Of Twisted Ankles and Other Things
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Stargate: SG-1 › Stargate Atlantis
Rating:
Adult ++
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3,160
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Category:
Stargate: SG-1 › Stargate Atlantis
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
3,160
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Stargate Atlantis, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Of Twisted Ankles and Other Things
Of Twisted Ankles and Other Things
Word Count: 1522
Pairing: John/Rodney
Summary: "What in the hell are you doing, Sheppard?"
A/N: Written for
Rodney sat on the bed in the infirmary, wincing as the nurses helped him move his foot for x-rays. He felt like a right fool. Bad enough that he had to be helped up to the gate by Ronon, but Teyla had been hard pressed not to smile, and that had hurt more than falling in a hole had done.
And Sheppard - well, Sheppard hadn't said anything. He'd simply gone on ahead and brought back the jumper. Even now, he was sitting on his own bed, waiting for off world clearance, while Carson and the nurses were busy with Rodney. He didn't complain or bitch, just watched with a peculiar expression on his face that Rodney couldn't read.
Finally, with one last "Ouch," Carson finally seemed to be done with the poking and prodding, and judged his ankle not broken, just badly sprained, and left him to the nurse to have it wrapped up while he went to deal with the rest of the team. Their clearance was relative mundane, and they got out long before Rodney did.
Carson wouldn't give him the good drugs, just a bottle of advil and a set of crutches. "No weight on that ankle for at least a week, do you hear me?" he said as he helped Rodney off the bed.
What Rodney wanted to say wasn't polite in mixed company, or any company for that matter. His ankle hurt and he had a long walk back to his quarters with no help. How he was supposed to manage crutches and the advil bottle, when all he was wearing was a set of scrubs with no pockets, no one had bothered to explain to him. Clumsily gripping the bottle between forefinger and thumb, he hobbled out of the infirmary.
Except that Sheppard was waiting for him right outside the infirmary door. Without saying a word, he took the advil bottle out of Rodney's grip before he could lose it, and fell in beside him. "So, what, a few days bed rest, Rodney?"
"Like I can stay out of the lab for that long, Colonel. I really should be there now." But the walk to the lab seemed even more intimidating than the walk to his quarters, so when Sheppard pressed the button on the transporter, he didn't argue. Instead, he tried to fix his grip on the crutches so that he wouldn't end up with blisters, and hopped out determinately, Sheppard following along behind like a large dog.
Once they reached his quarters, he waved the door open and headed inside, only to stop short in dismay. His room was its normal disaster area, which normally wouldn't be a problem, except there was no clear path wide enough for the crutches. All he wanted to do was sit down and get off the damn things, and he couldn't.
Sheppard looked over his shoulder and made a sound of dismay. "Yes, yes, I know," Rodney said. "But these are all projects that I'm working on in my spare time. I've got nowhere else to store them."
"Okay, here's what we're going to do," Sheppard said. "I'm going to bring your desk chair to you, so you can sit down, and then I'll make sure you have a clear path."
Rodney turned to look at him. "What? No - I'll manage. Just put the advil on the desk. I'm sure you have things to do."
But Sheppard ignored him, crossing the room and carrying back the chair. Carefully, so that Rodney didn't even have reason to complain about the way that John was handling things, he cleared a spot next to the door and then helped Rodney sit, taking his crutches and leaning them against the wall. Then, using that same care, he cleared a path to the bed, and one from the bed to the bathroom.
Rodney wasn't sure what had brought this on, and was afraid to ask. Instead, he watched Sheppard move around the room, keeping projects together and stacking things neatly. When he was finally finished, he came back over and helped Rodney stand, handing him his crutches. While Rodney made his way to the bed, Sheppard disappeared into the bathroom and then came out with a glass of water that he sat down on the nightstand with a flourish.
He couldn't help grinning at that. "What in the hell are you doing, Sheppard?"
"What? A member of my team was injured, and I'm making sure that they heal up before the next time we need to run for our lives." Sheppard sat down next to Rodney on the edge of the bed and popped open the advil. He shook two out and handed them to Rodney, motioning for him to take them.
"Right, like you'd do this for Teyla or Ronon," Rodney scoffed, but he couldn't help feeling a little better at Sheppard's words.
"Well, I probably wouldn't have to clean up their rooms, but yeah, I would. Now, is there anything I can do for you to make you feel better?" Sheppard's words were friendly, but the expression on his face was one that Rodney hadn't seen before. He kept ducking his head, and staring at the floor instead of looking at Rodney.
"You've already gotten me back to my room, and cleaned up my mess. What else could you do?" Rodney asked, baffled.
"I could read to you, or help you get your laptop, or a lot of things," Sheppard said.
"It's my ankle that's hurt, not my brain, Colonel." Rodney was really confused. It almost sounded like Sheppard didn't want to leave him alone. But he really wasn't injured that badly, so it made no sense for him to be this... coddling. Unless there was something going on here that Rodney didn't see.
"There's this," Sheppard said, and then kissed him. Rodney had a moment to think, so that's what this is all about, and then he turned his attention to the kiss. He was just starting to get into it, when Sheppard broke it off, standing and rubbing one hand behind his neck. "I'm sorry," he said.
"For what?" Rodney said. "Get back here."
"No, you're injured. We shouldn't do this now."
"You moron. It's not like Carson would give me the good drugs," Rodney said. "Besides, if you want to make me feel better, you'll keep kissing me. It's acting as a great distraction."
Sheppard - no, John, he'd kissed the man, he could call him John - smiled and sat back down on the bed. "Only if you're sure, Rodney. I'd hate for you to change your mind."
Rodney leaned in close and kissed him again, before saying, "You're a moron, but you're my favorite moron."
John grinned at him, and then they were kissing. John kissed good and dirty, and Rodney lost himself in the haze that went with being really turned on, only to make embarrassing whimpering noises when John stopped again. "What now?" He tugged futilely at John, trying to bring him closer.
"I just... You know I'm not just fucking with you, right?" John said, but his face was a flaming red, and he was looking anywhere but at Rodney.
"Not yet, you're not," Rodney growled, only to capitulate when John looked at him with pleading eyes. "Yeah, I know you're not fucking with me. And, well, me too." That got him a reward in the shape of another kiss. This time, though, John pushed him backwards till he was lying on the bed, being pressed down by John's body above him. He was so involved with John's mouth that he was only vaguely aware that John was pushing up his shirt, until it disappeared and then John was sucking on his nipple.
Rodney groaned as pleasure flooded his body. He bucked his hips, trying to get more pressure where he needed it, but John held his hips down and continued to lick and bite at his nipple. Finally, he raised his head. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that," he said.
"Probably as long as I've wanted you to," Rodney answered, and then John's hands were busy between them, unbuckling his own pants and shoving the scrubs that Rodney still wore down, so their cocks brushed together. Rodney gasped. "Yes, please," he said.
John smiled. "So, all I have to do to get you to be polite is touch your cock?" he said. "I'll have to remember that on missions." And then they were grinding together, and whatever Rodney had been planning to say in response was lost in John's mouth.
It was only after they'd made a quite satisfying mess of the bed and each other that Rodney realized he had no idea what had brought this on. He'd wanted Sheppard for a long time, but had long since relegated him to the "Not a chance in hell" pile. He was afraid to ask, but he had to know. "John? Why now?"
"Because, the next time it might not be a sprained ankle." John said.
Rodney could only pull him in and hold him tight.
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