Checkmates (John/Rodney, Jack/Daniel) PG
Nov. 19th, 2009 09:54 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lilyleia78Title: Checkmates
Fandom: SGA/SG-1 crossover
Pairing: John/Rodney, Jack/Daniel
Rating: PG
Genre: Humor, Est. relationship
Word Count: 1550
Summary: John finds out more than he bargained for about General O'Neill during a game of chess.
Note: Formornincamper based partially on her Christmas request for J/D and J/R with unnecessary hiding and partially on a prompt she left for stagnation13's birthday about playing footsie. Happy birthday dear!
Check mates
John’s second favorite thing about playing chess with Rodney was the excuse to watch him without fear of getting caught. No one thought twice about the gloating grin John had on his face while he watched Rodney dig himself deeper and deeper in to trouble; because, of course, John’s favorite thing about playing chess with Rodney was that John usually won.
Unfortunately, watching other people beat Rodney wasn’t nearly as much fun as doing it himself. And here on Earth, at the SGC, John had no excuse to wander off in search of other ways to entertain himself, not to mention the very real chance that John would get lost in the labyrinthine hallways of the Mountain and have to ask for directions. That sounded like even less fun than what he was currently doing, so John turned his attention back to the game in progress. Dr. Jackson already had Rodney beat, even if Rodney didn’t know it yet.
Rodney glared across the table at John’s sigh, but the lazy smile John offered in return had no visible effect on his friend; Rodney fluttered a hand dismissively at him and went back to losing. John risked a glance at the clock, only ten minutes since the last time he looked. Next time John was going to suggest a timed game. Then Rodney could lose quickly and John could take him back to the king sized bed in the middle of the ridiculously expensive two bedroom suite Rodney had insisted on booking for them and have his wicked way him. John idly wondered if they could leave after Rodney lost or if they’d have to stay while General O’Neill played the winner. He could probably claim exhaustion – John checked the time again – it would probably even be true by the time Rodney gave in to his doom.
John studied the board again; Jackson had the game locked up in about ten moves if he kept up this level of play. Rodney started to toy with his captured pieces, a tell John recognized from previous games as a nervous tic. Except this time he seemed focused on one particular piece. John’s eyes narrowed as he watched Rodney’s blunt fingers toying with a rook. They slid up one smooth side of the white piece, circled the finial at the top and then slicked back down the other side. Rodney repeated the motion several times with agonizing slowness. John couldn’t help imagining those fingers toying in that manner with something else and had to suppress a groan; if he didn’t know any better he’d swear Rodney was doing that on purpose. Well, two could play that game.
John kicked off his perpetually unlaced boots and stretched, tipping his chair back to extend his full body. He could feel Rodney's hungry gaze burning the skin of his stomach where his shirt had ridden up. John smirked at the ceiling – not a bad start to Operation Distract Rodney - and stretched further until his socked foot nudged an ankle under the table.
He pulled his foot back and let the chair legs fall to the floor before checking for a response, trying to verify that he’d acquired the correct target, but Rodney was still fixated on the game board and General O’Neill sitting next to Rodney hadn’t so much as glanced up from his crossword.
Which of course meant nothing, there was every chance that the General had dismissed the contact as accidental or that Rodney was not giving him the satisfaction of a reaction. Rodney was better than John had expected at hiding this thing between them. So, boredom making him reckless, John slid his foot across the empty space under the table and then up the side of the boot he found there until he hit the fabric of a pant leg.
No way the General wouldn’t shift away or say something now if it was him. John held his foot still to give O’Neill time to react. When a full minute passed without so much as a twitch, John ran him foot all the way up to the knee just as Jackson took Rodney’s knight. The General leaned forward a bit in his chair without saying a word, but Rodney made a soft noise of dismay. The timing was suspect, so John stroked downward again. O’Neill still made no protest and Rodney bit his lip. Bingo.
John kept his head down as he dragged his foot slowly up and down the calf in front of him; looking only at the game board, hoping that his unnatural concentration would be dismissed as amusement at Rodney’s imminent demise should either the General or Dr. Jackson notice anything suspicious about it. By John’s calculations it would take Rodney another three moves to notice his doom, more if John kept distracting him.
“Damn,” Rodney said softly, and John looked up to see if Rodney was reacting to the leg rubbing or the game.
Rodney leaned forward, eyes narrowed as he finally spotted the danger; John could hear the drag of boots on the carpet as Rodney hooked his legs behind his chair legs. John had to hand it to him; it was an excellent excuse to pull his legs out of John’s reach without raising suspicion. Except. John’s foot was still gently rubbing up and down a muscular leg. And there was no way it was Rodney’s, or had ever been. And there was only one other person sitting across from him – General O’Neill. Shit
John jerked his foot back as if it’d been pinched; Rodney noticed the motion and turned his head to meet John’s eyes, his expression curious but showing no indication of having had his leg recently molested. John shook his head at him – nothing to see here, move along – and with mounting dread, forced himself to turn toward the General, the General who was in charge of not only his career, but the fate of the entire expedition, the General who was sitting inches from the most important thing in John’s life and held the power to take it all away…the General who was smiling coyly – John shuddered at the image – and staring fixedly at Daniel Jackson through half lidded eyes.
Huh, not a bad catch. Way to go, General. John thought fleetingly before the horror of having played footsie with his superior officer – even if the superior officer obviously thought it was someone else - caught up with him.
Suddenly John needed to be out of this room as soon as possible; he stuffed his feet back into his boots haphazardly and stood up. It took every ounce of acting ability and diplomacy he’d gained in Pegasus, working with Teyla and loving Rodney, to remain calm and casual as he rounded the table to stand next to Rodney. Rodney looked up at him in mild alarm.
He clapped a hand to Rodney’s shoulder and left it there, tightening his grip as he spoke in case Rodney overlooked the strain in his tone. “Come on, McKay, we all know you’re doomed. Give it up; I’ll buy you a consolation beer and pizza.”
Rodney frowned from the death grip on his shoulder to the tight smile on John’s face. “What happened to ‘never give up, never surrender’?”
John considered pointing out that that was Ronon’s philosophy and entirely Rodney’s fault anyway for showing him that movie, but he just shook his head instead. “Rodney,” he said softly, tenderly, “let’s get out of here.”
And John let the mask of friendly aggravation fall away, just for a second, to reveal the tenderness it usually hid. He didn’t check to see if their companions were watching or if they had eyes only for each other, but he hoped it was the former. It didn’t seem right that he knew this secret of the General’s – of them both – without giving this knowledge of himself back. Besides, John knew too much about secrets and hiding and the lies big and small you had to tell everyday; knew too much about the strain it could put on a person, on a relationship, and if he could offer them a safe haven outside of themselves then it was worth making himself a little bit vulnerable.
Of course Rodney knew nothing about John’s accidental attempt at seducing a superior officer or the epiphany it had lead to, and he reacted the way he always did when he thought John was being unnecessarily reckless – loudly.
“Yes, fine. We’ll go get beer and pizza and you can kill some of my precious brain cells by forcing American football on me.” Rodney was speaking quickly, one hand gesturing aimlessly in the air while the other steered John toward the door.
“Dr. Jackson, General O’Neill, see you in the morning. Thanks for the game,” John called over his shoulder, resisting Rodney as he attempted to push John into the hallway.
“Yes, yes. Thank you, see you tomorrow Daniel. Next time I won’t go so easy on you,” Rodney said, now using his whole body to urge John out of the room.
As John paused to pull the door closed behind him, Rodney tugging at his sleeve with the subtlety of a sledgehammer, he heard Dr. Jackson’s amused voice say, “Well, Jack? Your move.”
***
The complete list of my Stargate fiction can be found here.
Fandom: SGA/SG-1 crossover
Pairing: John/Rodney, Jack/Daniel
Rating: PG
Genre: Humor, Est. relationship
Word Count: 1550
Summary: John finds out more than he bargained for about General O'Neill during a game of chess.
Note: For
mornincamper based partially on her Christmas request for J/D and J/R with unnecessary hiding and partially on a prompt she left for stagnation13's birthday about playing footsie. Happy birthday dear!Check mates
John’s second favorite thing about playing chess with Rodney was the excuse to watch him without fear of getting caught. No one thought twice about the gloating grin John had on his face while he watched Rodney dig himself deeper and deeper in to trouble; because, of course, John’s favorite thing about playing chess with Rodney was that John usually won.
Unfortunately, watching other people beat Rodney wasn’t nearly as much fun as doing it himself. And here on Earth, at the SGC, John had no excuse to wander off in search of other ways to entertain himself, not to mention the very real chance that John would get lost in the labyrinthine hallways of the Mountain and have to ask for directions. That sounded like even less fun than what he was currently doing, so John turned his attention back to the game in progress. Dr. Jackson already had Rodney beat, even if Rodney didn’t know it yet.
Rodney glared across the table at John’s sigh, but the lazy smile John offered in return had no visible effect on his friend; Rodney fluttered a hand dismissively at him and went back to losing. John risked a glance at the clock, only ten minutes since the last time he looked. Next time John was going to suggest a timed game. Then Rodney could lose quickly and John could take him back to the king sized bed in the middle of the ridiculously expensive two bedroom suite Rodney had insisted on booking for them and have his wicked way him. John idly wondered if they could leave after Rodney lost or if they’d have to stay while General O’Neill played the winner. He could probably claim exhaustion – John checked the time again – it would probably even be true by the time Rodney gave in to his doom.
John studied the board again; Jackson had the game locked up in about ten moves if he kept up this level of play. Rodney started to toy with his captured pieces, a tell John recognized from previous games as a nervous tic. Except this time he seemed focused on one particular piece. John’s eyes narrowed as he watched Rodney’s blunt fingers toying with a rook. They slid up one smooth side of the white piece, circled the finial at the top and then slicked back down the other side. Rodney repeated the motion several times with agonizing slowness. John couldn’t help imagining those fingers toying in that manner with something else and had to suppress a groan; if he didn’t know any better he’d swear Rodney was doing that on purpose. Well, two could play that game.
John kicked off his perpetually unlaced boots and stretched, tipping his chair back to extend his full body. He could feel Rodney's hungry gaze burning the skin of his stomach where his shirt had ridden up. John smirked at the ceiling – not a bad start to Operation Distract Rodney - and stretched further until his socked foot nudged an ankle under the table.
He pulled his foot back and let the chair legs fall to the floor before checking for a response, trying to verify that he’d acquired the correct target, but Rodney was still fixated on the game board and General O’Neill sitting next to Rodney hadn’t so much as glanced up from his crossword.
Which of course meant nothing, there was every chance that the General had dismissed the contact as accidental or that Rodney was not giving him the satisfaction of a reaction. Rodney was better than John had expected at hiding this thing between them. So, boredom making him reckless, John slid his foot across the empty space under the table and then up the side of the boot he found there until he hit the fabric of a pant leg.
No way the General wouldn’t shift away or say something now if it was him. John held his foot still to give O’Neill time to react. When a full minute passed without so much as a twitch, John ran him foot all the way up to the knee just as Jackson took Rodney’s knight. The General leaned forward a bit in his chair without saying a word, but Rodney made a soft noise of dismay. The timing was suspect, so John stroked downward again. O’Neill still made no protest and Rodney bit his lip. Bingo.
John kept his head down as he dragged his foot slowly up and down the calf in front of him; looking only at the game board, hoping that his unnatural concentration would be dismissed as amusement at Rodney’s imminent demise should either the General or Dr. Jackson notice anything suspicious about it. By John’s calculations it would take Rodney another three moves to notice his doom, more if John kept distracting him.
“Damn,” Rodney said softly, and John looked up to see if Rodney was reacting to the leg rubbing or the game.
Rodney leaned forward, eyes narrowed as he finally spotted the danger; John could hear the drag of boots on the carpet as Rodney hooked his legs behind his chair legs. John had to hand it to him; it was an excellent excuse to pull his legs out of John’s reach without raising suspicion. Except. John’s foot was still gently rubbing up and down a muscular leg. And there was no way it was Rodney’s, or had ever been. And there was only one other person sitting across from him – General O’Neill. Shit
John jerked his foot back as if it’d been pinched; Rodney noticed the motion and turned his head to meet John’s eyes, his expression curious but showing no indication of having had his leg recently molested. John shook his head at him – nothing to see here, move along – and with mounting dread, forced himself to turn toward the General, the General who was in charge of not only his career, but the fate of the entire expedition, the General who was sitting inches from the most important thing in John’s life and held the power to take it all away…the General who was smiling coyly – John shuddered at the image – and staring fixedly at Daniel Jackson through half lidded eyes.
Huh, not a bad catch. Way to go, General. John thought fleetingly before the horror of having played footsie with his superior officer – even if the superior officer obviously thought it was someone else - caught up with him.
Suddenly John needed to be out of this room as soon as possible; he stuffed his feet back into his boots haphazardly and stood up. It took every ounce of acting ability and diplomacy he’d gained in Pegasus, working with Teyla and loving Rodney, to remain calm and casual as he rounded the table to stand next to Rodney. Rodney looked up at him in mild alarm.
He clapped a hand to Rodney’s shoulder and left it there, tightening his grip as he spoke in case Rodney overlooked the strain in his tone. “Come on, McKay, we all know you’re doomed. Give it up; I’ll buy you a consolation beer and pizza.”
Rodney frowned from the death grip on his shoulder to the tight smile on John’s face. “What happened to ‘never give up, never surrender’?”
John considered pointing out that that was Ronon’s philosophy and entirely Rodney’s fault anyway for showing him that movie, but he just shook his head instead. “Rodney,” he said softly, tenderly, “let’s get out of here.”
And John let the mask of friendly aggravation fall away, just for a second, to reveal the tenderness it usually hid. He didn’t check to see if their companions were watching or if they had eyes only for each other, but he hoped it was the former. It didn’t seem right that he knew this secret of the General’s – of them both – without giving this knowledge of himself back. Besides, John knew too much about secrets and hiding and the lies big and small you had to tell everyday; knew too much about the strain it could put on a person, on a relationship, and if he could offer them a safe haven outside of themselves then it was worth making himself a little bit vulnerable.
Of course Rodney knew nothing about John’s accidental attempt at seducing a superior officer or the epiphany it had lead to, and he reacted the way he always did when he thought John was being unnecessarily reckless – loudly.
“Yes, fine. We’ll go get beer and pizza and you can kill some of my precious brain cells by forcing American football on me.” Rodney was speaking quickly, one hand gesturing aimlessly in the air while the other steered John toward the door.
“Dr. Jackson, General O’Neill, see you in the morning. Thanks for the game,” John called over his shoulder, resisting Rodney as he attempted to push John into the hallway.
“Yes, yes. Thank you, see you tomorrow Daniel. Next time I won’t go so easy on you,” Rodney said, now using his whole body to urge John out of the room.
As John paused to pull the door closed behind him, Rodney tugging at his sleeve with the subtlety of a sledgehammer, he heard Dr. Jackson’s amused voice say, “Well, Jack? Your move.”
***
The complete list of my Stargate fiction can be found here.