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eretriaThis one is all ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
auburnnothenna's. Completely an entirely hers. To quote: "Just remember, it's really mine. Miiiiiiine, precioussssss." Well. She asked me to write her sunburned John. And apparently, writing vignettes is easier than working on stories that are in the sad status of WiP for several months now, so ...
Title: Everybody's free (to wear sunscreen)
Author:eretria
Disclaimer: No money gained or wanted from/for writing this.
Genre: Gen, team
Spoilers: None
Summary: Everybody's free to wear sunscreen. Only, some people tend to ignore the best advices. Namely if their name is John Sheppard.
Beta-read:murron
Everybody's free (to wear sunscreen)
"Rodney," John says, and it is not, not at all, not even a little bit of a whine. He knows when he made a mistake, and he doesn't need Rodney walking around him in circles, humming under his breath, and muttering a gleeful "I told you so" again and again.
Okay, so maybe he should have gone for some of Rodney's sunscreen before they walked across the open plains. Ronon had his own stuff, and Teyla smells like Rodney, cocoa butter and all. However, John had decided that he wouldn't need any of Rodney's home-made sunscreen for extra lily white skin. Pansy, he had thought. Actually, he is still thinking it.
Only, Rodney is a smart pansy. And not suffering a sunburn from hell on every bit of his skin that hadn't been covered by clothes.
The light from the villages oil-lamps flickers over Teyla's smooth coffee-and-cream skin as she talks to one of the villages women, indicating John once. John fights the urge to turn away, forces himself to smile instead.
Which is a monumentally bad idea, because his entire face, hot and itchy, feels as though it's a mask that's about to come apart at the seams. He drops his head to his chest and hisses.
Rodney hums. "I t--"
"One more 'I told you so', Rodney, and I'll make you eat your damn sunscreen," John tells the dry grass on the ground between his feet. His hands flex on his knees.
"I was going to get you something to relieve the burning, but if you want to play difficult, fine, not my pr --"
John's hand shoots forward and curls around Rodney's leg. "--oblem," Rodney finishes on a squeak.
"Then do it. But no more talking. No more hints, no more jibes, no more random lobster references, are we clear?" He knows he is being unfair, but, god, Rodney had been unbelievably smug and annoying all the way through the forest and into the village. He ows John for the lack of sympathy. Big time.
Teyla's soft, barely audible steps return. She often reverts back to her Athosian boots, and those make her near perfect at stealth. She has once confessed to him that she thought of their combat boots as loud and cumbersome. Teyla and Rodney speak a few words John didn't understand from where he sat, then Rodney's heavier steps return to John's side. The breeze carries the scent of cocoa butter.
A rustle of fabric suggests that Rodney is crouching in front of John.
"All right. Shall we?"
An odd smell reaches John's nose. Oddly strong, very animal, very much like ... a goat.
John blinks his eyes open and raises his head so he can look at what Rodney holds in his hands. He frowns, once more regretting the facial expression as the skin pulls tight over his bones. In the dim light of the oil-lamps, John sees an earthenware bowl in Rodney's hands, with a milky white content.
"What is that?"
"It is the sour milk product of a nntah, Colonel," Teyla explains from the porch of the house they'll be sleeping in tonight.
Rodney leans forward, adding: "It's a goat. With very long hair, and about the size of a small cow, but believe me, from the smell? It's a goat."
There really is no reason for Rodney to be so gleeful about this, unless ...
"No."
"What?"
"No, McKay. You're not putting that stuff on me."
"Think of it as a spa day," Rodney suggests in a very helpful tone of voice.
"My skin is about to fall off my face, I don't think a spa day would help!"
"Shut up and raise your head."
That gets John's attention, his old ingrained reflexes coming to the front again. He straightens.
"Much better," Rodney comments, and really, John is so very glad that Rodney approves. He'd roll his eyes if even that wouldn't be painful. Damn sunlight.
"Now, keep your eyes closed."
"I swear to you, McKay --"
"You will make me eat the sunscreen, my boots and will take away all my chocolate as well as my cookie privileges, yes, Colonel. No need to wrack your brain for more creative threats."
Rodney doesn't speak anymore after that. He gets to work, careful and slow. A dab of the cool, cream-like goat's milk to John’s nose, a brush over his cheekbones and forehead, another on his chin. More brushing touches; careful, fleeting and unbelievably soothing. The sour-milk stuff smells awful, and John keeps complaining about it, but it really does work wonders on his abused skin. The coolness is a blessing.
John loses himself in the pleasant cool and the hypnotic sweep of Rodney's fingers on his face. Somewhere behind them, Ronon and Teyla are talking. Teyla's sudden laugh is silvery in the balmy evening air.
It's in that very moment that Rodney sits back, saying: "There."
Teyla is still laughing. So is Ronon, his bass almost drowning out the sound of Teyla's lighter voice.
"Well done, Rodney," she says, her voice vibrating with mirth.
Something unpleasant settles in John's stomach. "McKay?" John opens his eyes slowly. Sees Rodney trying hard to look perfectly innocent, only he can't fight the bouncing.
"McKay?" He can narrow his eyes now, if only marginally. Rodney is unfazed by it. Bastard.
"Yes, Colonel?"
"Give me your mirror."
"You should talk to Heightmeyer about your vanity issues, Co--"
"Now," John thunders.
Rodney reaches into the top pocket of his tac-vest, producing a small, handheld mirror with a flourish. "There you go, princess."
John glares at Rodney, snatches the mirror from his fingers. Ronon and Teyla are laughing louder now. Even Rodney has started sniggering.
John knows why when he looks into the mirror. He smells like a goat and looks like a Cherokee on the warpath.
He will kill Rodney. In many creative ways.
For now, he snatches the bowl from Rodney, pushes his entire hand inside , then shoves his sour-milk smeared hand into Rodney's unsuspecting face. Rodney is so startled he shrieks almost half a minute later.
John grins at him, all teeth.
Behind them, Teyla's laugh rises into the night sky.
auburnnothenna's. Completely an entirely hers. To quote: "Just remember, it's really mine. Miiiiiiine, precioussssss." Well. She asked me to write her sunburned John. And apparently, writing vignettes is easier than working on stories that are in the sad status of WiP for several months now, so ...Title: Everybody's free (to wear sunscreen)
Author:
eretriaDisclaimer: No money gained or wanted from/for writing this.
Genre: Gen, team
Spoilers: None
Summary: Everybody's free to wear sunscreen. Only, some people tend to ignore the best advices. Namely if their name is John Sheppard.
Beta-read:
murronEverybody's free (to wear sunscreen)
"Rodney," John says, and it is not, not at all, not even a little bit of a whine. He knows when he made a mistake, and he doesn't need Rodney walking around him in circles, humming under his breath, and muttering a gleeful "I told you so" again and again.
Okay, so maybe he should have gone for some of Rodney's sunscreen before they walked across the open plains. Ronon had his own stuff, and Teyla smells like Rodney, cocoa butter and all. However, John had decided that he wouldn't need any of Rodney's home-made sunscreen for extra lily white skin. Pansy, he had thought. Actually, he is still thinking it.
Only, Rodney is a smart pansy. And not suffering a sunburn from hell on every bit of his skin that hadn't been covered by clothes.
The light from the villages oil-lamps flickers over Teyla's smooth coffee-and-cream skin as she talks to one of the villages women, indicating John once. John fights the urge to turn away, forces himself to smile instead.
Which is a monumentally bad idea, because his entire face, hot and itchy, feels as though it's a mask that's about to come apart at the seams. He drops his head to his chest and hisses.
Rodney hums. "I t--"
"One more 'I told you so', Rodney, and I'll make you eat your damn sunscreen," John tells the dry grass on the ground between his feet. His hands flex on his knees.
"I was going to get you something to relieve the burning, but if you want to play difficult, fine, not my pr --"
John's hand shoots forward and curls around Rodney's leg. "--oblem," Rodney finishes on a squeak.
"Then do it. But no more talking. No more hints, no more jibes, no more random lobster references, are we clear?" He knows he is being unfair, but, god, Rodney had been unbelievably smug and annoying all the way through the forest and into the village. He ows John for the lack of sympathy. Big time.
Teyla's soft, barely audible steps return. She often reverts back to her Athosian boots, and those make her near perfect at stealth. She has once confessed to him that she thought of their combat boots as loud and cumbersome. Teyla and Rodney speak a few words John didn't understand from where he sat, then Rodney's heavier steps return to John's side. The breeze carries the scent of cocoa butter.
A rustle of fabric suggests that Rodney is crouching in front of John.
"All right. Shall we?"
An odd smell reaches John's nose. Oddly strong, very animal, very much like ... a goat.
John blinks his eyes open and raises his head so he can look at what Rodney holds in his hands. He frowns, once more regretting the facial expression as the skin pulls tight over his bones. In the dim light of the oil-lamps, John sees an earthenware bowl in Rodney's hands, with a milky white content.
"What is that?"
"It is the sour milk product of a nntah, Colonel," Teyla explains from the porch of the house they'll be sleeping in tonight.
Rodney leans forward, adding: "It's a goat. With very long hair, and about the size of a small cow, but believe me, from the smell? It's a goat."
There really is no reason for Rodney to be so gleeful about this, unless ...
"No."
"What?"
"No, McKay. You're not putting that stuff on me."
"Think of it as a spa day," Rodney suggests in a very helpful tone of voice.
"My skin is about to fall off my face, I don't think a spa day would help!"
"Shut up and raise your head."
That gets John's attention, his old ingrained reflexes coming to the front again. He straightens.
"Much better," Rodney comments, and really, John is so very glad that Rodney approves. He'd roll his eyes if even that wouldn't be painful. Damn sunlight.
"Now, keep your eyes closed."
"I swear to you, McKay --"
"You will make me eat the sunscreen, my boots and will take away all my chocolate as well as my cookie privileges, yes, Colonel. No need to wrack your brain for more creative threats."
Rodney doesn't speak anymore after that. He gets to work, careful and slow. A dab of the cool, cream-like goat's milk to John’s nose, a brush over his cheekbones and forehead, another on his chin. More brushing touches; careful, fleeting and unbelievably soothing. The sour-milk stuff smells awful, and John keeps complaining about it, but it really does work wonders on his abused skin. The coolness is a blessing.
John loses himself in the pleasant cool and the hypnotic sweep of Rodney's fingers on his face. Somewhere behind them, Ronon and Teyla are talking. Teyla's sudden laugh is silvery in the balmy evening air.
It's in that very moment that Rodney sits back, saying: "There."
Teyla is still laughing. So is Ronon, his bass almost drowning out the sound of Teyla's lighter voice.
"Well done, Rodney," she says, her voice vibrating with mirth.
Something unpleasant settles in John's stomach. "McKay?" John opens his eyes slowly. Sees Rodney trying hard to look perfectly innocent, only he can't fight the bouncing.
"McKay?" He can narrow his eyes now, if only marginally. Rodney is unfazed by it. Bastard.
"Yes, Colonel?"
"Give me your mirror."
"You should talk to Heightmeyer about your vanity issues, Co--"
"Now," John thunders.
Rodney reaches into the top pocket of his tac-vest, producing a small, handheld mirror with a flourish. "There you go, princess."
John glares at Rodney, snatches the mirror from his fingers. Ronon and Teyla are laughing louder now. Even Rodney has started sniggering.
John knows why when he looks into the mirror. He smells like a goat and looks like a Cherokee on the warpath.
He will kill Rodney. In many creative ways.
For now, he snatches the bowl from Rodney, pushes his entire hand inside , then shoves his sour-milk smeared hand into Rodney's unsuspecting face. Rodney is so startled he shrieks almost half a minute later.
John grins at him, all teeth.
Behind them, Teyla's laugh rises into the night sky.
fin
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-03-02 08:09 pm (UTC)I need to say again: MINE.
Oh, and: MINE!
no subject
Date: 2007-03-02 10:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-03-02 10:32 pm (UTC)I am filled with team!love right now.
no subject
Date: 2007-03-02 10:33 pm (UTC)I think Rodney would have taken such good care to make sure John looked like a proper native American on the warpath ...
;o)
no subject
Date: 2007-03-02 10:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-03-02 10:37 pm (UTC)Of course, yours. All yours. It has a tattoo saying: Property of the wifey. Can't you see it?
It also came tied with a ribbon and delivered at your doorstep.
As you can see, I did not hide John in my office. Well, not for long, anyway.
no subject
Date: 2007-03-02 10:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-03-02 10:44 pm (UTC)This is exactly how it wold have hapened and Team!love! John will totally get his own back one day. He can be comforted in that fact :D
no subject
Date: 2007-03-02 10:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-03-02 10:45 pm (UTC)Thank you!
no subject
Date: 2007-03-02 10:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-03-02 11:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-03-02 11:23 pm (UTC)Too bad John didn't get sunburned while wearing cut-off jeans and sleaping on his front, so that Rodney absolutely had to smear the yogurt all . . . the way .. . up . . . his thighs.
Too bad.
no subject
Date: 2007-03-03 12:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-03-03 07:24 am (UTC)Sneaky Rodney and laughing Teyla will get me every time.
no subject
Date: 2007-03-03 03:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-03-03 06:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-03-04 06:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-03-04 07:25 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-03-04 08:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-03-04 08:12 pm (UTC)Unusual Revenge? This sounds ominous, but also very very welcome.
no subject
Date: 2007-03-05 12:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-03-05 01:47 pm (UTC)Also? *snort* Murron suggested John getting burned while surfing. You people have such one track minds, don't you? ;o)
no subject
Date: 2007-03-05 01:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-03-05 01:52 pm (UTC)Glad you enjyoed, and thank you for commenting!
no subject
Date: 2007-03-05 01:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-03-05 01:56 pm (UTC)But, John is plotting already. It's a long drawn-out plan that will require lots of preparation.
Glad you enjoyed the story!
no subject
Date: 2007-03-05 01:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-03-05 01:57 pm (UTC)