New playing around with cracked AUs! Yay!
Jan. 2nd, 2007 08:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
zoetropeVery off-the-cuff and barely-betaed, I've had a bunny to write a fic based on the movie Kissing Jessica Stein for aaages, and finally jotted it down. The first part is below the cut.
Kissing Rodney McKay
John Sheppard/Rodney McKay. NC-17 (eventually). Warnings for harlequin-style silliness and a love of romantic comedies with neurotic naval-gazing. Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
2am_optimism and cincodemaygirl for their help.
Rodney slammed down the lid of the piano, took a desperate last swig of almost-cold coffee, grabbed up his jacket and dashed out of the apartment.
Half an hour later he was twenty minutes late for work, had a thumping red wine headache and a terrible case of I’m-never-dating-again-itis. He thought it was probably terminal.
Sushi Mambo, Bleeker Street
"Wow," said Sherry, blonde, 36-25-34. "So in your email you said you’re a psychic? That’s pretty cool. What can you tell about my future?"
"Physicist," Rodney tried to gauge if she was joking. She had the best poker face he’d ever seen, if she was.
Sherry, blonde, 36-25-34 paused for a moment. "… What’s the difference?"
Work was as monotonous and unchallenging as always. Zelenka had already eaten all the good donuts around the time Rodney had been jumping desperately into a cab, and when he finally arrived at his desk all that was left was the lemon-filled, with a little note. "For you, with love. Z."
Rodney really, really hated this place.
Giovanni’s, Columbus Ave.
"Let’s get the awkward stuff out of the way," Linda, brunette, 32-28-34. "I have fourteen piercings, I’m into leather, I won’t go easy on you. I like to be on top. If we end up together, I will expect you to be my bitch, and to like it." She smiled benignly. "How does that sound?"
Rodney opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
During the day, Rodney worked at a quantitative analysis job he was so overqualified for he could - and often did - do it in his sleep. Every Thursday night, he tutored little Jimmy in physics 101, and every Friday went to the bar round the corner with Zelenka and Chuck. He tried to get a date for most Saturday nights – not that he was desperate.
Every other night of the week, he played piano.
***
That Thursday, he got home from tutoring, opened all the windows in the apartment and sat with a cold beer.
"It is not inertia alone that is responsible for human relationships repeating themselves from case to case, indescribably monotonous and unrenewed:" he read, " it is shyness before any sort of new, unforeseeable experience with which one does not think oneself able to cope. But only someone who is ready for everything, who excludes nothing, even the most enigmatical - will live the relation to another as something… alive."
Perhaps it was the smooth warm breeze that brushed across his forehead, the sound of the city heaving below him, the drift of the clouds across the moon, but suddenly it didn’t seem like that stupid an idea.
***
John Sheppard felt like he’d slept with every girl in New York.
"God you’re a slut," Teyla rolled her eyes and tipped a spoonful of honey into a pot of organic Greek yoghurt.
John pushed his sunglasses higher on his nose to block out any cheery rays of sunlight that might feel like pushing their way behind the cool protective lenses. "That’s my thing," he smiled widely. "I’m a laid back hunk ‘o’ love."
Teyla pushed a slice of toasted granary bread across the counter. "You should eat something, it will help your hangover."
John’s stomach rebelled at the thought. "You know, I had an odd thought last night."
"Before or after you went home with the married woman?"
"I didn’t go home with the married woman," John glared. "I had sex with her in a closet and she went home with her husband. I went home with those two blonde twins that were working the cloakroom—"
Teyla lifted a hand. "Please, no more details. What was your thought?"
John slid a hand over his nape, lightly scratching the hair there. "Well… it was stupid. But. Well, there were these two guys at the after-party holding hands and… well, you know."
"Yes," she said, smiling gently.
"Well I kinda wondered what it would be like. To be with a guy."
"And this is coming from the feeling that you think you’ve now slept with every woman in New York?"
Dammit, Teyla knew him far too well. "No, not at all. Just idle curiosity."
"Are you really that bored, John?"
He smiled wryly. "Restless might be a better word."
"Well, if you’re certain, I have an idea for you," she said, pulling a book off the shelf.
"Rilke?" he asked.
"Rilke," she nodded.
"I don’t think I’ve slept with her," John grinned.
***
"No, no, no!" Zelenka laughed obnoxiously. "Listen to this one. ‘Middle-aged man with diverse interests—‘"
Chuck snorted into his beer. "That means he’s into water sports and spanking."
"—‘Diverse interests, S-K-S good-looking N-S with size twelve feet’."
Chuck snorted some more.
"It does not say that," Rodney scoffed.
"I swear," Zelenka tossed the paper along the scratched, stained bar and gestured to their waiter. "See for yourself."
Rodney glanced at it vaguely, not really bothered if it was this anonymous male-seeking-male or Zelenka’s sense of humour that was sicker, when something caught his eye.
Huh, he thought briefly, and quickly shoved the paper into his backpack.
To be continued.
John Sheppard/Rodney McKay. NC-17 (eventually). Warnings for harlequin-style silliness and a love of romantic comedies with neurotic naval-gazing. Thanks to
2am_optimism and cincodemaygirl for their help.Rodney slammed down the lid of the piano, took a desperate last swig of almost-cold coffee, grabbed up his jacket and dashed out of the apartment.
Half an hour later he was twenty minutes late for work, had a thumping red wine headache and a terrible case of I’m-never-dating-again-itis. He thought it was probably terminal.
Sushi Mambo, Bleeker Street
"Wow," said Sherry, blonde, 36-25-34. "So in your email you said you’re a psychic? That’s pretty cool. What can you tell about my future?"
"Physicist," Rodney tried to gauge if she was joking. She had the best poker face he’d ever seen, if she was.
Sherry, blonde, 36-25-34 paused for a moment. "… What’s the difference?"
Work was as monotonous and unchallenging as always. Zelenka had already eaten all the good donuts around the time Rodney had been jumping desperately into a cab, and when he finally arrived at his desk all that was left was the lemon-filled, with a little note. "For you, with love. Z."
Rodney really, really hated this place.
Giovanni’s, Columbus Ave.
"Let’s get the awkward stuff out of the way," Linda, brunette, 32-28-34. "I have fourteen piercings, I’m into leather, I won’t go easy on you. I like to be on top. If we end up together, I will expect you to be my bitch, and to like it." She smiled benignly. "How does that sound?"
Rodney opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
During the day, Rodney worked at a quantitative analysis job he was so overqualified for he could - and often did - do it in his sleep. Every Thursday night, he tutored little Jimmy in physics 101, and every Friday went to the bar round the corner with Zelenka and Chuck. He tried to get a date for most Saturday nights – not that he was desperate.
Every other night of the week, he played piano.
***
That Thursday, he got home from tutoring, opened all the windows in the apartment and sat with a cold beer.
"It is not inertia alone that is responsible for human relationships repeating themselves from case to case, indescribably monotonous and unrenewed:" he read, " it is shyness before any sort of new, unforeseeable experience with which one does not think oneself able to cope. But only someone who is ready for everything, who excludes nothing, even the most enigmatical - will live the relation to another as something… alive."
Perhaps it was the smooth warm breeze that brushed across his forehead, the sound of the city heaving below him, the drift of the clouds across the moon, but suddenly it didn’t seem like that stupid an idea.
***
John Sheppard felt like he’d slept with every girl in New York.
"God you’re a slut," Teyla rolled her eyes and tipped a spoonful of honey into a pot of organic Greek yoghurt.
John pushed his sunglasses higher on his nose to block out any cheery rays of sunlight that might feel like pushing their way behind the cool protective lenses. "That’s my thing," he smiled widely. "I’m a laid back hunk ‘o’ love."
Teyla pushed a slice of toasted granary bread across the counter. "You should eat something, it will help your hangover."
John’s stomach rebelled at the thought. "You know, I had an odd thought last night."
"Before or after you went home with the married woman?"
"I didn’t go home with the married woman," John glared. "I had sex with her in a closet and she went home with her husband. I went home with those two blonde twins that were working the cloakroom—"
Teyla lifted a hand. "Please, no more details. What was your thought?"
John slid a hand over his nape, lightly scratching the hair there. "Well… it was stupid. But. Well, there were these two guys at the after-party holding hands and… well, you know."
"Yes," she said, smiling gently.
"Well I kinda wondered what it would be like. To be with a guy."
"And this is coming from the feeling that you think you’ve now slept with every woman in New York?"
Dammit, Teyla knew him far too well. "No, not at all. Just idle curiosity."
"Are you really that bored, John?"
He smiled wryly. "Restless might be a better word."
"Well, if you’re certain, I have an idea for you," she said, pulling a book off the shelf.
"Rilke?" he asked.
"Rilke," she nodded.
"I don’t think I’ve slept with her," John grinned.
***
"No, no, no!" Zelenka laughed obnoxiously. "Listen to this one. ‘Middle-aged man with diverse interests—‘"
Chuck snorted into his beer. "That means he’s into water sports and spanking."
"—‘Diverse interests, S-K-S good-looking N-S with size twelve feet’."
Chuck snorted some more.
"It does not say that," Rodney scoffed.
"I swear," Zelenka tossed the paper along the scratched, stained bar and gestured to their waiter. "See for yourself."
Rodney glanced at it vaguely, not really bothered if it was this anonymous male-seeking-male or Zelenka’s sense of humour that was sicker, when something caught his eye.
Huh, he thought briefly, and quickly shoved the paper into his backpack.
To be continued.
