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sabinelagrandeTitle: Chloroquine
Summary: The antimalarials are one thing that they got right.
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Word Count: 543
Rating/Contents: PG, (legal) drug use, pre-slash
Pairing: Rodney/John
A/N: For Porn Battle IX. Inspired by various discussions about sex crossing my flist, and sort of obliquely by The Poisonwood Bible. And someday soon, I'm going to write something other than weird, dreamy, stream of consciousness things.
The antimalarials are one thing that they got right, which was a relief after getting so many things wrong; Pegasus is teeming with all sorts of long-vanquished diseases, especially malaria. It probably isn't the exact same parasite that causes malaria on Earth, but Rodney seriously doesn't give a shit, so long as the drugs still kill it.
But, still, it's been six months, and people are starting to stop taking them, presumably because they are idiots. It's not like they're going to run out; they've got enough drugs to last everyone in the expedition for five years, and well, if they haven't made contact with Earth in five years, malaria will be the least of their worries.
Okay, okay, even if they are idiots, Rodney kind of understands, despite himself- the drugs make you hallucinate, and he can see how some people would have a problem with that. But Rodney isn't ever going to stop, for reasons that actually have little to do with prophylaxis, as important as it is, and he isn't ever going to tell anyone why.
Because, every Sunday night, Rodney dutifully pops his pill, and, afterwards, he goes to John's room.
He's pretty sure John doesn't know about his little habit- John takes doxycycline, anyway, some kind of weird division of funding between the military and civilians, Carson tried to explain it to him once and Rodney totally didn't listen at all, the point is, it doesn't have the same side effects- but he always keeps his Sundays open for Rodney anyway.
And so, every week, he sits in John's room and feels the drugs come on, feels the room soften and start to melt around them, until it's just him and John, alone together, and he can finally- maybe, for just a little while- relax.
They play chess, usually, or poker, betting with the same matchsticks that they've been swapping back and forth for months now. They find excuses- maybe Rodney's projecting, maybe he finds excuses, maybe John just comes by it naturally- to touch each other, fingers sliding past one another, lingering when they pass cards or squabble over suspect moves- John cheats, obviously, or he wouldn't be able to beat Rodney so often- and it makes something spark inside Rodney, like maybe all of John's energy is static, like what he is, his essential John-ness can jump over and flow into Rodney. John blushes when it happens, every single time; it always fills Rodney up with warmth, like John's the sun and Rodney's just swallowed him.
Or something.
He's high. Cut him some slack.
The point is that every time is different and new and glorious, every time is the best time, every time is better than mundane things- like dating and sex and what have you- that Rodney has been known to fuck up so very easily.
Some day he's going to reach out and touch all of John, slide their bodies together, lips first, see if every bit of him is just as reactive as the skin of his hands. Or maybe he won't, not ever; maybe he'd rather just keep this and guard it, perfect and discrete and theirs, medicated or not- and if that makes him a junkie, then Rodney doesn't care.
This entry was automagically crossposted from http://sabinetzin.dreamwidth.org/207062.html. Feel free to comment here or there.
Summary: The antimalarials are one thing that they got right.
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Word Count: 543
Rating/Contents: PG, (legal) drug use, pre-slash
Pairing: Rodney/John
A/N: For Porn Battle IX. Inspired by various discussions about sex crossing my flist, and sort of obliquely by The Poisonwood Bible. And someday soon, I'm going to write something other than weird, dreamy, stream of consciousness things.
The antimalarials are one thing that they got right, which was a relief after getting so many things wrong; Pegasus is teeming with all sorts of long-vanquished diseases, especially malaria. It probably isn't the exact same parasite that causes malaria on Earth, but Rodney seriously doesn't give a shit, so long as the drugs still kill it.
But, still, it's been six months, and people are starting to stop taking them, presumably because they are idiots. It's not like they're going to run out; they've got enough drugs to last everyone in the expedition for five years, and well, if they haven't made contact with Earth in five years, malaria will be the least of their worries.
Okay, okay, even if they are idiots, Rodney kind of understands, despite himself- the drugs make you hallucinate, and he can see how some people would have a problem with that. But Rodney isn't ever going to stop, for reasons that actually have little to do with prophylaxis, as important as it is, and he isn't ever going to tell anyone why.
Because, every Sunday night, Rodney dutifully pops his pill, and, afterwards, he goes to John's room.
He's pretty sure John doesn't know about his little habit- John takes doxycycline, anyway, some kind of weird division of funding between the military and civilians, Carson tried to explain it to him once and Rodney totally didn't listen at all, the point is, it doesn't have the same side effects- but he always keeps his Sundays open for Rodney anyway.
And so, every week, he sits in John's room and feels the drugs come on, feels the room soften and start to melt around them, until it's just him and John, alone together, and he can finally- maybe, for just a little while- relax.
They play chess, usually, or poker, betting with the same matchsticks that they've been swapping back and forth for months now. They find excuses- maybe Rodney's projecting, maybe he finds excuses, maybe John just comes by it naturally- to touch each other, fingers sliding past one another, lingering when they pass cards or squabble over suspect moves- John cheats, obviously, or he wouldn't be able to beat Rodney so often- and it makes something spark inside Rodney, like maybe all of John's energy is static, like what he is, his essential John-ness can jump over and flow into Rodney. John blushes when it happens, every single time; it always fills Rodney up with warmth, like John's the sun and Rodney's just swallowed him.
Or something.
He's high. Cut him some slack.
The point is that every time is different and new and glorious, every time is the best time, every time is better than mundane things- like dating and sex and what have you- that Rodney has been known to fuck up so very easily.
Some day he's going to reach out and touch all of John, slide their bodies together, lips first, see if every bit of him is just as reactive as the skin of his hands. Or maybe he won't, not ever; maybe he'd rather just keep this and guard it, perfect and discrete and theirs, medicated or not- and if that makes him a junkie, then Rodney doesn't care.
This entry was automagically crossposted from http://sabinetzin.dreamwidth.org/207062.html. Feel free to comment here or there.
