a2e04: duet | close to the line, g, (4m 15s)
“Lieutenant,” John says again, fingernails biting into his wrist where he’s still holding it behind his back. “I know, I know—you’re Colonel Cool,” Cadman says, almost singsongs. “I’m just saying—I think he’s more than fine with it.”
fic and art by @dedkake. Podlet recorded for the SGA fanart only server second birthday bash.
s2e03: Runner | coming apart, t, (3m 54s)
John curls his hands into fists. He wants to find Caldwell and punch his teeth in—wants Caldwell on the mission to see if he can pull the trigger—wants Caldwell to come around the corner and see this. Turning his face, John brushes his lips against the skin of McKay’s neck, just like he’s imagined doing for the past year.
fic and art by @dedkake. Podlet recorded for the SGA fanart only server second birthday bash.
s2e02: the intruder | breaking point, t, (2m 30seconds)
“Time for a checkup with Beckett,” Sheppard says, bumping at Rodney’s bunk with his knee. Repeatedly. “Wants to confirm that we’re not burnt to a crisp. Or melting. Or completely irradiated. Something like that.”
fic and art by @dedkake. Podlet recorded for the SGA fanart only server second birthday bash.
McShep drabble based on that quote I sent you by text because Tumblr was being a jerk gogogoogogoogogoogo
Being quiet has never, ever been something that comes easy to Rodney. Even as far back as elementary school, his report cards would come back with teacher comments that boiled down to "he's smart, but good lord he won't shut up." He can't help himself—he gets anxious, feels the need to prove himself, feels ignored, feels any number of things, and his first response is to open his mouth. He knows that it drives people off, marks him as too much, as weird or off-putting or just plain rude, but it's never been something he could help. That is, until John. The two of them can talk for hours, of course, and Rodney's pretty sure that John's spoken an order of magnitude more words to him than he has to anyone else in his entire life, but when the talk trickles away, when it's just the two of them with their legs dangling off the pier, watching the stars of a no longer quite so alien sky, Rodney feels a stillness he's never experienced before. The impulse to fill the space between them with meaningless chatter doesn't make itself known: instead, it's as though the quiet allows Rodney to hear the words that aren't—that can't be—spoken aloud. The sound of the waves crashing gently against the city, the aluminum crunch of the beer can in John's hand, and while Rodney hears things like I couldn't do any of this without you, he hopes John's hearing I care more about you than I ever thought I could feel for another person in the sound of Rodney's breathing, in the warmth of his knee where it splays against John's.
