?

Log in

No account? Create an account

The Toybox

people for the conservation of limited amounts of indignation


Previous Entry Share Next Entry
sgafic: body memory
children of dune - leto 1
seperis
Body Memory
by seperis
Sheppard/McKay, PG-13
For the lovely beadattitude for her cheering and enjoyment. If she chooses, related to her fic Caught. Kind of rough, because I am just not as good at writing on the spur as she is.

*thoughtful* I should expand this one day.



Rodney's always found the human body irreparably flawed.

Computers have logic, pattern, created by commands that can be fixed, changed, modified, corrected. Chains of logic create the structure; the logic can be flawed, but then again, it can be *fixed*.

Humans--can't be.

He carries an epipen, correcting for a body that thinks citrus is poison: powerbars, correcting for a body that processes sugars too quickly. His body's betrayed him a thousand times, PE and restaurants, parties and presentations, and humiliation in his failures has never gotten easier.

Atlantis changed everything, but it really changed nothing at all.

He runs with Cadman because he's too slow for Ronon, works out with Lorne because he's too clumsy for Teyla. Too slow, too clusmy, thinks too little, thinks too much, and no matter how many times that Lorne throws him, that Cadman beats him, his body never seems to learn. One mile with feet that don't step where they should; one hour with limbs that fight his control. He goes off-world with a gun that he can shoot, because accuracy is all in the mind.

He's never lived here, in this body with the thousand ways it breaks; his mind's never betrayed him. It remembers.

Bodies are reflexes, instincts, reactions he can't control, doesn't understand, never cared to. He flinches from citrus because his mind knows his body's flaw, from knives because his mind remembers an endless night and rain that spilled down like the end of the world. It knows coffee brings clarity, sugar calms anxiety, sandwiches and meals and sleep keep his body living, breathing, moving. He doesn't care. He has his mind. The rest doesn't, has never mattered.

But sometimes, he thinks he might be wrong.

John's t-shirt is two sizes too large, sleeves brushing low, hiding narrow wrists and dark-haired arms; faded black and age-soft, smoother at the elbow from resting too long on desks, pin-pricks of white from chemicals accidentally spilled. There's fray at the collar, because requisitions are late, forgotten, working too much, no time, no energy, (just don't *care*). They're warm from his body, from the floor, from the bed, buried under the covers before a meeting one of them forgot, pulled out and pulled on and Jesus, God.

Rodney sits a foot away and forgets arithmetic and language when he can smell John, detergent and clean sweat, salty air, himself, on John's skin, his hair, his clothes.

"Rodney?" Elizabeth says, and it's not like he even knows what she thinks he's supposed to say. John tilts his head, grinning while Rodney breathes in their last day, last night, the taste of John's tongue, the hollow of his throat, the bony curve of his hip; memory is burned in scent and taste and touch, and he can't think of power curves when he thinks of John in his shirt, on his shirt, on everything he has, piece by piece until he can't remember if he owns anything that John's never touched.

"Rodney?" John drawls with a sideways smile, and Rodney watches him slowly shift, leaning back, thighs parted; beneath the BDUs are Rodney's boxers; beneath his boots are Rodney's socks. Rodney's hands remember sliding them on John's body, settling low on narrower hips, still warm from his own skin; a waistband that sags enough to see fingertip bruises in purple on John's lower back, the mark of teeth on his belly. Rodney dressed him when he came out of Rodney's shower, boxers and pants, socks and boots on narrow feet, sliding the shirt over skin that smells like Rodney's soap, over bruises from his mouth and scratches from his nails and all the ways he's marking John that he hides beneath his clothes.

His body doesn't remember the pattern of sticks, of swords, how to pace or how to fight. It doesn't know citrus isn't poison, how to metabolize sugar, how to run and how not to fall. But it does remember John, him, them with every look and every breath.


beneath the BDUs are Rodney's boxers; beneath his boots are Rodney's socks. Rodney's hands remember sliding them on John's body, settling low on narrower hips, still warm from his own skin; a waistband that sags enough to see fingertip bruises in purple on John's lower back, the mark of teeth on his belly.

Wow. That is very hot - John in Rodney's clothes is definitely a good thing here.

I love the contrast between Rodney's recalcitrant body and his loyal mind too, very interesting.

I have a--thing. For that.

It's Smallville's fault, to be honest.

Thanks!

Oh, good lord. Citrus aside, your description of Rodney's relationship to his body is me. No wonder I like him. (Sadly, I doubt this means there's a hot, geeky flyboy in my future.)

I *still* flinch thinking about PE and gym class.

Whee! I love Rodney sits a foot away and forgets arithmatic and language when he can smell John, detergent and clean sweat, salty air, himself, on John's skin, his hair, his clothes. and I'm pretty sure the mental image of John splaying his thighs under the briefing room table is just ridiculously hot. I heart this a lot.

Aww, thank you!

(John's thighs are just--guh. yeah)

Guh. ::shivers:: Oh my yes very please. ::shivers again:: And John knowing and teasing him by spreading those thighs, god. John Sheppard is just sex walking. Or sitting, or whatever.

And I love how Rodney's body is waking up and settling in and knowing itself with John.

Thank you SO much!

Aww, thanks.

Yes. John's thighs are some kind of--of--dangerous *place*. He pleases me. *happy sigh*

This is gorgeous! Rodney and his body...Rodney and his clothes on John's body. That's really hot. :)

I have a total kink for that. Thanks!

Oh, this is very nice -- I love how Rodney's thinking about John in his shirt, on his shirt, on everything he has, piece by piece until he can't remember if he owns anything that John's never touched.

Darn it, clicked too soon -- I also liked John in Rodney's clothes, mmm. :)

dhjgfdhsdfh The description of John in Rodney's clothes is hot.

Not my fandom, not my pairing, but heavens above and fires below and vice versa...the way you make language breathe and float like it could become mountains, rivers, and oaks -- like it could become gods... I can read just for that and it's fifty manners of perfect.

(Arithmetic.)

Thank you!

Also, fixed! (I THOUGHT THAT LOOKED WRONG. But totally forgot to double check. Arithmetic. Arithmetic.)

It's the intimacy and warmth that makes this so hot. *approves* :D

His body doesn't remember the pattern of sticks, of swords, how to pace or how to fight. It doesn't know citrus isn't poison, how to metabolize sugar, how to run and how not to fall. But it does remember John, him, them with every look and every breath.

How do you do this? Seriously? Just a little bitty thing and I'll have thoughts and smells and tastes running through my head for the rest of the day.

That wasn't a complaint, btw. More of a HUGE thank you. =)

*glows* Thank you!

But it's beadattitude, really. Just the idea of Rodney holding John's shirt made me think that they'd share clothes, smell each other all *day*. It's a nice image.

I'm not sure what you meant by *kind of rough*. From where I'm sitting it's a lot more like *kind of amazing*!! This is gorgeous, and it's a great companion piece to Bead's. *beams* I love that so much time has passed. I love his reflections re: his body. I love that the proximity to John pretty much derails his brain. I love the idea of one wearing the other's...*anything*...the *sharing clothes* thing is, for me, a serious hot-button. I love, love, love that John was just siting there knowing exactly what he was doing to Rodney. *eg* Thanks so much for sharing.

*Grins* Thank you!

I have a serious thing for shared clothes. It's--unearthly hot. Gah.

Um... wow! [Fans self vigorously] Very nice imagery. And I loved (and recognized from personal experience) your description of Rodney's relationship to his body.

(Deleted comment)
dude. just....

DUDE.

that was hot. *grins*