Please find below for your reading pleasure, eight ficlets of various lengths (length depends on my mood, not how much I like you, promise!):
One Torchwood, one SG-1 and six SGA - do we think this says something about my flist? ;) Um... enjoy?
For janne_d: Jack/Tosh - Dancing (391 words) - spoilers for Captain Jack Harkness and End of Days
When Tosh closes her eyes she can still hear the long dead music playing in her ears. It's been six days since 1941 and so much has happened that she's still having trouble getting her head around it.
There's only one thing she's truly sure about and that's that Jack's gone. Not dead like he was two days ago - or at least she hopes not, tells herself not - but just as gone.
He danced with her in 1941 and now he's gone.
So that makes two things she's sure about. She likes to be sure, likes facts, so she smiles as though it helps.
The Hub's empty tonight. Gwen's spending every minute she has with Rhys; Owen's been quiet, subdued, he's probably getting drunk somewhere; and Ianto...
Tosh hasn't been able to look at the lost expression on Ianto's face, the way the others tiptoe around him, without a fierce pang of jealously, so she doesn't know where he is, but it isn't here.
Tosh's glad to be alone. She likes the peace, but she's finding she doesn't like the quiet. She pulls her chair back to her desk and clicks through the shared drive. About a year ago, weevils and space demons got boring for Owen, so he spent a week collating everyone's music collections into a central system. Only the pterodactyl really appreciated the effort, but the files are all still there.
It only takes a minute to find Glen Miller and she puts him on repeat, the song, that song over and over, sitting on the floor in the middle of the empty Hub, deliberately not looking toward Jack's dark office.
By the third repetition, her feet are itching and by the fifth, she's on her feet. It's easier to give into the music, easier than she'd thought it would be and she lets herself sway.
Her arms come up by themselves, moulding around an invisible partner. She doesn't think about the way the others might laugh, the way her father would shake his head if he could see her now, just closes her eyes and remembers the soft brush of Jack's cheek against hers, loses herself in music and memory and things that go missing without a trace.
In the corner, the severed hand sways in time, but Tosh's eyes are closed and she doesn't see.
For thady: Daniel/Cameron - Cuddling (Okay, so it's not quite cuddling, but it's physical contact... they just refused to cuddle!) (686) - spoilers for SG-1 9x06 Beachhead
About eight hours after they got back from the whole supernuke, supergate, super-missing-Vala incident, Cam was about ready for his bed.
Well, he was way past ready, but with great power came great responsibility and with SG-1 came a lot of paperwork.
He was finally on his way up and out of the mountain, when he spotted Jackson in the corridor. From the snowy white scrubs showing hints of a snowy white ass, and the way he was stumbling, Cam thought he was probably witnessing a jailbreak.
"Yo, Jackson !" he called, hustling up to him. "Wait up."
Jackson pivoted on one bare foot, stumbled and blinked up at Cam uncomprehendingly when Cam caught his arm.
"Whoa there," Cam said. "Where're you heading?"
Jackson frowned at him, apparently having to think about it, then he grinned widely. "A galaxy far, far away."
It was Cam's turn to frown. He shifted his hold on Jackson, making his grip more secure. "How'd you get high? You were resting."
"Dr. Lam gave me something to make me sleep; she said I was fidgety." Jackson lowered his voice and whispered into Cam's ear. "I don't think it worked."
Cam had to work not to grin. "No shit?" He got his arm around Jackson's waist and started steering him back toward the infirmary.
Jackson followed him willingly for about ten feet, then dug his heels in. "This isn't the way to the 'gate."
"Nope," Cam agreed, trying to regain forward momentum; turned out Jackson was heavier than he looked. "It's the way to bed." If he maybe sighed a little on the last word he couldn't help it; he was tired.
"No, no, no." Jackson tried to turn, Cam didn't loosen his grip, and he ended up with Jackson plastered against his chest. Also turned out Jackson was way more built than he looked. Not to mention disturbingly snugly. Cam sighed and tugged him toward again.
The infirmary was dark and quiet. The nightshift doctor, whose name Cam hadn't learned yet, was snoozing at his desk. And well, Cam had gotten Jackson this far, he could get him a bit further.
Jackson was practically a dead weight against his shoulder, the sedative finally having taken effect somewhere on the twelfth floor, somewhere no where near an elevator obviously, it had taken a good amount of shoving, prodding and quiet swearing to get him here and just as much now to get him under the blankets.
Cam stood back, rubbing his lower back and feeling sweat rolling down the side of his nose.
Jackson blinked open tired blue eyes. "Hi," he said, frowning like he didn't know what Cam was doing there. Cam didn't like to admit it, even to himself, but he liked Jackson like this. He was less reserved, warmer, the way he was with Carter and Teal'c, the way Cam hadn't earned yet.
"Hey," Cam agreed, sinking down onto the side of the bed, taking a breather before he finally, finally made his way home.
Jackson's eyes closed and Cam started to stand, thinking he better let the guy get some sleep. Then Jackson's hand shot out, wrapping around Cam's wrist like those damned bracelets of Vala's.
Cam twitched his hand experimentally. It was held fast. "Uh, Jackson?"
Cam sighed. "I bet O'Neill never had this problem," he grumbled softly to himself.
Jackson's lip twitched a little. "No. He would have gotten in with me," he mumbled.
And wow, that wasn't something Cam had ever wanted to know. Then he recognised the expression in Jackson's sleepy eyes. "You really miss him, huh?" he asked, quiet enough that Jackson didn't have to answer. He hooked a chair with his foot, pulling it up to the bed and easing over onto it, no longer straining against Jackson's grip on his wrist.
Jackson turned his head toward him. "Thanks," he whispered, really softly. And if Cam ended up leaning forward so his head stole the corner of Jackson's pillow, it was only because he was so damn tired, not because this was the closest anyone had let him get in way too long and certainly not because Jackson's weirdly vulnerable eyes were drawing him it, refusing to let him go.
For morebliss John/Rodney - Space Needle. NC-17. (571 words)
"Wow." John tipped his head to the left. "That's very..."
"Big?" Teyla offered.
John tipped his head back the other way. "No, I was going to say something else."
Rodney looked up from the guidebook he was wielding like a lifesigns detector and smirked. "Phallic?"
John grinned back at him. "Yup."
Rodney rolled his eyes, but his smile held, stayed past the point they could have gotten away with on Atlantis, and softened.
Behind them, Ronon cleared his throat. "Can we go up it?" he asked, when John turned to him.
Rodney made a disparaging noise. "Well, you can if you want," he huffed. "Personally, I have better things to spend my money on."
John frowned. It was a giant tower with an incredibly cool-looking outside elevator, and it was called a space needle, there was no way Rodney couldn't find it the coolest thing ever. Then he understood.
"You're just sore cos the SciFi museum was shut," he said, knocking Rodney's shoulder with his own.
Rodney glared. "I am not." But he shot a longing look toward the museum, the very shut museum, on their right. "It just seems to be a little stupid to pick Tuesdays as their arbitrary day to be closed."
John knocked his shoulder again, added a little press between the backs of their hands. "Tell you what," he whispered, "Stop sulking and I'll make it worth your while."
"I'm not-" Rodney started to protest, then broke off. "Worth my while how?"
John looked at him from under his lashes, giving him his best smile. "Wait and see." He turned to follow Teyla and Ronon into the line, grinning to himself when he heard Rodney's footsteps clatter behind him.
"Oh, God," Rodney gasped, arching up into John's mouth, clenching around the three fingers inside him. "Oh my God, I love Seattle."
John smirked around his mouthful of cock, flicked his tongue right where he knew Rodney needed it, reached down with his free hand to squeeze Rodney's balls and rub the soft skin between them. Rodney made a strangled sort of moan and came hard.
"Wow," Rodney said a couple of minutes later. He pulled half-heartedly at John's shoulder, but Rodney's belly made an awesome pillow and John was pretty comfy where he was. "What was that for? Not that I don't always deserve amazing sex, of course."
John grinned into the soft flesh covering Rodney's hip, trying - and failing - not to feel smug about the amazing.
"Told you I'd make it worth your while," he said mildly. "You did good today, Rodney." And he had. He hadn't exactly been patient that would have been weird, but he'd let them drag him around the tourist areas with as good a grace as he could manage, even going so far as to follow Ronon around a half-dozen souvenir shops and not complaining too hard about the amount of tat they now had to find room for on the trip back to Colorado.
"Well?" Rodney demanded. John was impressed, that had actually been a long moment of afterglow by Rodney's standards.
"Well, what?" John asked innocently, twisting his fingers and nosing at Rodney's balls just because.
Rodney huffed and slapped the lube back into John's hand. "Fuck me," he ordered.
John grinned, happy to obey. He slicked himself up and lined up his cock, his space needle, he couldn't help thinking and sniggered.
Rodney, even though there was no way he'd learned how to read minds, rolled his eyes and smacked the back of John's head. "Dork."
For lallybroch: John/Rodney - Term of Endearment (287 words)
John hadn't ever thought he would, but he really likes waking up with Rodney. They don't get to do it often, even less often than they get to fall asleep together, at least one of them normally getting dragged out of bed much too early by squawking voices over their headsets.
But today no one seems to be dying, or if anyone is, no one thinks John or Rodney can do anything about it, and John wakes up just as the sun is rising, warm and snug against Rodney's back, lips moving slowly over Rodney's upper arm before his brain's come back on line.
Rodney makes a huffing sort of noise, half way between asleep and not-awake, and rolls onto his back, getting an arm around John to pull him close. John nuzzles at Rodney's collarbone, rubs his nose through the soft, pale hair on Rodney's chest.
"Hey," he says to the top curve of Rodney's pectoral muscle.
"Hello," Rodney mumbles, but it comes out like hllmph and his eyes don't open. His palm curves around the back of John's neck, fingers patting at his hair. "Love you."
John's breath lodges in his lungs. It's not the first time Rodney's said it, but it's the first time he's said it when they're not having sex, the first time John hasn't been lost in a haze of orgasm and can actually say it back.
He closes his eyes, presses his face into Rodney's neck. John doesn't need to say it now either, he knows Rodney, knows Rodney's deep asleep again by now, knows John can ignore him without consequences. But he doesn't want to.
"You too," he tells the piece of soft skin under Rodney's left ear and goes back to sleep.
For purelyironic John/Rodney - Want (226 words)
When John gives up his commission, he almost gives up Atlantis too. The SGC are mad, madder than John had he'd thought they'd be, madder than seems fair really, and they drag the decision out so long that John can taste the separation, taste the loss in the back of his throat.
Then General O'Neill swoops in, growls at a few people, pulls rank on a few more, and pushes a stack of papers across the desk to John, one for resignation stuff, one for a brand new job in Pegasus.
"In triplicate," he says, eyes twinkling a little bit like evil.
So John works his way through, diligent and focused in a way he's never been before, and just as his pen's poised for the very last signature, the final cut of the final tie, O'Neill leans across the desk, fixes him with the kind of stare that brings down the Goa'uld.
"You sure about this?" he asks, voice low like John has any kind of secrets left.
John glances toward the wall, just past the door, pictures Rodney out there, probably pacing, definitely ranting under his breath, remembers the same question last night and every night for a month, pressed into his skin with hands and mouths, and once, even words.
John smiles as he signs his name. "Yes sir, it's what I want."
For runpunkrun: John/Rodney - Team Movie Night. NC-17. (937)
Strange as it seems to him, Rodney looks forward to team movie nights.
It's not for the movies, dear God it's not for the movies. The drivel they had to watch was bad enough when Ford got to choose but Ronon's tastes make Ford's look sophisticated. After about a month of John shoving DVDs on him every time Elizabeth suggested John teach him a little about Earth culture, Ronon developed two loves - explosions and Julia Styles - and two years later those still make up the majority of his movie choices. They can be watching Déjà Vu one week and Mona Lisa Smile the next and Rodney never knows if he should bring earplugs or a good book.
So no, it’s not for the movies. John and Ronon come to team nights to relax, kick back, hang out. Teyla comes because for reason’s surpassing even Rodney’s understanding, she seems to like them. And Rodney comes to huddle with John under the blankets and to throw food into Ronon's hair.
Tonight's movie is another of Ronon's choices, it's loud and cars keep blowing up which keeps Ronon and John happy and Teyla vaguely amused. John and Rodney are up on bed - the others never argue even though it's clearly the most comfortable place to sit and Rodney would be worried that they're maybe not being discreet enough, except he's normally too busy thinking yay and bed to care.
The lights are out and the room's silent except for the crashes and bangs coming from the laptop and the soft whisper of Teyla's breathing as she snoozes on John's armchair. Ronon is on the floor at the foot of the bed, totally engrossed, a relaxed smile on his face, as he eats popcorn and recites the lines under his breath.
Rodney's just thinking Teyla's got the right idea, he's warm and relaxed and John's a solid, reassuring presence to his left, when the reassuring presence starts moving and then John's pressed up against Rodney's side, tongue darting out to tease his earlobe. Rodney startles a little at the touch and swats at John. "What are you doing?" he hisses.
"Seen this one," John purrs in his ear, one big hand burrowing first under the blanket Rodney's got up over his lap, and then under Rodney's shirt, fingers spreading out to create five separate points of very nice contact.
"You've seen them all," Rodney retorts, remembering at the last moment to keep his voice at a whisper.
John doesn't answer, just strokes his hand over Rodney's belly. It feels good and Rodney finds himself uncurling and moving into it without thinking. Then John's fingers walk their way up Rodney's chest to tweak his nipple and Rodney comes back to his senses.
"What are you doing?" he repeats, rolling towards John.
John shoves his shoulder until he grudgingly moves back to his original position. "Watch the movie, Rodney," John scolds. He sounds like he's laughing. Bastard.
The hand playing with Rodney's nipple is getting more adventurous, adding twisting and rubbing to its repertoire. "Asshole," Rodney whispers, feeling himself harden in his sweatpants.
"Shh," John soothes and nips at Rodney's throat.
Rodney squeaks and looks around quickly. Teyla's chair is turned away from them, toward the laptop and from what he can see from the angle of her lolling head, she's still sound asleep. Ronon would have to turn all the way around to notice them, and Rodney knows from experience that he thinks its bad manners to stop watching a movie before its finished.
So, really, John's not taking that big a risk, but it's still a risk and Rodney would really like to say something cutting about colonels with semi-public sex kinks, but he can't because one, he's not sure he could get all that out on one whisper and two, John's mouth feels really, really good under his chin and if he complains, John might stop.
Rodney focuses determinedly on the back of Ronon's head and tries to keep his breathing quiet; John starts drawing circles in his chest hair.
By the time the credits roll, Rodney's so far past horny it's not funny. John sits up when Ronon stands and they watch as Ronon gently shakes Teyla awake and pulls her to her feet.
"Oh," she says, seeming surprised to find herself standing. "Good night."
John walks them to the door, hands shoved into the front pockets of his pants, doing a reasonable imitation of a man who hasn't just spent the last hour in torturous foreplay. The second the door's closed, he's pulling off his clothes and flinging himself down onto the bed. Rodney still manages to get naked before him.
"Bastard," Rodney says, rolling on top of John. His voice feels raspy after all the whispering, but the rusty sound makes John's eyes go dark so he doesn't try clearing his throat.
John grins into his mouth, wraps his legs around Rodney's waist and thrusts up. Mmm, up. "It's been three days, Rodney," he complains.
Rodney squirms a hand between their bodies and closes his fist around their cocks. "I've been busy saving the galaxy," he says, completely distracted by the hotsmoothtight and only half sure he's telling the truth.
"You do that too much," John forces out between heavy breaths.
"Yeah." Rodney licks the corded line of John's neck. "Bad habit."
A brief pause to kiss. Then: "I can't believe you did that." Rodney twists his hand and they both groan. "Feeling me up in front of Ronon and Teyla."
"They didn't notice." The spaces between John's words are getting longer, his drawl getting thicker. "And it was hot."
"Yeah." Rodney gets his hands on John's ass, shoving his hips up and rolling their groins together.
John shakes and swears and comes; Rodney's only three beats behind him.
"Kinky bastard," Rodney says when he's gotten his breath back. John just laughs and doesn't deny it.
For bluebrocade: John/Rodney - Cheating (651 words)
"You cheated!" Even three and a half sheets to the wind, Rodney managed to look pissed off and affronted, arms folded tight over his chest in exaggerated annoyance.
John rolled his eyes and continued tugging him towards the bed. "So you've said." And he had said loudly and repeatedly but, luckily for everyone, even drunk Rodney wasn't stupid and he'd refused to tell anyone why John was a dirty rotten cheat (Rodney's words, hiccupped pitifully into Zelenka's shoulder).
They reached the edge of the bed, Rodney swaying towards the mattress then back into John. John wondered what would happen if he just let go. Two seconds after he'd had the thought, he tried it, and Rodney landed on his back on the bed with a soft oof. "Cheat," he said, pointing up at John. Then he seemed to realise he was pointing up at John and frowned around at the bed. "Huh."
"C'mon, Rodney," John said, moving down to the foot of the bed and beginning to tug off Rodney's shoes. "I'm the military commander, I'm allowed to cheat at I Never."
He hadn't even wanted to play, would probably have gotten out of it if Lorne hadn't overheard him explaining the rules to Ronon from a few tables over from where the game was starting up - John was almost fully convinced his XO had super-human senses and no longer needed any convincing that the man was evil.
Rodney scowled at him. With Rodney's flushed cheeks and unfocused eyes, it ended up kind of cute. "I didn't cheat."
"Nope," John agreed, dropping Rodney's second shoe and working on his own. "But now you're kind of drunk."
"But I didn't cheat." Apparently that was important to Rodney.
John grinned at him. "You are the model of good sportsmanship, buddy."
Rodney preened for a minute, then his shoulders drooped.
John finished with his shoes, shucked out of his jacket and scooted over Rodney so he could sit cross-legged on the side of the bed nearest the wall. He prodded Rodney's droopy shoulder with two fingers. "What's up?"
Rodney batted at his fingers but, once he'd caught them, seemed to forget what he wanted to do with them and ended up lacing their hands together. "Miller said he never kissed a man and you didn't drink."
"Well, yeah, military." It came out sorrier than he'd meant, more apologetic than he'd known he was.
Rodney looked away. "I drank. Ronon drank." Yeah, he had. They both had. Cadman had given Brown a Told You So look when Rodney had drunk but no one had even blinked when Ronon had shrugged over his drink and said warrior rituals. John, who'd been a decent way towards tipsy at that point had been struck by what a good bunch they were; for the first time he could ever remember had given serious consideration to thinking about coming out. Luckily, the game had moved on and he'd lost his chance.
Thinking about it, that was about the time that Rodney seemed to go for broke and decide to get himself plastered.
"Hey," John said, feeling something contract in his belly at how sad Rodney looked, sad and resigned he realised, and no, that just wasn't on. He slid down the bed until he could rest his chin on Rodney's chest. "Just cos I don't talk about it, doesn't mean I don't feel... stuff."
Rodney lifted a hand and trailed it down the centre of John's face, smiling slightly when his finger skidded off the end of John's nose. "Stuff?" he asked.
"Deep and meaningful stuff?"
John closed his eyes, normally Rodney's wandering fingers would have been annoying, but tonight it felt really good just to be touched. "I wouldn't go that far," he said. But he ruined it by laughing. And Rodney ruined his own annoyed huff by pulling John up the bed and kissing him.
For exsequar: John/Rodney - Memory - spoilers for Return Pt 1 & Brotherhood (614 words)
Packing up John's stuff doesn't give him much of a problem. He's been boxing up his life and shipping off into the sunset ever since he can remember. In all this crap it's the only thing that's familiar.
Telya and Ronon help him heft his boxes to the gateroom to join the ever growing pile of stuff to be beamed above the Daedalus. Then they all go to Rodney's lab together, ostensively to see if he needs any help, but mainly because they don't want to waste a minute they have left.
Rodney's right in the middle of the action, directing scuttling scientists carrying boxes as big as their whole bodies back and forth across the lab as Rodney changes his mind a hundred times and yells fresh instructions. On the other side of the lab, Zelenka is sitting on one of the desks, his own stuff boxed up neatly around him, watching Rodney with the kind of fond exasperation that John suspects he's wearing on his own face.
John lasts an hour in the labs - stopping Simpson falling on her ass when Rodney adds another six scanners to the pile she's already carrying; helping Parrish and Brown shift boxes and carefully not investigating the contents no matter how much they might smell like his old dorm rooms; saving the day when Miko's glasses get packed into the box of microscope lenses - then he can't take it anymore.
He's going to miss Atlantis more even than he missed the house in Santa Monica that was right by the beach and had enough space for the dog he'd always wanted, more than he sometimes misses his grandmother's front porch, and he needs air before he does something hideously embarrassing like actually tell people how much they mean to him.
He leans over the south balcony - Elizabeth's favourite balcony, his brain unhelpfully supplies, the place he and Rodney got drunk after the Brotherhood stole their ZPM, the place he kissed Dr Esposito back in the day when she'd still let his tongue anywhere near her (it had, literally, been a day, but a very good day all the same).
"Dear God," Rodney's voice breaks the silence. "I think even your hair is moping."
John snorts softly and tips his head up. Rodney's a dark silhouette surrounded by sunset. The Ancients have given them until sunrise to get out of here. "Shouldn't you be packing?"
Rodney drops down to sit beside John. "Kavanagh lost an earring. All action is suspended until someone finds it. Or Simpson admits that she's hidden it. Whichever comes first."
John smiles and doesn't look away from the surf beginning to blow up on the evening tide.
Rodney lets that last for a whole five seconds before nudging him. "Hey."
John nudges back.
"You okay?" Rodney asks. "Not with the whole having our home ripped out from under us thing obviously, but you know, in general."
John turns to look at him; there's a frown between his eyes. "Sure," he lies. "I'm fine."
The sun is setting Rodney's pale brown hair alight, making his skin seem translucent and his eyes glow like something from another world. John reaches out and touches his throat. When Rodney doesn't pull away, just tips his head and frowns slightly, John slides his hand around to the back of Rodney's neck and pulls him closer.
"Colonel?" Rodney asks, three inches from John's mouth. "John? What are you doing?"
"Making some new memories," John says, because it's the truth and he can only hope it doesn't sound as twee to Rodney as it does to him.
"Oh," Rodney says, "Good idea." And kisses him.