Fic: Mary Lynne's Revenge
Jul. 11th, 2006 01:28 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
trinityofoneI'm having a very annoying day at work. I just found out that virtually all the copy I've done has been completely rewritten, and is now very generic and boring. What bothers me the most, though, is that I asked the person who was going to be editing me if we could discuss the changes—more so that I could learn from my mistakes than anything else—but she just did it, and now I feel offended and violated and useless. I know, I need to get over myself, but yeesh. I gave her my yogurt yesterday!
*deep breath*
So. More lunchbreak fic.
Title: Mary Lynne’s Revenge
Rating: R
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Length: ~2000 words
Summary: Rodney contemplates chicken, John is a connoisseur, and vengeance is, unexpectedly, sweet.
A/N: Based on this. With many thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
charlidos!
Mary Lynne’s Revenge
“Excuse me?”
Rodney looked up and caught sight of the beautiful woman standing beside him in time to bite back the irritated What? that was his natural response when someone interrupted his thought processes. “Hi,” he said instead, shoulders straightening, chin lifting. “Yes, hello, what can I help you with?”
The woman smiled slyly, blonde hair tumbling over soft shoulders. “Sorry to bother you, but that man who was just with you…your friend?”
Rodney deflated. Typical: Sheppard could be off taking a piss and still manage to pick up women. Rodney started thinking of subtle ways to imply that Sheppard had the space herpes, but before he could come up with anything, the woman continued. “His name wouldn’t be John Sheppard, would it?”
Rodney’s mind switched gears again. “You know him?” Stranger than almost anything that had happened to them on Atlantis was the idea that Sheppard would actually know people back on Earth. He certainly never talked about them.
“We haven’t seen each other in years,” the woman said, delightedly. “But yeah, you could say that John and I know each other.”
Oh, even better. An ex, probably looking to reacquaint herself with Sheppard in more ways than one. Rodney tried to remember why it had struck him as odd a moment ago that Sheppard would have people in his past. Of course he did; in fact, he probably had a whole slew of women who still thought about him occasionally, wistful smiles turning up the corners of their pretty lips.
“So what’s John up to these days?” the woman asked, leaning against the bar and at the very least giving Rodney a nice view. “He still a player?”
Rodney’s swallow of beer went down a little funny. “What?” he said, because as much as he felt the need to rag on Sheppard for it, three hookups (if that—Rodney wasn’t quite sure) in two years wasn’t really all that remarkable.
“Oh, you know John,” the woman said, playfully touching Rodney’s shoulder. Rodney narrowed his eyes at her, beginning to wonder if he did. “He can’t get enough!” The woman leaned closer, pressing red lips next to Rodney’s ear like she was honoring him by sharing some special confidence. “John loves the dick.”
Rodney stuttered and choked. The woman leaned back, grinning. “Well, I have to run! Say hi to John for me!” She slid silkily away.
Rodney’s mind was still offering him other images that he really did not need, but he could see Sheppard at the other end of the bar, emerging from the men’s room. The woman who Rodney had been talking to cut across his path but didn’t pause; Rodney saw her turn and wave merrily at Sheppard before swishing out of the bar. Sheppard’s stride broke, but after a second he continued on in Rodney’s direction, his brow only slightly creased.
He plopped back onto his stool, retaking the spot the woman had vacated. “I’ve heard the expression ‘It’s a small world,’ but even with all this intergalactic travel, it’s getting a little too literal, you know?” Rodney gaped at him. “Uh…” Sheppard reached out and prodded his shoulder. “You okay there, buddy? I wasn’t gone that long, how many did you have?”
Rodney shrugged. He was afraid that if he opened his mouth what would come out would be, So, do you really love dick, or are you just casually acquainted?
Luckily Sheppard was distracted, eying the rest of the bar’s patrons uneasily. “Hey,” he said, “what do you say we get out of here? Get something to eat, maybe? That hot dog stand on the corner’s actually supposed to be really good.”
Rodney’s brain, ever helpful, stepped in to supply him with a 3D Technicolor surround-sound presentation of Sheppard eating a hot dog, his lips stretching rosy around the rod of meat, his eyes closing and his cheeks hollowing out, low moans escaping from the back of his throat. “Uh…”
Sheppard sighed. “Or we could just go back to the hotel. Playing tourist isn’t as exciting as I remembered.”
Rodney nodded and followed Sheppard out of the bar. He had to say something. If he didn’t start talking soon—about anything—Sheppard was going to think he was having a particularly slow-moving allergic reaction and attack him with an EpiPen.
He wracked his brain. Rodney was usually incredibly skilled at controlling a dozen different trains of though, switching tracks easily and readily. But now all trains but one had been derailed. Dick, Rodney thought. John. Dick. Loves the dick. Loves cock. John loves cock.
“Chicken!” Rodney declared. He was pretty sure he’d meant to say something else.
Sheppard shrugged, the tight fabric of his shirt stretching, moving with the clench of his muscles. “You want some chicken? Okay.” He unlocked the car. “I’m pretty sure I saw a KFC somewhere near here.”
Rodney’s fingers scrambled on the door handle and after a moment he jerked it open. “I don’t want KFC!” he snapped.
Sheppard gave him a look that was either vaguely affectionate or extremely condescending. “Well, I don’t think you’re going to find anything better at this time of night.”
Sheppard was sitting just a few inches away from him, separated—physically, at least—by nothing more than the annoying rise of the gearbox. “I’m really not hungry,” Rodney said absently. After a few seconds’ lull he added, “For food.”
“Uh…” said Sheppard.
Rodney resisted the urge to bash his head against the glove compartment. He also refrained from following the next option his shockingly unhelpful brain supplied: crowing, You love dick! I have a dick! What a coincidence! Because Sheppard wasn’t looking at him like someone who even liked dick okay—once in a while, maybe, for variety. He looked like someone whose drunk friend was making him very, very uncomfortable.
Rodney sat back, folding his arms over his chest. “I’m tired. Take me back.”
Sheppard gave him another strange look, but as awkward as things were, Rodney knew that everything would be forgotten by morning, because as Sheppard started the car, he put on a truly terrible British accent and said, “Yes, sir. It is a pleasure to be of service, sir.”
Rodney swallowed. Hard.
In the parking lot of their hotel, Sheppard found a space in the far corner and shut off the car. He paused with his hand still on the ignition, then leaned back in the chair, looking at Rodney. His tongue swept out and licked over his lips. “Did Mary say something to you?”
“Who’s Mary?” Rodney asked, even though he instantly knew.
“She did!” Sheppard said, a look of horror spreading across his face. “I can’t believe it. It’s been nearly twenty years and that woman…” His eyes had gone dark and narrow. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she showed up on Atlantis one day, in league with the Wraith.”
Rodney felt better now that the subject had so clearly shifted to Sheppard being an idiot—and a melodramatic one, at that. He rolled his eyes. “What did you do to her?”
“I didn’t—“ Sheppard started, then deflated after two seconds. “Okay, so we had a bad break-up.”
He clearly wanted to leave it at that, but Rodney leveled his gaze at him, fixed him with a penetrating stare. Sheppard sighed. “She left me,” he admitted. “I didn’t take it very well. I may have,” he coughed, “said some not very nice things. To her friends.” Another cough. “And her new boyfriend.”
Rodney was actually kind of shocked. Sure, Sheppard could be a bit of a dick—bad, bad word choice—but he was usually really subtle about it. Almost clever, to the point where Rodney found Sheppard’s sly, smiling remarks perversely admirable.
“I was young, okay?” Sheppard said, sounding embarrassed. “I was nineteen, I was confused…”
“Confused?” said Rodney.
Sheppard shrugged it off. “So I told her new boyfriend that she was a slut, that she loved dick. It was juvenile and wrong, but it was half a lifetime ago and—what?”
Rodney had started to laugh, almost hysterically. “You told her new boyfriend that she loved dick?”
Sheppard expelled another frustrated breath. “Yes, Rodney. It was one of my finest moments, which I hope we can revisit frequently. Wait.” He turned his head sharply, suddenly seeming to remember what had brought them to relive it in the first place. “What exactly did she say to you?”
Rodney found it easy, even pleasurable, to say the words now that he knew they meant nothing, were nothing but a lie. He may have felt a pang of regret, but it was crushed under the joyful anticipation of getting to watch Sheppard squirm.
“Well, according to Mary,” he said, “the dick-lover in the relationship was, in fact, you.”
Sheppard did exactly what Rodney expected him to: he snorted and rolled his eyes, dismissing Mary’s comment like the petty attempt at vengeance it was. Only he did it a fraction of a second too late.
Rodney stared at him. “Sheppard…?”
For a second everything was up in the air. Rodney wasn’t sure if Sheppard was going to bolt from the car, or punch Rodney in the mouth, or jump Rodney, or gun the engine and set off after Mary like they were reenacting a scene from Death Race 2000. Then Sheppard took a deep breath and braced his hands on the steering wheel. Staring straight ahead, “There may have been reasons why she left me. A reason.”
“Ah,” said Rodney. He could recognize that this was a delicate situation, and except for when it came to tiny wires and highly explosive materials, Rodney had never been much good at delicacy. “Well,” he said finally, “if it makes you feel better, I like dick, too?”
Sheppard barked a desperate-sounding laugh. “I mean,” said Rodney, hastily, “it’s a perfectly reasonable thing to like! Dicks are very versatile! And enjoyable! Alone or in pairs, I find—“
“Rodney.” Sheppard caught one of Rodney’s gesturing hands and stilled it before Rodney could offer to draw him a diagram, or possibly a pie chart. “I am pleased that this is an interest we share.”
Rodney’s breath caught. “Oh? How pleased? Like, like inviting me up to your room to form a mutual dick appreciation society pleased?”
Sheppard bit down on whatever he’d been about to say. “Will there be buttons? Badges?” He was clearly exerting himself to maintain a straight face.
“There’s a secret handshake!” Rodney promised. He threw back his seatbelt with so much force he nearly broke the window.
“Wait,” Sheppard said, and Rodney wanted to caution him that if he kept this up, Sheppard wasn’t going to be able to appreciate Rodney’s dick at all, because Rodney would die of a heart attack. “There’s something you should know.”
“What? What? We both like dick, we both have dicks, I’m all set here, let’s go!”
“No, Rodney,” Sheppard said, leaning close just like Mary had, only this was better because this was real, this was John. “I don’t just love dick,” John whispered. “I’m a dick connoisseur.”
Rodney leaned back, breathing heavily, and manfully refrained from laughing when John, attempting to suavely cross the car, banged his knee on that damn gearbox. But after that slight misstep, John moved easily into place above him. His hands swept down Rodney’s sides, then in, where with the precision and skill of a true connoisseur, John undid Rodney’s fly.
They stared at each other, breathing in tandem, as John touched Rodney gently through the soft fabric of his boxers. Rodney could feel himself rising, his blood and his heart rate and his thighs straining up under where John had pinned them. He tilted his mouth toward John’s lips, then watched as John’s eyes tracked slowly down.
“I trust you find it aesthetically pleasing?” Rodney said. His voice barely shook.
John gaze flicked back up. Then gradually, so slowly that Rodney could see every millimeter of movement, John’s lips spread into a smile. He looked as relaxed and as confident as he had before Mary had shown up.
No. More.
“On the basis of empirical evidence, I would say so, yes,” John breathed.
He was a cock connoisseur and he talked dirty. Rodney tried not to bliss out.
“Maybe you need more data,” he suggested.
“It does help to observe technique and form,” John admitted. He started to move his hand—sure, lazy strokes.
“Oh, don’t worry,” Rodney said, arching up into John’s touch. “I’m an artist.”
*deep breath*
So. More lunchbreak fic.
Title: Mary Lynne’s Revenge
Rating: R
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Length: ~2000 words
Summary: Rodney contemplates chicken, John is a connoisseur, and vengeance is, unexpectedly, sweet.
A/N: Based on this. With many thanks to
charlidos!Mary Lynne’s Revenge
“Excuse me?”
Rodney looked up and caught sight of the beautiful woman standing beside him in time to bite back the irritated What? that was his natural response when someone interrupted his thought processes. “Hi,” he said instead, shoulders straightening, chin lifting. “Yes, hello, what can I help you with?”
The woman smiled slyly, blonde hair tumbling over soft shoulders. “Sorry to bother you, but that man who was just with you…your friend?”
Rodney deflated. Typical: Sheppard could be off taking a piss and still manage to pick up women. Rodney started thinking of subtle ways to imply that Sheppard had the space herpes, but before he could come up with anything, the woman continued. “His name wouldn’t be John Sheppard, would it?”
Rodney’s mind switched gears again. “You know him?” Stranger than almost anything that had happened to them on Atlantis was the idea that Sheppard would actually know people back on Earth. He certainly never talked about them.
“We haven’t seen each other in years,” the woman said, delightedly. “But yeah, you could say that John and I know each other.”
Oh, even better. An ex, probably looking to reacquaint herself with Sheppard in more ways than one. Rodney tried to remember why it had struck him as odd a moment ago that Sheppard would have people in his past. Of course he did; in fact, he probably had a whole slew of women who still thought about him occasionally, wistful smiles turning up the corners of their pretty lips.
“So what’s John up to these days?” the woman asked, leaning against the bar and at the very least giving Rodney a nice view. “He still a player?”
Rodney’s swallow of beer went down a little funny. “What?” he said, because as much as he felt the need to rag on Sheppard for it, three hookups (if that—Rodney wasn’t quite sure) in two years wasn’t really all that remarkable.
“Oh, you know John,” the woman said, playfully touching Rodney’s shoulder. Rodney narrowed his eyes at her, beginning to wonder if he did. “He can’t get enough!” The woman leaned closer, pressing red lips next to Rodney’s ear like she was honoring him by sharing some special confidence. “John loves the dick.”
Rodney stuttered and choked. The woman leaned back, grinning. “Well, I have to run! Say hi to John for me!” She slid silkily away.
Rodney’s mind was still offering him other images that he really did not need, but he could see Sheppard at the other end of the bar, emerging from the men’s room. The woman who Rodney had been talking to cut across his path but didn’t pause; Rodney saw her turn and wave merrily at Sheppard before swishing out of the bar. Sheppard’s stride broke, but after a second he continued on in Rodney’s direction, his brow only slightly creased.
He plopped back onto his stool, retaking the spot the woman had vacated. “I’ve heard the expression ‘It’s a small world,’ but even with all this intergalactic travel, it’s getting a little too literal, you know?” Rodney gaped at him. “Uh…” Sheppard reached out and prodded his shoulder. “You okay there, buddy? I wasn’t gone that long, how many did you have?”
Rodney shrugged. He was afraid that if he opened his mouth what would come out would be, So, do you really love dick, or are you just casually acquainted?
Luckily Sheppard was distracted, eying the rest of the bar’s patrons uneasily. “Hey,” he said, “what do you say we get out of here? Get something to eat, maybe? That hot dog stand on the corner’s actually supposed to be really good.”
Rodney’s brain, ever helpful, stepped in to supply him with a 3D Technicolor surround-sound presentation of Sheppard eating a hot dog, his lips stretching rosy around the rod of meat, his eyes closing and his cheeks hollowing out, low moans escaping from the back of his throat. “Uh…”
Sheppard sighed. “Or we could just go back to the hotel. Playing tourist isn’t as exciting as I remembered.”
Rodney nodded and followed Sheppard out of the bar. He had to say something. If he didn’t start talking soon—about anything—Sheppard was going to think he was having a particularly slow-moving allergic reaction and attack him with an EpiPen.
He wracked his brain. Rodney was usually incredibly skilled at controlling a dozen different trains of though, switching tracks easily and readily. But now all trains but one had been derailed. Dick, Rodney thought. John. Dick. Loves the dick. Loves cock. John loves cock.
“Chicken!” Rodney declared. He was pretty sure he’d meant to say something else.
Sheppard shrugged, the tight fabric of his shirt stretching, moving with the clench of his muscles. “You want some chicken? Okay.” He unlocked the car. “I’m pretty sure I saw a KFC somewhere near here.”
Rodney’s fingers scrambled on the door handle and after a moment he jerked it open. “I don’t want KFC!” he snapped.
Sheppard gave him a look that was either vaguely affectionate or extremely condescending. “Well, I don’t think you’re going to find anything better at this time of night.”
Sheppard was sitting just a few inches away from him, separated—physically, at least—by nothing more than the annoying rise of the gearbox. “I’m really not hungry,” Rodney said absently. After a few seconds’ lull he added, “For food.”
“Uh…” said Sheppard.
Rodney resisted the urge to bash his head against the glove compartment. He also refrained from following the next option his shockingly unhelpful brain supplied: crowing, You love dick! I have a dick! What a coincidence! Because Sheppard wasn’t looking at him like someone who even liked dick okay—once in a while, maybe, for variety. He looked like someone whose drunk friend was making him very, very uncomfortable.
Rodney sat back, folding his arms over his chest. “I’m tired. Take me back.”
Sheppard gave him another strange look, but as awkward as things were, Rodney knew that everything would be forgotten by morning, because as Sheppard started the car, he put on a truly terrible British accent and said, “Yes, sir. It is a pleasure to be of service, sir.”
Rodney swallowed. Hard.
In the parking lot of their hotel, Sheppard found a space in the far corner and shut off the car. He paused with his hand still on the ignition, then leaned back in the chair, looking at Rodney. His tongue swept out and licked over his lips. “Did Mary say something to you?”
“Who’s Mary?” Rodney asked, even though he instantly knew.
“She did!” Sheppard said, a look of horror spreading across his face. “I can’t believe it. It’s been nearly twenty years and that woman…” His eyes had gone dark and narrow. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she showed up on Atlantis one day, in league with the Wraith.”
Rodney felt better now that the subject had so clearly shifted to Sheppard being an idiot—and a melodramatic one, at that. He rolled his eyes. “What did you do to her?”
“I didn’t—“ Sheppard started, then deflated after two seconds. “Okay, so we had a bad break-up.”
He clearly wanted to leave it at that, but Rodney leveled his gaze at him, fixed him with a penetrating stare. Sheppard sighed. “She left me,” he admitted. “I didn’t take it very well. I may have,” he coughed, “said some not very nice things. To her friends.” Another cough. “And her new boyfriend.”
Rodney was actually kind of shocked. Sure, Sheppard could be a bit of a dick—bad, bad word choice—but he was usually really subtle about it. Almost clever, to the point where Rodney found Sheppard’s sly, smiling remarks perversely admirable.
“I was young, okay?” Sheppard said, sounding embarrassed. “I was nineteen, I was confused…”
“Confused?” said Rodney.
Sheppard shrugged it off. “So I told her new boyfriend that she was a slut, that she loved dick. It was juvenile and wrong, but it was half a lifetime ago and—what?”
Rodney had started to laugh, almost hysterically. “You told her new boyfriend that she loved dick?”
Sheppard expelled another frustrated breath. “Yes, Rodney. It was one of my finest moments, which I hope we can revisit frequently. Wait.” He turned his head sharply, suddenly seeming to remember what had brought them to relive it in the first place. “What exactly did she say to you?”
Rodney found it easy, even pleasurable, to say the words now that he knew they meant nothing, were nothing but a lie. He may have felt a pang of regret, but it was crushed under the joyful anticipation of getting to watch Sheppard squirm.
“Well, according to Mary,” he said, “the dick-lover in the relationship was, in fact, you.”
Sheppard did exactly what Rodney expected him to: he snorted and rolled his eyes, dismissing Mary’s comment like the petty attempt at vengeance it was. Only he did it a fraction of a second too late.
Rodney stared at him. “Sheppard…?”
For a second everything was up in the air. Rodney wasn’t sure if Sheppard was going to bolt from the car, or punch Rodney in the mouth, or jump Rodney, or gun the engine and set off after Mary like they were reenacting a scene from Death Race 2000. Then Sheppard took a deep breath and braced his hands on the steering wheel. Staring straight ahead, “There may have been reasons why she left me. A reason.”
“Ah,” said Rodney. He could recognize that this was a delicate situation, and except for when it came to tiny wires and highly explosive materials, Rodney had never been much good at delicacy. “Well,” he said finally, “if it makes you feel better, I like dick, too?”
Sheppard barked a desperate-sounding laugh. “I mean,” said Rodney, hastily, “it’s a perfectly reasonable thing to like! Dicks are very versatile! And enjoyable! Alone or in pairs, I find—“
“Rodney.” Sheppard caught one of Rodney’s gesturing hands and stilled it before Rodney could offer to draw him a diagram, or possibly a pie chart. “I am pleased that this is an interest we share.”
Rodney’s breath caught. “Oh? How pleased? Like, like inviting me up to your room to form a mutual dick appreciation society pleased?”
Sheppard bit down on whatever he’d been about to say. “Will there be buttons? Badges?” He was clearly exerting himself to maintain a straight face.
“There’s a secret handshake!” Rodney promised. He threw back his seatbelt with so much force he nearly broke the window.
“Wait,” Sheppard said, and Rodney wanted to caution him that if he kept this up, Sheppard wasn’t going to be able to appreciate Rodney’s dick at all, because Rodney would die of a heart attack. “There’s something you should know.”
“What? What? We both like dick, we both have dicks, I’m all set here, let’s go!”
“No, Rodney,” Sheppard said, leaning close just like Mary had, only this was better because this was real, this was John. “I don’t just love dick,” John whispered. “I’m a dick connoisseur.”
Rodney leaned back, breathing heavily, and manfully refrained from laughing when John, attempting to suavely cross the car, banged his knee on that damn gearbox. But after that slight misstep, John moved easily into place above him. His hands swept down Rodney’s sides, then in, where with the precision and skill of a true connoisseur, John undid Rodney’s fly.
They stared at each other, breathing in tandem, as John touched Rodney gently through the soft fabric of his boxers. Rodney could feel himself rising, his blood and his heart rate and his thighs straining up under where John had pinned them. He tilted his mouth toward John’s lips, then watched as John’s eyes tracked slowly down.
“I trust you find it aesthetically pleasing?” Rodney said. His voice barely shook.
John gaze flicked back up. Then gradually, so slowly that Rodney could see every millimeter of movement, John’s lips spread into a smile. He looked as relaxed and as confident as he had before Mary had shown up.
No. More.
“On the basis of empirical evidence, I would say so, yes,” John breathed.
He was a cock connoisseur and he talked dirty. Rodney tried not to bliss out.
“Maybe you need more data,” he suggested.
“It does help to observe technique and form,” John admitted. He started to move his hand—sure, lazy strokes.
“Oh, don’t worry,” Rodney said, arching up into John’s touch. “I’m an artist.”
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-13 01:03 am (UTC)(which, of course, was itself a reference to the Slinky jingle)