Fic: Blind Man's Bluff
Jul. 28th, 2006 12:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
trinityofoneNow, watch Trin perform the impressive feat of, having asked for porn prompts, produce…not porn. Ooops?
Short fluff. Someday I will return to writing something with some actual substance to it. I hope.
Title: Blind Man’s Bluff
Rating: PG
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Length: ~1600 words
Summary: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
slodwick. They tied the blindfold tight around the back of Teyla’s head.
Blind Man’s Bluff
They tied the blindfold tight around the back of Teyla’s head and spun her, passing her from person to person like a feather or a leaf whisked from object to object by a persistent but gentle breeze. Her hair whirled above her shoulders, burnished like precious metal in the firelight. Her mouth was open, lips parted in laughter, and when she came to rest, they parted even further in anticipation.
It was Sheppard who held her. This Rodney had not anticipated. He should have. Almost every other girl who taken a spin that night—half ceremony, half amusement—had somehow found their way into Sheppard’s arms. He had, Rodney supposed, been a “good sport”: taking each one into his arms and kissing her like she was the only one. To have been held by him, to matter. Nothing looked stilted or clichéd; if Sheppard had any signature “moves,” Rodney never caught a glimpse of them. Every kiss was perfect, and beautiful, and unique.
Rodney hadn’t been spun yet, but he was beginning to feel a little sick.
Sheppard hesitated a moment longer with Teyla than he had with the other girls. But that just added to it, made this kiss separate and special, as all the other kisses had been separate and special. And it was something special, all right, Rodney thought: watching Sheppard’s strong, capable hands close around Teyla’s strong, powerful arms, and watching them come together, raised mouth to lowered one. Logically, Rodney knew that the kiss lasted not significantly longer than any of the others, if it was even the longest at all, but Rodney could feel the intimacy of it, the closeness, even from across the circle. All those other girls had been strangers; Sheppard and Teyla knew each other.
Indeed: the kiss broke and Teyla murmured, “John?”—amused and pleased, her blindfold not yet off. She sounded relaxed and happy, and when Sheppard loosened the soft whisper of cloth so that it fell lightly around her throat, her smile grew broader still.
“Hey,” Sheppard said.
Teyla answered only by drawing Sheppard’s forehead down to hers, then fading gracefully back into the crowd.
It was Ronon’s turn next. He’d done some kissing already that evening, of several pliant and pleased young girls, and once of a rather surprised and subsequently squeaky young man. Teyla, along with her recent foray into the circle’s center, had also bestowed kisses on a few of the locals, favoring some with gentle brushes of lips and others with more intimate movements of lips and tongue. There was one pretty girl with flowers in her hair whom Teyla had so favored, and it was a memory that Rodney planned to treasure and pour over in much greater detail later. But there was no kiss that Rodney could remember that had looked as comfortable and as true as Sheppard kissing Teyla.
Take, for example, the skinny youth who had just now found himself with an armful of Ronon. Ronon had to have at least a foot on him, but the young man gamely went up on his tiptoes, and with a surprisingly sure hand, brought Ronon’s mouth down to his. Ronon responded with an eagerness that surprised Rodney: gripping the youth by his waist and pulling him tighter. Rodney wondered if Ronon knew it was a man he was kissing, and whether his eyes were open or closed beneath the blindfold.
Ronon and the boy had begun rubbing up against each other, jerky and almost desperate, when they finally had to break for air. By the unspoken rules of the game, the boy had to abort his attempt to dive back in for more and pull the blindfold free of Ronon’s dreads. Rodney waited to see how Ronon would react once he saw who he’d been kissing, but his more logical mind already knew the answer. Ronon’s lips spread into a wide grin. He and the boy left the circle together.
Rodney swallowed. The game was breaking up, more and more people looking to find again the hands of those whose arms they had fumbled into earlier that evening. But the village elders had half-requested, half-jokingly coaxed the team to close out the evening by each taking a turn, and Rodney had yet to go. Sheppard hadn’t spun yet, either.
Nor was he moving forward to. Rodney sighed; of course Sheppard had to take the most dramatic position, but that was fine, just fine—Rodney wanted to get it over with, anyway. All damn night he had stood there, surrounded by pretty girls and (if he was entirely honest) handsome men, and not once had he been kissed. Not once.
He moved to the center of the circle. The blindfold was tied—“Not too tight! You’ll cut off circulation to my, um...”—and the hands gripped him, began to spin him round. “Gently!” he said. “I have a sensitive stomach!” He heard a laugh; it sounded like Sheppard’s.
Round and round; even though he couldn’t see a thing through the blindfold, not more than the vaguest fiery glow, he found himself squeezing shut his eyes. Then the hands fell away, and Rodney swayed. His hands moved out, groping, blindly. Wildly, he imagined that everyone had gone away, as one dispersed and left him—alone, wandering in the dark. With no one, no one to—
His hands closed over the light fabric of what he thought (hoped) was a dress. A woman’s (?) really rather bony shoulders, but that was okay: he just wanted... But it was up to her, now. Silently, blindly, he waited.
Warm lips, gently pressing: soft like a butterfly, a kiss on his cheek.
The woman drew back. Rodney’s heart sank like a stone, and stayed down, even when the blindfold was removed and he saw that he had found one of the village elders, an old woman with kind eyes and a soft smile. She patted him gently on the cheek where her lips had brushed just a moment before. Numbly, Rodney slunk back to his place in the circle. When he thought about it later, he’d hope that he had favored her in turn with a smile and not a sneer.
Last, last but not least: Sheppard’s turn. Rodney sighed heavily, crossing his arms over his chest, waiting. Sheppard’s grin, as they tied the blindfold, as they sent him spinning, was bemused with an odd hint of wariness; Rodney blinked, and then even that was gone. Sheppard whirled around like a dancer, like a perfectly balanced top. Where he stops nobody knows, Rodney thought, staring out at the circle of smiling faces. Eager girls and boys, every one hungering for just...one...touch...
Rodney’s warm sleeping bag was waiting for him. His sleeping bag and the half a powerbar he’d so diligently saved. His laptop was fully charged, and with Ronon otherwise occupied and Sheppard almost sure to be, he could probably even get some work done without anyone yelling at him to shut up, shut down, and go to sleep. Just a few more minutes—seconds even—and this would be done. Rodney remembered the gently dark oblivion of the blindfold—peaceful, almost—and closed his eyes, and waited for Sheppard to finish and vanish and leave him alone.
His eyes were closed, and with them, his other senses, apparently, because he saw nothing, and heard nothing, and very nearly felt nothing until strong hands suddenly anchored themselves to his shoulders. He should have shuddered and started back, should have felt his eyes fly open in surprise. Instead he squeezed them shut even tighter, brave in the darkness. And knowing, a skilled navigator, too. Unerringly, he lifted his head and found the ready lips, lips that laughed in surprise and pleasure before happily parting and letting him in. John tasted like himself, pure and untouched by anything else; Rodney would recognize him anywhere, in the darkest reaches of space and here and now, building their own bright stars.
Eventually Rodney had to gasp and pull back, but John once again exhibited a unique tenacity, refusing to let go. In the firelight, his lips looked swollen and glossy, and Rodney, his eyes open now—his eyes open now—found himself carefully kissing the corner of John’s mouth, then pressing another kiss, careful again but all-encompassing, learning the shape of John’s mouth, knowing it as he had known the taste: by thorough, theoretical study, by instinct.
John was still blindfolded, was still bound, and they were breaking the rules—were breaking all the rules. But Rodney didn’t care. The game was over; they weren’t playing anymore.
They kissed, and Rodney felt the noise and the weight of the circle fading away—everyone leaving or just ceasing to matter, it didn’t matter. What mattered was John’s big, blind grin. “I knew, no matter how far they flung me, that I’d end up here.”
Rodney had known no such thing, held no such confidence. If he closed his eyes, there would still be the afterimage: Sheppard with his arms around one girl, then another, while Rodney stood alone. “Are you sure this is what you want?”
John found Rodney’s mouth again with unerring accuracy. He kissed him, soft and gentle and sure. “Hell yes.”
“How can you know?” Rodney asked, actually sounding less incredulous than he felt. John couldn’t see the nose in front of his face; how could he fully see, fully understand, all there was to this?
Nevertheless, “I can see it,” John said. And when Rodney snorted, “I can feel it, Rodney.” Rubbing his hands up and down Rodney’s arms, lowering his lips, “I can feel it.
“Come on,” John said, kissing him. “Trust me.” And after a moment, a long, sweet moment during which the fire flickered and died, and above them, the stars blinked and twirled: Rodney closed his eyes. He closed his eyes, and he felt it, too.
Short fluff. Someday I will return to writing something with some actual substance to it. I hope.
Title: Blind Man’s Bluff
Rating: PG
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Length: ~1600 words
Summary: For
slodwick. They tied the blindfold tight around the back of Teyla’s head.Blind Man’s Bluff
They tied the blindfold tight around the back of Teyla’s head and spun her, passing her from person to person like a feather or a leaf whisked from object to object by a persistent but gentle breeze. Her hair whirled above her shoulders, burnished like precious metal in the firelight. Her mouth was open, lips parted in laughter, and when she came to rest, they parted even further in anticipation.
It was Sheppard who held her. This Rodney had not anticipated. He should have. Almost every other girl who taken a spin that night—half ceremony, half amusement—had somehow found their way into Sheppard’s arms. He had, Rodney supposed, been a “good sport”: taking each one into his arms and kissing her like she was the only one. To have been held by him, to matter. Nothing looked stilted or clichéd; if Sheppard had any signature “moves,” Rodney never caught a glimpse of them. Every kiss was perfect, and beautiful, and unique.
Rodney hadn’t been spun yet, but he was beginning to feel a little sick.
Sheppard hesitated a moment longer with Teyla than he had with the other girls. But that just added to it, made this kiss separate and special, as all the other kisses had been separate and special. And it was something special, all right, Rodney thought: watching Sheppard’s strong, capable hands close around Teyla’s strong, powerful arms, and watching them come together, raised mouth to lowered one. Logically, Rodney knew that the kiss lasted not significantly longer than any of the others, if it was even the longest at all, but Rodney could feel the intimacy of it, the closeness, even from across the circle. All those other girls had been strangers; Sheppard and Teyla knew each other.
Indeed: the kiss broke and Teyla murmured, “John?”—amused and pleased, her blindfold not yet off. She sounded relaxed and happy, and when Sheppard loosened the soft whisper of cloth so that it fell lightly around her throat, her smile grew broader still.
“Hey,” Sheppard said.
Teyla answered only by drawing Sheppard’s forehead down to hers, then fading gracefully back into the crowd.
It was Ronon’s turn next. He’d done some kissing already that evening, of several pliant and pleased young girls, and once of a rather surprised and subsequently squeaky young man. Teyla, along with her recent foray into the circle’s center, had also bestowed kisses on a few of the locals, favoring some with gentle brushes of lips and others with more intimate movements of lips and tongue. There was one pretty girl with flowers in her hair whom Teyla had so favored, and it was a memory that Rodney planned to treasure and pour over in much greater detail later. But there was no kiss that Rodney could remember that had looked as comfortable and as true as Sheppard kissing Teyla.
Take, for example, the skinny youth who had just now found himself with an armful of Ronon. Ronon had to have at least a foot on him, but the young man gamely went up on his tiptoes, and with a surprisingly sure hand, brought Ronon’s mouth down to his. Ronon responded with an eagerness that surprised Rodney: gripping the youth by his waist and pulling him tighter. Rodney wondered if Ronon knew it was a man he was kissing, and whether his eyes were open or closed beneath the blindfold.
Ronon and the boy had begun rubbing up against each other, jerky and almost desperate, when they finally had to break for air. By the unspoken rules of the game, the boy had to abort his attempt to dive back in for more and pull the blindfold free of Ronon’s dreads. Rodney waited to see how Ronon would react once he saw who he’d been kissing, but his more logical mind already knew the answer. Ronon’s lips spread into a wide grin. He and the boy left the circle together.
Rodney swallowed. The game was breaking up, more and more people looking to find again the hands of those whose arms they had fumbled into earlier that evening. But the village elders had half-requested, half-jokingly coaxed the team to close out the evening by each taking a turn, and Rodney had yet to go. Sheppard hadn’t spun yet, either.
Nor was he moving forward to. Rodney sighed; of course Sheppard had to take the most dramatic position, but that was fine, just fine—Rodney wanted to get it over with, anyway. All damn night he had stood there, surrounded by pretty girls and (if he was entirely honest) handsome men, and not once had he been kissed. Not once.
He moved to the center of the circle. The blindfold was tied—“Not too tight! You’ll cut off circulation to my, um...”—and the hands gripped him, began to spin him round. “Gently!” he said. “I have a sensitive stomach!” He heard a laugh; it sounded like Sheppard’s.
Round and round; even though he couldn’t see a thing through the blindfold, not more than the vaguest fiery glow, he found himself squeezing shut his eyes. Then the hands fell away, and Rodney swayed. His hands moved out, groping, blindly. Wildly, he imagined that everyone had gone away, as one dispersed and left him—alone, wandering in the dark. With no one, no one to—
His hands closed over the light fabric of what he thought (hoped) was a dress. A woman’s (?) really rather bony shoulders, but that was okay: he just wanted... But it was up to her, now. Silently, blindly, he waited.
Warm lips, gently pressing: soft like a butterfly, a kiss on his cheek.
The woman drew back. Rodney’s heart sank like a stone, and stayed down, even when the blindfold was removed and he saw that he had found one of the village elders, an old woman with kind eyes and a soft smile. She patted him gently on the cheek where her lips had brushed just a moment before. Numbly, Rodney slunk back to his place in the circle. When he thought about it later, he’d hope that he had favored her in turn with a smile and not a sneer.
Last, last but not least: Sheppard’s turn. Rodney sighed heavily, crossing his arms over his chest, waiting. Sheppard’s grin, as they tied the blindfold, as they sent him spinning, was bemused with an odd hint of wariness; Rodney blinked, and then even that was gone. Sheppard whirled around like a dancer, like a perfectly balanced top. Where he stops nobody knows, Rodney thought, staring out at the circle of smiling faces. Eager girls and boys, every one hungering for just...one...touch...
Rodney’s warm sleeping bag was waiting for him. His sleeping bag and the half a powerbar he’d so diligently saved. His laptop was fully charged, and with Ronon otherwise occupied and Sheppard almost sure to be, he could probably even get some work done without anyone yelling at him to shut up, shut down, and go to sleep. Just a few more minutes—seconds even—and this would be done. Rodney remembered the gently dark oblivion of the blindfold—peaceful, almost—and closed his eyes, and waited for Sheppard to finish and vanish and leave him alone.
His eyes were closed, and with them, his other senses, apparently, because he saw nothing, and heard nothing, and very nearly felt nothing until strong hands suddenly anchored themselves to his shoulders. He should have shuddered and started back, should have felt his eyes fly open in surprise. Instead he squeezed them shut even tighter, brave in the darkness. And knowing, a skilled navigator, too. Unerringly, he lifted his head and found the ready lips, lips that laughed in surprise and pleasure before happily parting and letting him in. John tasted like himself, pure and untouched by anything else; Rodney would recognize him anywhere, in the darkest reaches of space and here and now, building their own bright stars.
Eventually Rodney had to gasp and pull back, but John once again exhibited a unique tenacity, refusing to let go. In the firelight, his lips looked swollen and glossy, and Rodney, his eyes open now—his eyes open now—found himself carefully kissing the corner of John’s mouth, then pressing another kiss, careful again but all-encompassing, learning the shape of John’s mouth, knowing it as he had known the taste: by thorough, theoretical study, by instinct.
John was still blindfolded, was still bound, and they were breaking the rules—were breaking all the rules. But Rodney didn’t care. The game was over; they weren’t playing anymore.
They kissed, and Rodney felt the noise and the weight of the circle fading away—everyone leaving or just ceasing to matter, it didn’t matter. What mattered was John’s big, blind grin. “I knew, no matter how far they flung me, that I’d end up here.”
Rodney had known no such thing, held no such confidence. If he closed his eyes, there would still be the afterimage: Sheppard with his arms around one girl, then another, while Rodney stood alone. “Are you sure this is what you want?”
John found Rodney’s mouth again with unerring accuracy. He kissed him, soft and gentle and sure. “Hell yes.”
“How can you know?” Rodney asked, actually sounding less incredulous than he felt. John couldn’t see the nose in front of his face; how could he fully see, fully understand, all there was to this?
Nevertheless, “I can see it,” John said. And when Rodney snorted, “I can feel it, Rodney.” Rubbing his hands up and down Rodney’s arms, lowering his lips, “I can feel it.
“Come on,” John said, kissing him. “Trust me.” And after a moment, a long, sweet moment during which the fire flickered and died, and above them, the stars blinked and twirled: Rodney closed his eyes. He closed his eyes, and he felt it, too.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-29 01:43 am (UTC)I loved this in particular:
and Rodney, his eyes open now—his eyes open now—