty much in love with his loft. Dear god, where can I get one of those? And then there's Justin. I shocked myself at having words to describe Brian but for me there aren't words for Justin. I'm not sure why since his character so far is not such that he should be as hard for me to pick and choose what I like and don't like about him but it is. Everytime I find something to not like about him I turn around and love it in him two episodes later. *flails* Anyway the show thus far is a-ma-zing and wow so much love for it. I shall try and restrain too much gushing about it or whining about fucking slow torrents *growls* but hey no promises. Also be warned one of like three pet pevees of mine is spoilers. Hate them. Just so you know.

Oh and while I haven't written anything I need to (i.e. SGA) I have written a couple of short things at the various break times for my poor eyes, none of which are typed and thus why I'm not psting them yet. This whole house sitting thing was suppose to enable me to have free time to write, yeah that hasn't worked...So yes, no fic, just incoherent babbling and now I must go grieve and scream about the unbarable slowness of torrent downloading.

maisiuil @ 2007-06-11T11:27:00

2007-06-11T16:30:38Z

I have made a decision. The other day I was playing catch up, or trying to, when I came across a fic by an author who has rarely written anything I didn’t love. Being the good little fangirl I am I sat down and quickly read the fic, first to last. Immediately following the last word I had a huge mental but where were John and Rodney? I had clearly seen their names written and yet found little trace outside the occasional backhanded comment of the boys as I know them (and have seen the author write them). Not only was I confused but I found myself sighing in disappoint because this is not the first time I have seen this happen. What is the ‘this’ I speak of? ‘This’ is becoming a well-known or big name writer in a fandom and then suddenly it is as if the writer stops trying. It is as if they are operating under the assumption that anything they write will be read and all previously enforced regulations/expectations are null and void once they reach a certain peak. And that’s what it is as far as I am concerned for these writers--a peak because it seems that from then on everything that might have been worthwhile is suddenly subpar. I saw this is the HP fandom and I am beginning to see it here, well beginning as in this is the first one, and if I was a praying woman I’d pray to God this is just a mental fumble both on the part of fandom and on the part of the writer. A fumble on the fandom’s part because they praised the work in comments as much as ever and I was left feeling as if I had missed something. Have my characterizations of John and Rodney changed so far from the mainstream/current fad that I can no longer appreciate them? I would think not but I can find no other explanation for this open arm acceptance by writer and fandom of the what I consider massively flawed characterizations.

When I read a fic I often find myself judging more harshly those things which I find lacking in my own work. I know this. So perhaps that is why I am being so unflexible on the issue of characterization in this case. I like to think though that it is because I know the writer could have done the same amazing job on the story and made it ten times better with more recognizable characterizations. Perhaps this has to do with my own struggles with the AU I am writing and trying to maintain the characterizations, but I really don’t know. Not to say that when it comes to AUs I am a completely frigid bitch about characterization because I’m not. I accept much more in the way of different directions of development in an AU than I do in that of a canon based fic but there is a point where I just think this isn’t working. There’s a point where it becomes the writer’s own characters with the canon character names and I just can’t handle that.

Of course I hope that this is just a one time thing for this writer, or at worst a phase of some sort because I have previously thoroughly enjoyed the writer’s work, but if it is not then I bid a sad farewell to one of my favorite writers.

Um, ok, wow so this is not what I was actually wanting to say. What I wanted to say is that I have decided I never want to become a big name writer. Well, let me rephrase that. I don’t ever want to know where I am on the writer totem pole if you will. I am happier being blissfully ignorant of my “status”, being so completely thrilled with every response I receive that I still get excitement butterflies and consider every word, every phrase to an obscene amount before deciding if it’s as right as I can get it. So if by some utterly bizarre change in circumstances I one day become or someone sees me as a well-known writer, please don’t tell me. It is not that I think I would change my style, but I’d one: rather not take the risk, and two: am perfectly content with living in denial in that case. I am perfectly okay with the small group of people I know of who read my stuff and don't feel the need to further spread myself. Maybe I'm just weird like that but for me it goes back to the whole writing for yourself thing. Even when I do prompts for others the fics are still written for me at their most basic level and I hate to imagine what it would be like if they weren't.

Fic: The Ways

2007-06-05T18:03:36Z

Author: Astrid Maisiuil
Beta: (none)
Rating: G
Word Count: 185
Summary: drabble based on some thinking I pretended to do *shrug*
Warnings: (none)
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Stargate people. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Sometimes he thinks it could be easier if he did love Rodney the way everyone thinks he should.

Some days the speculative glances are too much for him to bear, especially knowing there is nothing he can do about them. They’ll bicker and they’ll tease but in the end it won’t be what everyone thinks, and John isn’t strong enough to tell them otherwise. Throughout it all Rodney remains oblivious and for that John is grateful, since he knows he could not explain to him just why this has to continue. Why, despite the threat to John’s own happiness, he smiles in the face of the silent inquiries, under the gaze of glances that think they’re all too knowing. Why, despite how much strain it puts on John, he won’t stop the speculative glances in the face of his and Rodney’s friendship.

Because he knows he might break if he has to tell Rodney they are more than leaders and friends to these people, they are hope. Hope that something will exist when this is over, that one thing at least will survive the Wraith.

maisiuil @ 2007-06-04T15:34:00

2007-06-04T20:37:01Z

Vacation's over. Well sorta. At any rate I am back in the house and no longer roaming the wilds of the U. S. Furthermore, I shamefully did not write even a word and though I've been back a couple days have stayed well away from LJ for the most part mostly due to the utter flood of stuff I don't even want to try and catch up on. Of course, I shall eventually but as of right now I am so utterly behind I fear I shall never be up to date enough to find the time to write.

Speaking as such, I am and have been fooling around with an idea. One that I am now stumbling with and I call upon any of you who are willing to offer assistance. It is, of course, SGA related. I really don't want to get into the plot here but anyone interested know it is an AU in that it stems from the beaten canon path. I suppose you could call it canon with a twist. Either send me an email or leave me a comment if you're interested in listening to me whine and I'll take the first couple offers. Thanks :)

Sighs are the tears of our mouths

2007-05-11T03:59:23Z

Normally this is the time of year I am frantic to flee this place, and up until aboud five-thirty this afternoon I was. Something happened and I have no greater regret at this moment than chosing not to go to summer school. Now all summer I'm going to be itching to get back. Why does this stuff always happen to me? Seriously last day here and bam, just gah. I'm telling you, I have no luck whatsoever.

Fic: The Puzzle

2007-05-07T19:36:03Z

Author: Astrid Maisiuil
Beta: (none)
Rating: G
Word Count: ~ 1,400
Summary: “So, our son? About two feet high, dark hair, has your eyes, been known to answer to Caden when the mood strikes?”
Warnings: (none)
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Stargate people. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

A/N: Playing in openice's wonderful Paradigm Shift Universe again. Blame any sweetness or lack thereof on the Clover Honey Bear and the spoonfuls of honey he provides me with in my time of crisis. *sends good writing vibes to openice*

The door’s unlocked and opens easily under his hand, which isn’t all that unusual; if John doesn’t lock it when he leaves in the morning it stays as such come grass stains or highway robbers. No, what causes John pause is the wave of noise that isn’t there to greet him. The house is as chaotically neat as ever, shoes piled haphazardly not quite under the bench by the door, the stack of dangerously leaning books on the side table in the formal dining room that’s been gathering dust since last July, and folded laundry not yet put away on the stairs John can see from here. Nothing that screams a warning of ‘a child lives here, a child lives here!’ but certainly there’s a sense of energetic living in the occasional scuff in the wood and colorfully inspired art tapped randomly about the entryway. Source of said scuffs and art remains MIA even after John shuts the door behind him, hearing it echo throughout the house.

Slipping his keys on the nearby holding ring, John heads through the house toward the click of typing, just barely audible. As predicted Rodney’s sitting in front of his computer muttering under his breath with each keystroke when John finds his way into the office.

“Where’s the whirlwind at?” John asks, curling his hand on the back of Rodney’s neck, thumb resting parallel over the spine, feeling him jump and his skin goose bump, startled.

“Hey, you’re home,” Rodney arches his neck into John’s touch. Pleased, John rubs his thumb in circles just under the hairline, loving the shiver his touch to the soft skin gets and the hum Rodney makes.

“Yeah,” John rests his weight against the back of the chair feeling Rodney beneath his hand, the familiar scents of home in each breath, and he’s content for the moment. Just seeing Rodney fills John with a sense of peace, tension soothed by the afternoon heat curling up and away as evening falls.

“So, our son? About two feet high, dark hair, has your eyes, been known to answer to Caden when the mood strikes?” John finally presses, hand sliding to Rodney’s shoulder.

“My day was perfectly awful, thank you,” Rodney assures, swiveling his chair around then adds with an eye roll, “He’s been in the kitchen all afternoon.”

John gives Rodney a look.

“What? He’s fine, everything he can reach is unbreakable and the knives are up too high for him to get even with a chair.”

John nudges Rodney’s knee with his, “Yeah, but he’s your son,” he says heading back down the hall.

“I’ll take that backhanded compliment,” Rodney shouts after him.

Grinning, John makes his way to the kitchen. Nearly breaking his neck tripping over an empty box with telltale military emblems, John isn’t prepared for the sight that meets his eye when his equilibrium straightens out.

Hunched over one end of the kitchen table, brow furrowed in determination, and so much the image of Rodney John has to stop and breathe, Caden concentrates on the puzzle spread out before him.

Caden’s always had two settings, on and off, even as a baby. Watching him sit perfectly still, studying each piece knowingly until with a triumphant gleam he picks up the one he’s been searching for and places it unerringly in its proper spot, is odd. Not wrong, but different certainly, to see all that energy normally geared towards tackling and talking and tree climbing to be so still, so silent.

Looking up at the commotion, Caden’s eyes light up when they fall on John, tugging at John’s heart.

“Daddy! Yous home. Come sees,” Caden urges, waving John over. No piece lies forgotten, each in its own place among Caden’s patternless organization along the outside of the progressing chunks forming the picture. On the counter nearby John sees the box; two F-22 Raptors, one smaller, almost dwarfed by the photographer’s awing up-close version of the other, all on a seven shades of blue sky. A thrill races through John at the sight of them, tainted only a bit by longing.

“I’s doin’ it all by myselfs,” Caden adds bringing John’s attention back to him, the same pride in his voice that rushes through John.

“You sure are, buddy,” John crouches down, a bit short for the table but at least eye to eye with Caden.

The wings of the foreground Raptor are coming along nicely, though a significant portion of the body and the sky behind it are missing, including half of the other Raptor.

“I’s been workings all day, like yous.” Finding a suitable piece, Caden reaches over, just the motion of his arm but it seems his whole body shifts in the search for the missing piece.

“You’ve done real good,” John says ruffling Caden’s hair, playing with a couple nearby pieces with his other hand.

“Sit down, Daddy,” Caden kicks in the direction of the nearest chair and pats the table unsetting several of the pieces. With a dismayed cry, Caden launches himself at them, knocking John’s helping hand away. Rebuffed, John slides into his assigned seat, scooting it closer to Caden’s. Once he’s rightened all the wronged pieces Caden goes back to his intense study of the cuts of each piece, looking up at John in invitation. John smiles at him and tucks closer, the screech of the chairs’ loud in the silence of the house. Resting an arm along the back of Caden’s chair, John mirrors his son and studies the pieces.

They stay there as the sun creeps across the far wall, heads bent together to whisper the secrets of blue of the sky and stiff paper cuttings in one another’s ear, John subtly nudging at a piece every now and then as they make headway. All of one jet is finished by the time John looks up over his shoulder to see Rodney standing in the doorjamb, a smile of pure light on his face. Offering his own affection tinged smirk, John motions Rodney over with his eyes.

Rodney hesitates but shakes his head, walking over only to run a hand through Caden’s hair and place a kiss in John’s. Catching Rodney’s wrist John pulls him closer, “Come on, McKay, join your family.”

“Someone has to make dinner,” Rodney says though John doesn’t miss the longing look he shoots the open chair.

Rodney’s voice tears Caden’s attention from the puzzle, “Papa, looks how good I’s doin’” he says beaming, all wide eyes and open affection.

“Sit down, Rodney,” John says softly, brushing his thumb along a tendon beneath smooth skin, feeling Rodney tremble under the ministration. Caden is watching them imploringly, dividing his attention between them and the puzzle waiting for acknowledgement, and John can see when Rodney caves under the weight of that gaze. Pulling up a chair on the other side of Caden, Rodney sits with a huff, sliding a hand to rest against Caden’s lower back.

“Alright show me this disastrous system you’ve got going,” Rodney says while Caden gestures and explains the new levels of chaos he’s created in his organizing. Lacing their fingers together against the warmth of their son’s back, John pushes a piece of the edge towards Caden just to feel the sharpening of the grip on his hand and be able to smile in the face of Rodney’s dark look, letting the seconds turn into minutes and the minutes melt into night.

Later while John’s making sure Caden brushes his teeth, John knows Rodney will sneak over to stare down at the unfinished puzzle, working out some greater meaning in the lines and curves of the scattered pieces. By the time John joins him, leaning unobtrusively in the doorway, Rodney will have figured out the correct placing of the puzzle pieces, if not found the answer to the mystery in his mind. Of course, he won’t ever touch the pieces, always leaving them to Caden to explore another day, but John wonders what memory, what truth Rodney finds there among the broken bits of cardboard.

maisiuil @ 2007-05-01T12:57:00

2007-05-01T18:09:08Z

I've been trying to come up with an AU to write for a several months now, but it seems like every idea I had has been done, or there is one close enough to another AU fic that I don't feel right writing mine, even if I haven't read it. One, in fact, I got about seven thousand words on, stopped writing it 'cause I wrote myself into a corner about a month ago and have decided not to continue out of respect for another author. Anyway point being, I think I've finally found one I'm not wanting to roll my eyes at, and that I don't feel infiringes on or is inspired by any other's work. It's gonna require substantial research on my part though since unlike the other(s) I've attempted and considering there is nothing in this that I am all that familar with. I'm currently lacking much of a plot but I've got a good feeling about this one. *sigh* If only it wasn't Dead Week...

Fic: Solutions Unnecessary

2007-04-29T06:05:29Z

I’ve had a shitty, shitty day. Have some porn.

Author: Astrid Maisiuil
Beta: (none)
Rating: R
Word Count: ~ 1,500
Summary: John grins into his neck, nuzzling and those ridiculous ears grazing Rodney’s chin in a way that should so not be that much of a turn on.
Warnings: sexual situation
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Stargate people. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

A/N: Written in like an hour and I didn’t even beta it myself so forgive the typos, please.

He can hear the shouts from the lab. The lab he'd had to take a transporter to. Have they no self control? Really it’s only a game, and not even that interesting a one. Rodney types several lines of code before the noise breaks his concentration. It’s just volleyball for God’s sake.

Elizabeth had looked down at him and Sheppard had done the lip thing until Rodney had agreed to give any scientist who wanted to time to go play in the sand that had washed up from a recent hurricane. And like the bunch of cereal box scientists they were, most of them had scurried off to join the rest of the expedition in wasting time. It hadn’t even taken them an hour to set up a volleyball tournament. Rodney, of course, has spent the day in his lab picking up the slack.

There’s a shift in the air as the door opens and Rodney can tells it’s John from the barefoot steps. Though, the sudden sweating furnace in his personal space is a pretty good clue, too. Bare chest leaking all over Rodney, the man hadn't even had the decency to shower, hands running over Rodney’s arms in way Rodney refuses to find appealing.

“You smell,” Rodney grumbles at the sticky nudge from John’s cheek.

John grins into his neck, nuzzling, and those ridiculous ears grazing Rodney’s chin in a way that should so not be that much of a turn on, “You like the way I smell,” he punctuates the warm breath of words with an open mouthed kiss.

Rodney rolls his eyes “Yet again, you’ve missed the point.”

“Not missed, just ignored,” John insists, hooking a sweaty arm around Rodney’s neck, sending a shower of sand dancing across the table, miraculously missing the laptop.

“Ugh,” Rodney quickly moves the laptop out of the line of fire, “You’re gross and dirty, go shower, then we’re going to have a talk about proper laptop etiquette, one that doesn’t involve sand.”

“You like it when I’m dirty,” John growls, catching Rodney’s earlobe between his lips and stroking it with the tip of his tongue.

“Correction,” Rodney whirls on him, a finger held up in defiance, a feeble defense really against the loopy grin and wandering hands, “I like the process of getting you dirty, there is a hugely vast difference.”

“Mmm,” John agrees, hands making outstanding time in getting under Rodney’s uniform.

“What is it about hitting a ball around with a bunch of half naked subordinates that makes you horny anyway?” Rodney wants to know, “Should I be worried?”

John grins at him, closing the remaining space with a shimmy step and how does the man do that?

Planting a hand on John’s chest, Rodney holds him off, studying him with a critical eye, “Seriously, Sheppard, should I be worried?”

John makes a rough sound in the back of his throat, pressing his hips into Rodney’s.

“You’re pathetic, you know that,” Rodney scoffs turning his head in invitation back to his neck.

“Probably,” John concedes. Adding, before putting his mouth to more interesting uses, “but you’re easy.” Rodney has to hand it to him, the fingers skirting down his sides and along his thighs make a compelling argument.

“Only you,” Rodney sighs the hitch at the end effectively running the tease in the tone, resigned to the settle of John’s hands on him, but when John glances up at him, Rodney realizes he’s either said something horribly wrong, or terribly right.

Hands disappear and Rodney is thinking, what’ve I said now, when he refinds them cupping his face. John’s looking at him, eyes roving over everything, John's hands gentle caresses even in their stillness, and Rodney can’t imagine he looks all that attractive, cheeks and nose pink with sunburn and burning redder all the time with something else, but the power of emotion in John’s eyes is clear.

“Rodney,” John says like it’s the one word he wants the world to remember when he’s gone, desperate and hopeful and needing; mouth on Rodney’s in the next moment, devouring with open lips and unnerved sweeps of tongue. Underlying the frantic spinning of now and please and yes, is a bloom of dependence so there Rodney almost chokes on it, urged closer with the dizzy effect.

He’s not sure what he’s said or when the rush changed from low strummed pleasure to the thick of desperation, sweet like mangos in the summer, but he’s not dumb enough to think this is all because of an invigorating roll in the sand. Not with John finding purchase on the edges of his world and tearing them down with an urgency that’s almost calm; pulling his world down and rewrapping it around John and John’s around Rodney.

John works the belt of Rodney’s pants open, the clank loud among the hum of the computers in the lab. Rodney has much less to work with, needing only to slip the sand-dusted track pants down.

“We’re never going to the beach,” Rodney promises, wiping one hand on his own bunched up pants in disgust, the other making John’s eyes glaze and his hands fumble at Rodney’s hips, pushing him unerring against the table.

There’s a moment when Rodney wonders if he’s going to have to finish undoing his own pants, but an insistent press of thumb has John back in the mutual part of this arrangement. One hand curled at John’s nape, the other painting with knowingly strokes the skin and heat in his palm, different in a way that has become utterly familiar.

“I don’t think the beach should be disregarded quite yet,” John manages and Rodney actually has to pause. The slight lack of concentration apparently give John some secret permission to return Rodney’s earlier friendly reminder, though with more twist. Hissing, Rodney tangles his fingers in the hair at the base of his neck for John's trouble, and gives several short tight strokes. Grinning triumphantly at the trembles working through John and the raw want in his eyes, Rodney takes them both up, hot and so good, together.

“Stop,” John gasps, almost pleading, body curled up around itself, “Let me,” and he’s wrapping his hand around Rodney’s, around them both, tighter, closer, so Rodney chokes on the noise coming from his mouth, managing only strangled agreement.

John’s body moves to the rhythm of his, both following the joint stroke of their hands, until John’s hips are digging painfully into Rodney’s, thighs carded between one another impossibly close, so with every thrust Rodney can hear John’s knee hit the table, and each brush of hair and breath is clenching the tension tighter; and he’s too close.

“Too close,” Rodney says aloud, groaning with the effort and John slows their movements reimbursing them with a kiss, securing Rodney’s mouth to his like he needs it to breathe.

John nips and traces keeping their lips at contrast with the brush of their hands, the slower pace creating an ache beneath the shudders. There’s play in the motions of their mouths, tongues tangling and teasing in a way that doesn’t calm Rodney, but strengthens the intimacy, making each breathe he takes infused with desire.

Rodney urges them faster, using dirty swipes over every part of John he can reach, lips catching John’s and sucking, with a sure flick right there over them both. Muscles twitching and shifting along side his, Rodney can feel it in every touch, every subtle change of motion. The tremble of their thighs, straining and hot, pressed tighter than should be comfortable. The heat of John’s chest still overheated from the game and getting hotter, with each breath measured, rising and falling, in continuum to their clasped strokes. The gentle bite of the table’s edge fades as they hold one another captive with hearts, mouths and hands.

There’s a shift in the time unbroken, almost slowing, where the dashing movements fall away to the sound of tiny whimpers John’s making under his breath, the shuddering scrape of a piece of sand holding strong to John’s hand through the motions, the bead of sweat tracing a careful path along the side of John’s face. Rodney watches the bead slide away and lower, feels the extra stutter roll of John’s palm and flies to meet it.

John moans a word that might be his name, might be a broke jumble of yes, or might be nothing more than a moan. Either way, the sound among the silent cacophony of skin and breath gives Rodney his shuddering release, pulling John closer and feeling John’s own, a wave borne of relief and satisfaction.

They rest together, tangled in the aftermath, weight equally on one another and the table. John’s offering calming strokes to Rodney’s cheek with the tip of his nose, with the thunder of his heartbeat Rodney can feel vibrating through his whole body. Rodney’s own contribution is an off kilter kiss to the corner of John’s mouth and thumb tracing the curve of John’s hip.

“This is so undignified,” Rodney glances between them and the lab.

John laughs, moving his lips to Rodney’s.

Next time, Rodney thinks, he might go see what all the fuss is about. If all else fails, John's ass can always use more staring time.

"Drabble" Masterlist

2007-04-27T06:34:34Z

List of “drabbles” written for comments. Please note my ability to fail at drabble writing. I will send you a comment when it's finished.

Other:
Losing Sense for lyndseas WC: ~1,600 Rating-R-sexual situation

SGA:
Having Love for le_mot_mo WC: ~1,900 Rating-PG