out_there | SGA Fic: The Gun Thing

Title: The Gun Thing
Fandom: SGA
Pairing: John/Rodney
Rating: PG
Summary: John fondles, Rodney proves that he has no charm and then there's the gun thing.
Spoilers: None. Set vaguely in the middle of S1.
Disclaimer: I don't own them and I'm not making any money.
Notes:

seperis was waiting for someone to write her pretty John and his weapons kink. I was over-tired and suggestible. Thanks to

celli for betaing and for asking a good question: does Rodney ever wear BDUs on a mission or is it always the science team uniform?

The Gun Thing

Rodney had never believed in political correctness. It tended to get in the way of pointing out little things like efficiency, aptitude and "Oh, my god, you're going to blow us all up!" But, still, he was a relatively liberal kind of guy who held relatively liberal beliefs.

Which didn't explain the gun thing at all.

Yes, guns were necessary. Yes, he preferred it when people on his team were holding them. Yes, he didn't like the idea of being shot, of metal tearing through his body at high velocities and the inevitable blood/pain/death that would result from it. That didn't make guns appealing: it made them dangerous and kind of barbaric.

They certainly weren't fascinating or sexy. They didn't make his mouth go a little dry or his pulse pound a little louder in his temples. They didn't make him glad that BDU pants actually had a lot of room in the crotch.

Well, not unless John was holding them.

With John, it was a completely different matter.

It was long fingers wrapped confidently around the butt of a Beretta, curled around the barrel of P-90. But it wasn't just his hands. (If it was, Rodney would spend more time staring at those fingers every time they slid over an Ancient device, caressing it until it glowed and hummed under John's touch.) It was danger and power, and it was the way John's eyes narrowed when he looked through the sights, the way his entire body stilled and focused as he lined up a shot.

Part of it was the way that John seemed so at ease with weapons hanging off him. Every time they went on a mission, Rodney could feel the weight of the thigh holster, the mass of metal that was there in case of emergencies and ended up being used far too often. But John was comfortable with the P-90 swinging around his neck, with a Wraith stunner tucked under one arm.

He was comfortable sitting in the Jumper, waiting for Teyla and Ford to return, and wiping down the barrel of his P-90 in a truly pornographic way. Which seemed extremely unfair, given the way that it was making Rodney uncomfortable.

Shifting, Rodney thought about preparing grant proposals, and being stuck with archeologists at parties, and what experiments were currently being destroyed by his science team. He wasn't thinking about John's small, careless smile as he slid his hand up and down, up and down, trying to wipe allergy-causing dust off it, trying to make it gleam. He certainly wasn't contrasting that expression to the cold, calculating look he'd given Kolya before he'd shot him over Elizabeth's shoulder.

He was thinking about circuitry, and understanding how the puddlejumpers worked the way they did, and the man had the gall to hum under his breath. "Do you have to do that?"

John looked over and smirked at him, but at least his hands stopped moving. "Do what?"

"That thing," Rodney waved a hand not holding the scanner at John, the gun and that side of the puddlejumper in general, "that thing you do where you're being irritating for the sake of it."

"Breathe?"

"No. I meant the gun and the rubbing and the being ridiculously military. This was a peaceful mission where Teyla introduces us to old family friends. There's no need for you to sit there being all military and Rambo, and, and," Rodney huffed, pointing very specifically at John and his hands, and the gun lying across his lap. "Put the gun down, leave it alone, and sit quietly."

John didn't even do even one of those three things. He shifted on the not-as-hard-as-it-looked bench and stretched his legs in front of him, crossing his ankles. Then he picked up the gun, and the scrap of material he'd gotten from who knew where, and started polishing it again, moving his fingers in the slowest handjob ever.

Rodney gawked. Then his mouth kicked into gear. "I've been around you for the last three hours, so I know you haven't hit your head and suddenly suffered brain damage, but you seem to have lost IQ points somewhere. Put. The Gun. Down."

"No."

"No?"

"It's at least an hour until they get back. You're busy playing with things I really hope you don't screw up--"

"Major! There's a bigger chance of you shooting yourself in the foot--" Rodney started, but John was still talking.

"--so you play with your toys and I'll play with mine."

He could have complained about the word 'toys' but there was a bigger point at stake. "Mine aren't distracting!"

John gave him a long, slow look, the type of glance that said not only were there no lights on upstairs, but that fuse had been blown years ago. Then he glanced over to the open compartment above Rodney's head where the connected crystals glowed pale blue and the disconnected ones stood out an inch, dull as a thick piece of Plexiglas. "Sure."

"I'm not the one fondling weapons!"

"You're the one pulling apart the spaceship that got us here, the one that flew us half a continent away from the gate. You're the one that keeps making these vaguely worrying 'hmmm' and 'huh' sounds," John said, his hand still moving. Rodney watched him drag a finger along the underside of the trigger. "And, Rodney?"

"Yeah?"

John's hand stopped. "Fondling?"

Rodney snapped his attention back to the crystal in his hand. "I meant that in the way of constantly moving, in lavishing a lot of inappropriate attention on an inanimate object. An object that is generally used to kill things."

"Uh-huh." John drawled the two syllables out as if they meant a lot more than they did.

Rodney ignored it and turned back to the compartment above him. It would probably be a good idea to put everything back now, because if John didn't stop he was going to short-circuit Rodney's brain, and Rodney would end up short-circuiting the Jumper, and Radek would never let him hear the end of it.

"*Fondling*," John said suggestively, and Rodney didn't insert a crystal upside-down and didn't drop it, but it was a near thing.

"Okay, fine." Rodney put it in the right way and did a quick diagnostic check, making sure he didn't look over his shoulder at John. "Go back to caressing your phallic object and the rest of us will look on and quiver with fear."

"Quiver. Fondle. Does Elizabeth have a secret stash of Barbara Cartland novels, and have you been reading them lately?"

Rodney snorted. "Don't be stupid. Elizabeth prefers--" Then he stopped himself because he had a great deal of respect of their fearless leader, and a good deal of fear for anyone who could "suggest" that he supervise the archeologists' next discovery. He closed up the compartment and sat down opposite John.

John didn't ask what Elizabeth preferred, showing that he too had a healthy fear of the person in charge. Instead, he laid the gun across his thighs and grinned. "You know, if I was talking to someone who wasn't... you, I'd almost think you were flirting with me."

"You think everyone flirts with you."

"That's because they do."

"Only within your deluded world of denial." Rodney shrugged and slipped his screwdriver back into his pack. If John was going to be annoying and distracting, he might as well sit down and enjoy the view. "Go ahead. Finish doing whatever the hell you were doing with it."

John's fingers curled around the metal a little tighter, but other than that, they didn't move. Which went to prove that John Sheppard was the most contrary and annoying person in this galaxy and the next. "I don't want to."

"Why not?"

"I'm finished now."

"You're finished? You're distracting and annoying, and now that you've got my full attention you're finished?" Rodney patted down his pockets and found a chocolate Powerbar. Tearing it open, he continued, "I don't believe this. It's like getting into CalTech and finding out that they let people like Kavanagh in. You're such a--"

"A what?"

"I don't know, but you're something. Something not good," Rodney mumbled around a mouthful of almost-chocolate flavor. "You're an annoying advertising jingle, that's what you are. You drive people insane and there's just, pffft, nothing behind it."

The corners of John's mouth twitched. "You asked me to stop and I stopped. Am I missing part of this conversation?"

"You fondle your weapon, talk about flirting, and then refuse to follow through. There's a name for people who do that." There was a long moment where John blinked, his mouth hanging a little open. When he laughed, it took Rodney by surprise. "What?"

John drew in a deep breath and let it out with a small chuckle. "This is what passes for charm from you, isn't it? This is you flirting."

"No, this is me being frustrated. This is me being trapped in a tiny little craft because I'm allergic to this planet's *dust* with someone who puts on a good show and then doesn't follow through." Rodney pointed at himself, tapping against his collarbone. "I am the innocent, rational party here."

"You're the insane, insulting party here." John shook his head and then set the P-90 down beside him. "I don't know what it says about me that I find that attractive."

"That you probably suffered childhood trauma?" Rodney asked, because being sarcastic and biting was what he did best. And John was standing up and walking towards him, and he was very good at finding comfort in the familiar. "Or a big bump to the head?"

John narrowed his eyes and loomed closer, settling his hands on either side of Rodney's shoulders. "Do you ever shut up?"

"Depends." Rodney swallowed, which was a little odd because John wasn't holding a gun, wasn't risking life and limb, wasn't about to try some stupid suicidal plan. Except the expression on his face said he was doing all that and more.

John's eyes flicked down past Rodney's mouth to his lap, and Rodney was fervently thanking whoever decided that camouflage was important to certain aspects of BDU design. "On what?"

If he was John, he was sure he'd have some smooth line. Some suave, cheesy phrase that would make him sound like the bastard son of Captain Kirk and James Bond. "I lied," he said instead, licking his lips because he wasn't charming, but he was damn smart and he knew where this was going. "I never shut up."

At the edge of his vision, Rodney could see John's biceps tense as he leaned closer, but he was having a little trouble looking away from John's smile. John grinned like this was a successful mission, a Hail Mary pass and the first time he'd flown a puddlejumper, all wrapped up in one moment. "Thanks for the warning."

John edged closer and there was that moment of hesitation, that last second of wondering if he should tilt his head left or right, if noses were going to bump and teeth would clash, before Rodney seized the moment and kissed the guy.

There was a hiss of static, and "Major Sheppard?" came through the radio.

The shock of it made Rodney clunk his head against the metal wall, but John jumped back and grabbed his P-90, asking, "Teyla? Is everything all right?"

"Everything's fine," Ford replied. Rodney rubbed his head and tried not to curse because, firstly, *pain*, and secondly, the entire galaxy was out to get him. And it was using a very cheerful soldier to do so. "We're on our way back."

"We simply thought that since Dr McKay is confined to the Jumper, it would be best to shorten this visit."

"Thanks," Rodney managed. He ignored the way John rolled his eyes. "Thanks a lot."

"Ignore the cranky scientist." John shook his head slightly and put the gun back down. "What time should we expect you?"

"We should be less than five minutes away," Teyla replied, obviously following John's advice.

"We'll get the engine warm for you," John replied and cut the connection. Then he half-shrugged and jerked his head towards the pilot's chair. "Come on."

Sighing, Rodney stood up and followed John to the cockpit. "The universe is out to get me."

"It's given up on messy and horrible ways to kill you," John leaned against the high back of the pilot's chair, "and will now settle for sexual frustration? I'd say that's an improvement."

"You would."

"Stop scowling like I'm the type who doesn't put out on the first date," John said, which implied that he wasn't, leading Rodney's highly developed imagination to some interesting places, "and I'll let you fly back to Atlantis."

Rodney scrambled to sit down in the pilot's seat before John could change his mind.

The End