Okay, wow. I know it's been a while since I posted last, but I've been travelling up Queensland's east coast with some mates of mine, camping and fishing and whatnot. It's been an absolute blast, though I swear we've been cursed with the rain, which just followed us everywhere. *groans* But, we caught some fish, ate some fish, fished some more, the boys drank, we swam on the reef, spear fished, went pigging, and generally enjoyed the hell out of ourselves. And I took a whole hell of a lot of photos, because I love my camera liek woah. It's a uniform black Canon EOS 400D SLR, and I just adore the little thing. Anyway, as soon as I figure out how to make the photos show up, I'll post some, and an itinerary. The least incriminating ones, at any rate.
Anyway, my deviance aside (though it won't stay there for long), I wrote while I was away. Which isn't all that odd, because as bizarre (and time consuming) as it is, I generally write all my fic, poems, letters etc. By hand before I post. I'm an old-fashioned gal like that. However, I shall nobly refrain from subjecting you all to my horrid, wicked handwriting, and write electronically. Apparently, it's the new 'thing'.
5 Things Rodney Doesn't Know
1) John is in love with Rodney. Head over heels, tease him to get his attention, spends all his free time with, Love. Complete with capital L and italics. Rodney, however, does not have a clue. He knows John likes him (although even with his blazing self confidence he does sometimes wonder why), and he accepts the casual touches, the affectionate teasing and the constant invasion of his personal space. But he doesn't notice that John only does it with him.
2) Rodney doesn't know whether or not John actually styles his hair, or if it's merely an abberation of nature - and more importantly, gravity. (He also doesn't know why, if John does style it like that, he would want to.)
3) The first and second times it happens, Rodney chalks it up to mispronunciation. The third and subsequent times he tries to correct all the Athosian girls from calling him Roodnah. He doesn't know that 'roodnah' is Athosian for 'pretty'.
4) Rodney is blissfully unaware of Kavanaugh's unhealthy obsession with him, not only as a man of science.
5) It will always be a mystery to him why, one Tuesday afternoon, he pushes John gently into a Jumper, out of the sight of the other scientists in the Jumper Bay, and kisses him softly.
Maybe one day soon, he'll find out why John kissed him back.
And because the boys drank a lot (and I am not even kidding - it was liver-sclerosing just watching them)...
The first time you held hands you were both walking to the Infirmary, soul-weary and broken. Well, you were limping, and his left arm was hanging inches lower than it should have been. Three weeks you'd both been gone, though it felt like a lifetime longer.
You walked by his side in silence and his hand brushed yours. Your arm froze, and so did his. A moment later, his little finger was wrapped around yours. You felt your resolve begin to weaken, and you squeezed his finger back.
The first time you kissed was three months later, and nothing further had happened. It was a trading mission, one of an unremarkable thousand, and one of the accompanying marines was overheard by the Porraleis making a gay joke. They immediately refused to trade with such a narrow-minded people. You looked at him, he looked right back at you and gave a little shrug and his trademark crooked smile, uncharacteristically quiet.
You spoke to the leader and explained that, as a whole, the Lanteans were an open-minded people. As expected, they demanded proof. He moved directly to your side and unhesitatingly tilted his face to yours. You kissed him gently, thoroughly, and wondered vaguely just how much resolve you actually had left.
The trade was successful, and nothing more was said.
The following weeks were blissfully uneventful, and oddly charged. In public, you were the same as always, but there was a weight behind every interaction. He started doubting he was strong enough, and you became resigned to the inevitable.
One night, you were woken by your door sliding open, and you knew even in the dark that it was him. Neither of you said a word as he crossed the room and slid into the space you made for him in your bed. As his arms slid around you, you caught a glimpse of wide, frightened eyes, and you held him close as he murmured something about nightmares and you weren't there. You promised him you would be, over and over until you both fell asleep.
It never occurred to you to wonder why you were so upset to wake up alone.
The careful balance the two of you shared shifted once more, not that anyone could tell. You eventually came to the realisation that you were in Atlantis, and everything was different now.
He was walking past the gym when you stepped out, and both of you were startled. He smiled at you as you grabbed his hand and pulled him into the gym, and when he kissed you back it was readily, as though he'd been waiting for this to happen. And perhaps he had.
The kiss was full, hot and left you both speechless and staring at each other, your hands on his face and your taste in his mouth. He grinned and kissed you again, and you realised you'd found home in Atlantis.
The next night you arrived at his door, freshly showered and shaved and surprisingly calm. He smiled when you handed him the movie, and grinned hugely when he glanced into the bag and saw lube.
Five minutes into the movie he was kissing you, slow and gentle. You kissed him back the same way, simply because you could.
Half an hour later, the movie was completely forgotten as you made love together for the first time.
It's been a year since that night, a passage in time marked by the introduction of some new faces, and the loss of some old. Battles fought, some won and some lost. And yet some things are exactly the same.
He still pisses you off on a regular basis. You still frighten him by taking what he calls 'unnecessary, heart-stopping, stupid-inducing risks, dammit!'. You argue about everything, surprise and confuse each other, and run rings around everyone else.
You still feel your heart speed up when you see him unexpectedly. He still holds your hand when you're alone together. You still wake up wrapped around each other, the same way you did the first 'morning after'. You still kiss each other like teenagers and make love for eternity.
It's enough, and it's so much more.
What is it with my utter inability to write anything other than schmoopy love stuff? I blame it on the fire, and the moon rising over the ocean. Curses! *shakes fist at ... mood setting scenery*. And, as per usual, it's unbeta'ed, because of no girlfriends who camp out, and (possibly) this conversation:
me (casually): oh hey, can you just check this and make sure there's no spelling mistakes or anything?
n (who is such a guy): what is it?
me (with shifty eyes): oh, just a thing, about stuff.
n (knowingly): you're up to something.
me (leering): oh i wish. *shakes paper* now do it.
n: *reads a little then looks at me, aghast* I AM NOT GOING TO EDIT YOUR WRITTEN GAY PORN!!!1!!!!11!! (with the 1s, and everything)
...cue dead silence, even the absence of crickets chirping...
me: well, you could have just said no.
n: *leaves to go drink heavily and shoot things to reassert masculinity*
So, incidentally, I'm looking for a beta for something else I've written while I was away. I've got work straight up for the next week or so, so not much time to type it out yet, but soon. And the keyword for this soon-to-be fic? Dinosaurs. Heh. Yep. Any
Also - a big apology to everyone whose comments I've only just answered. It may take a while for me to reply, but ! appreciate them all, and I will eventually. I swear!