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Thema: English fanfics - One shots

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  1. #1
    There is good in you... Avatar von Chayiana
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    Standard English fanfics - One shots

    Hi there,

    now, here's a thread where you can post your short stories about Stargate, that includes SG-1, SGA, SGU, and all the other things you've written about the great ring of the ancestors ...

    We were thinking that maybe some of you would like to give it a try to write an english fic. We're all no native speakers, so maybe you'd like to post your first steps in doing that in a smaller place rather than at a big english fan archive, so, here's your chance!

    Or if you've already written several little stories and like to show them your german fellows, here's the place ...

    There's only one condition for the moment:
    Please, do only post "one shots" with up to approx. 8000 words tops - no epics with several chapters ... *gg*

    We hope that we might establish a bigger corner for english fanfics in the future, but for now we like to keep it at a smaller scale.

    And like with "normal" german fanfics, please give us an expressive header, including all the warnings, ratings, and other things we need to know.

    So, don't be shy ... just try!
    Geändert von Chayiana (02.08.2010 um 20:43 Uhr)

  2. #2
    Warm & Fluffy Avatar von Schneebällchen
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    Title: Reflections
    Time-Line: SG1
    Rating: PG


    Funny. Daniel Jackson looked at the piece of technology in his hands. It worked as some kind of force shield for the bearer. His eyes skimmed around his study. It was cramped with books telling of ancient times. Every free space was cramped with artifacts and technology from other worlds. Some of them had been used for war, others for research. Some were meant to make life easier. Again Daniel's eyes viewed the treasures. It was all that was left from these ancient cultures.
    What good did it do them? Chased away from one Galaxy. Nothing helped them from dying. All they left behind were their technology and they culture. Is that why they vanished? Because they fought with their self-made weapons – and not with their heart?

    "How come someone so weak like me could bear up against such powerful enemies? And win?! Is it because my heart still bleeds for every dying person?

    If that was it... then I found the most powerful weapon I had ever heard of. It was so simple. And yet it was so hard a burden to carry. It was so easy to hide away and build a wall around one's heart. How many times had my heart stopped when I believed that my comrades were dead."

    Daniel shook his head. He was filled with deep sorrow when thinking of the time he almost lost his friends. When he agreed to this mission called "SG1", he had set his mind on finding his wife. When she died... he didn't know why he stayed. His heart felt so empty without her to fight for. He knew that he could not survive loosing someone he truly loved again. He would not let anybody come so near again!

    He was startled by the realization of what he had just thought. Wasn't it exactly this thinking that destroyed the Ancients? Now he realized that he could not blame them. They were afraid of failure. And they were afraid that whatever they did would turn out bad. It was so easy...
    Geändert von Schneebällchen (21.03.2009 um 18:12 Uhr)
    Platsch!


  3. #3
    Lieutenant General Avatar von Antares
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    I like the central question of this mini-story very much:

    Is that why they vanished? Because they fought with their self-made weapons – and not with their heart?

    This is really a valid question - and Daniel, as the researcher for all old things, for vanished cultures, is - of course - the right person to pose it.

    And Daniel's realization that you have to suffer if you let people come too near is very true.

    Nice English wording!

    Now for the grammar:
    Spoiler 

    There are a lot of wrong tenses in this story.
    e.g. Some of them have been used for war - this should be "had been used"
    And nearly the whole second paragraph should be Past Perfect - ...they had left behind .... etc. (Because this has happened before Daniel looks at these artifacts)

    Then you have a shift of perspective in the third paragraph. Suddenly you say "I found..." - and in the fourth paragraph you shift back to "Daniel ..."

    Last but not least there are quotation marks in the third paragraph, but only closing ones not opening ones.

    I really hope you don't mind pointing this out.
    Geändert von Antares (21.03.2009 um 10:07 Uhr)

  4. #4
    geeeeeeeeeeeek Avatar von paris_voy
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    Standard Together again

    After reading fanfiction for many years I tried writing one myself.
    Your feedback is very welcome 'cause I discocvered my love for writing too.
    So with your help I can only get better

    Title: Together again
    Author: paris_voy
    Fandom: SGA
    Character: John Sheppard/ OFC
    Rating: PG13
    Disclaimer: They really don't belong to me.



    Together again
    By paris_voy


    It was early morning in Atlantis and the sun shined through the colored windows, creating a glorified light in the sparring room.
    Lt. Colonel John Sheppard leaned against the window seal looking out to the beautiful Lantean Ocean.

    Deep in thoughts, John did not notice the white figure entering quietly the room.

    "Penny for your thoughts," he heard her saying.

    Sighing, John replied, but not turning around to look at the intruder,

    “It has been a long time since we’ve last seen each other, a lot has changed.”

    “That’s true. You’ve established a new life for yourself here in Atlantis.”

    Trying not to show her sadness in her voice about what John had said, but failing miserable, she answerd, “I do not expect to be a part in it any longer.”

    Hearing this John swirled around overcoming the distance between window and door in two long strides to catch her before she had a change to leave the room.

    Looking into those beautiful blue eyes, which always reminded him of the sky he has been loving so much, searching if she really believed in what she had just told him.

    John had has to catch his breath because he had not expected to see so much fear and pain in them.

    “Hell Jess, you are the only person, who keeps me going.
    The only one, who has seen and felt the same things, I have.”

    Asking a little quieter, "How can you say such a thing, Jessy?"

    “My feelings for you will never change.
    I will always love you and with each passing day I do more.
    You are my wife and nothing will change that, ever.”

    By the time John had finished, tears have sprang into Jess’ eyes.
    She could not believe John still loves her after all the years they were forced to spend apart.

    But it does not matter anymore, they are together again.

    The End


    **********

    So what du you think?
    Geändert von paris_voy (22.03.2009 um 13:40 Uhr) Grund: damn grammar :D
    "Have you seen a guy around? He looks like you, but he's got messy hair.
    I think I lost him somewhere. And a pretty girl and a caveman."
    Thanks to http://gnine.livejournal.com/for the lovely pic.

  5. #5
    Warm & Fluffy Avatar von Schneebällchen
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    @Antares: Thank you for the feedback. I changed the things you pointed out. I hope it sounds better now. And I hope the quotations added make the different point of view work...

    @Paris: I like the story. I felt like being in the story myself. Nicely done. You need to be careful not to shift between present and past tense though. ("was" in the first sentence). Maybe its just me, but writing in the present tense is pretty uncommon and sounds a bit, well, awkward.
    Platsch!


  6. #6
    geeeeeeeeeeeek Avatar von paris_voy
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    Zitat Zitat von Schneebällchen Beitrag anzeigen
    @Paris: I like the story. I felt like being in the story myself. Nicely done. You need to be careful not to shift between present and past tense though. ("was" in the first sentence). Maybe its just me, but writing in the present tense is pretty uncommon and sounds a bit, well, awkward.
    First of all thank you for reading. This was my very first try at writing FF at all.

    As for the tenses I choose. I try to write it with what sounds right.
    And I can't tell if the grammar is correct, but for me it sounds right.

    I edited my post, so hopefully it is better now.
    "Have you seen a guy around? He looks like you, but he's got messy hair.
    I think I lost him somewhere. And a pretty girl and a caveman."
    Thanks to http://gnine.livejournal.com/for the lovely pic.

  7. #7
    There is good in you... Avatar von Chayiana
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    @paris_voy

    First of all, congrats to your first fic! In my opinion you're really brave to instantly start in english, I'm still struggling with writing english fics ... *gg*

    Then I've to say, that I also like this version much better than the previous one, written in present tense. I know present tense can work, but nevertheless it always feels a bit strange to me, doesn't matter if it's german or english. So, yay to this one (exept the last sentence ... did you forget it to put it in the right tense? *g*)

    The story itself is nicely written, good use of words and expressions, really touching. Although I've to admit that I'm not very fond of an OFC in general, this has nothing to do with your fic. But with your fic in particular I really miss something to connect to Jess. There're so many open questions: Why were they separated? Where did she come from? Is she really there or just a ghost? It's all a bit of a blur to me ... I hope you understand what I mean.

    And then there's one thing I got a bit confused with:
    “It has been a long time since we’ve last seen each other, a lot has changed.”

    “That’s true. You’ve established a new life for yourself here in Atlantis.”

    Trying not to show her sadness in her voice about what John had said, but failing miserable, she answerd, “I do not expect to be a part in it any longer.”
    For me it's not really clear who of them said the underlined sentence, I mean, afterwards it's clear but I think you should have swapped the "Trying not to show ..." sentence with the underlined one ... that would have made it clearer, wouldn't it?

    So, and now I hope this wasn't too much criticism. Like I said, I admire everyone who writes fics which aren't in his native tongue.

    So, please go ahead!!!

  8. #8
    Lieutenant General Avatar von Antares
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    Oh, I'm glad I'm not the only one who didn't understand the story!

    At first I thought she was dead! John did not notice the white figure entering quietly the room.

    I think the English sounds great - and I had no problem with the version written in present tense either. I think from time to time it's quite a nice change. And if the story is short like this, I think it works fine.

    I'm glad to hear theres another part to the story which explains the open questions, although I have to admit I won't read it, because female OCs are not my cup of tea.

    But I think it's great you posted your English story here!

  9. #9
    Lieutenant General Avatar von Antares
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    Standard Tit for Tat

    Title: Tit for Tat
    Author: Antares
    Series: SG-1
    Pairing: Daniel/Vala, Jack/Daniel
    Rating: PG-16, Slash and (sort of) Het
    Summary: Daniel finds a strange note in his bed
    Season: 8, after "Prometheus Unbound"
    Notes: Very special thanks to Pie, who did a wonderful job with the beta!

    ----------------------------

    Daniel stretched languorously. Man! He had been tired last night – better make that this morning, he ruefully corrected himself. He glanced at the clock on the bedside-table: 10:39. Perfect, nearly eight hours of uninterrupted sleep. The bed beside him was empty, but that was no surprise. Jack was a morning person.

    Suddenly, Daniel spotted a note on the comforter. He located his glasses and deciphered the short message:

    If you want to know
    why you are naked,
    come to the kitchen.


    Huh? Then Daniel remembered that he had been too tired last night to undress and had only kicked his shoes under the chair, to fall like a dead man onto the bed. Now he WAS naked. No mistake here. He chuckled. So, Jack had undressed him and was now waiting in the kitchen to give him a little lecture about the proper behaviour when falling into the bed of your lover during the night. If Jack also had made coffee then Daniel was fine with the scolding.

    Daniel got up, searched for his boxer-shorts, pulled them on, but nothing more, because it was always good to distract Jack with a little bit of nakedness. He stretched again and went to the bathroom. While he completed his morning routine, he thought again about Jack’s note and he sighed heavily. The lecture would certainly also include a lengthy description about how unhealthy it was to work late into the night and to be so exhausted you didn’t even possess the vigour to undress.

    When Daniel entered the kitchen, Jack was nowhere to be seen. But there was fresh coffee on the coffee-maker and he poured himself a mug. Daniel smiled – Jack could be very thoughtful if he put his mind onto it. The Saturday morning paper was lying in an untidy heap on the kitchen table and just as Daniel reached to smooth it out so he could read the headlines, the kitchen door flew open and banged against the wall, causing the glasses on the shelf to rattle alarmingly.

    Wham!! One of Anubis’ super-soldiers stomped heavily into the kitchen.

    After a second of immobile shock, Daniel frantically searched for a weapon. Finding nothing, he armed himself with the next best thing. A frying pan which he raised in a defensive manner. He was only too well aware how ridiculous his attempt was, but Jack had taught him that any weapon was better than none when facing an enemy.

    “Hello, Daniel,” an all too familiar voice said mockingly. “A little bit under-armed, aren’t we?”
    “V…Vala?” Daniel stuttered somewhat relieved but utterly puzzled. “How…?”
    Oh no!
    Now the note made painful sense. He had undressed her, she had undressed him. Tit for tat. Jack must be doing the weekly grocery run, something he often did when Daniel slept-in late. Who knew when he would be back? Vala had really picked a good time to mess with him.

    “I couldn’t leave my Daniel without a proper good-bye kiss,” the distorted voice answered teasingly.
    “Look, Vala…,” he tried to argue, but the pretend super-soldier advanced menacingly and Daniel retreated step by step until he was stopped by the kitchen wall in his back.
    “Vala, hear me out! We could have followed your ship and destroyed you. But we didn’t do it. Therefore…”

    There was a catch in his voice, because in one agile movement the black soldier had struck the pan from Daniel’s grasp and her hand landed on Daniel’s naked chest. Vala’s cool leather gloves caressed and teased his nipples in one swift motion.

    “Don’t!” he ordered. He tried to concentrate, but before he could formulate a plan of how to fight her best, the soldier’s second hand grabbed his groin.

    “What a pity. The general didn’t get you off”, she stated laughingly, fondling what was left of his morning erection. “So, I have to do it before we start speaking in earnest.” She sighed dramatically, “The things I do for you, Daniel...” She slid her hand into his boxers.
    “No! Stop it! At once!” Daniel yelled slightly hysterically and tried unsuccessfully to withdraw. But her grip was merciless and if he didn’t want to get hurt in a sensitive area, he had to will himself to stay immobile.

    “Vala!” He once again tried to appeal to her logic. “We are in Jack’s house and he will be back any minute. So be a nice girl, stop it, or he will shoot you.”
    “You only forget one minor detail: I’m protected by the super-soldier’s uniform. He can’t shoot me!” She laughed triumphantly. “And by the way – you ARE reacting. Therefore it can’t be so terrible.”

    “It’s a natural reaction. I can’t prevent it,” Daniel tried to explain and bit on his lower lip to prevent a moan as she reached for the all too sensitive spot behind his balls. The one place that Jack liked best to drive him crazy.

    “You like it,” Vala purred while she continued to caress him. “And on the ship you kissed me.”
    “Adrenaline,” Daniel gasped apologetically and he couldn’t prevent the tiny sigh that escaped his lips. He cursed his body that betrayed him and made it so easy for her.
    “That’s all? You’re sure? Absolutely sure you aren’t falling for my charms?”

    Daniel made a quick decision. She already knew about Jack, so he gave her the only answer that would – hopefully –convince her, that she wasn’t his type. “You lack the necessary equipment,” he stated boldly.
    “Oh! No dangly bits, you mean?” she laughed wholeheartedly and stepped from his personal space.

    “I’m sorry,” Daniel replied very relieved that his plan had worked so well and he shrugged his shoulders.
    “Okay.” She took of her helmet and … … Daniel nearly fell to the floor.

    “Jack!!” he shouted and looked disbelievingly at his friend. “How…? Why the hell…?” he stammered, totally perplexed. Why would Jack impersonate Vala? He didn’t even know her!

    As so often, Jack seemed to be able to read his mind. “The surveillance tapes from the Prometheus,” Jack confessed without hesitation.
    “What…?” Daniel shook his head, utterly confused.
    “I watched these tapes. And I saw the kiss and I saw you undressing her. And … I saw how your fingers lingered on her breasts for one moment, when she was naked. Well, I guess… I… I…”

    “You had an acute attack of jealousy?” Daniel finished for him. Suddenly this all made sense to him.
    Jack put the helmet on the kitchen table. Very slowly he approached Daniel and even more slowly he extended his right hand to caress Daniel’s cheek.

    “It was more than simple jealousy. I saw these pictures, saw how you bickered and bantered with her and that you allowed her to kiss you. The two of you – you played. It was never life or death.”
    “But the fire-extinguisher…”
    “Yes. But you wouldn’t have killed her and she wouldn’t have killed you. And for me it looked like foreplay. Suddenly I was very … very…”

    “Insecure?” Daniel whispered as he saved Jack one more time from finding the right word.
    “Yeah, I guess so.”
    “There’s no reason for that. No reason at all.” Daniel gave Jack a reassuring nod. Then he asked with a puzzled frown: “But your voice, Vala’s voice, I mean?”
    “The voice modulator you once used to impersonate a Goa’uld.”

    Daniel pulled Jack into his arms. “You are such an idiot,” he scolded good-naturedly. “You know, instead of going to all the trouble to …er… “borrow?” … this outfit, why didn’t you simply ask me? You know, I should be very upset with you for not trusting me.”
    “I know,” Jack replied earnestly, knowing full well that Daniel was absolutely right. He pressed a little kiss onto Daniel’s forehead and then he added with his usual smirk, “but you are the forgiving one, aren’t you?” Jack tenderly stroked Daniel’s bare chest to strengthen his words.

    “Don’t be too sure about it. I’ll find a way to make you pay. Er… Jack? Please, don’t pull off the gloves,” he added a little bit hesitantly. “It’s nice, the feeling of the leather on my skin.”
    “You HAVE a penchant for this whole super-soldier thing!” Jack shouted half-accusingly, half-laughingly.
    “I wouldn’t mind – if … if the right one came along.” Daniel felt himself blushing with this confession.

    Okay, Jack knew exactly when make-up sex was being offered to him. What better way to make it worth all the hassle he had gone to in borrowing this whole super-soldier armour!
    He brought back his leather gloved hand to Daniel’s abdomen and caressed it with a negligent gesture.
    “Now, drop your shorts and turn to the wall, human! You’re mine and I will show you my superior strength,” Jack ordered in his best command voice.

    “Never!” Daniel answered defiantly and Jack knew that a delicious fight, or fantasy, or foreplay, or whatever you wanted to name it, would ensue.

    ------------THE END-----------

  10. #10
    Airman Avatar von Serenitas
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    Titel: Assumptions
    Author: Serenitas (on FF.net Serenitas1985)
    Series: SGA
    Character: John Sheppard
    Raiting: PG-13


    Assumptions

    He’d always assumed they would have time to really explore their feelings for each other once the war would be over. It only once had crossed his mind that maybe they’d never see the end of it. But when they survived the first major attack he didn’t worry about it anymore. Now he realizes how foolish he’d been.

    Standing next to his friends, safely back on Earth he can’t help but wishing himself back to a time where he still had her standing next to him. Or at least to a time where he still had the hope to find her alive and bring her back. He wishes himself back so he could do things differently, to have the chance to voice his feelings out loud and not only let his actions and looks speak of them.

    It’s his curse for the rest of his life. Living on, regretting and dreaming of a life with her that could have been and never will be.

  11. #11
    Warm & Fluffy Avatar von Schneebällchen
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    @Antares: Very nicely done. It is a pleasure reading your stories. You have a way of capturing the reader's attention. Awesome.

    @Serenitas: I like the story. You describe John's feelings nicely. You confused me a little by using past as well as present tense. And I think at the beginning of the second paragraph it should say "wish" instead of "wishing". Appart from that I liked it.
    Platsch!


  12. #12
    Mod& Freiberufliche Wraith Queen Avatar von Amarra
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    Title: "I Dream of Jeannie"
    Genre: Friendship
    Rating: PG-13
    Lenght: 3518 words (I know, it's the longest piece as of yet, but should we get a Fic section, I'm going to make it an own topic later.
    Spoilers/Warnings: None, and Crackfic (you know, humour, insanity, pink harem pants, such stuff)
    Notes: Betaed by the lovely Lavvyan on Lj. Crackfic Rodney!Jeannie AU oneshot. The title is the American original of "Bezaubernde Jeannie".

    Under a spoiler for length:

    Spoiler 


    ****

    The sand was golden, the sky cloudless and blue, and the ocean surrounding the island in all four directions seemed endless. The Jumper had dug itself nose-first into the beach and was now useless, burned out and half-underwater. John had used what was left of the emergency parachute and what little equipment he could safe from the water to build a shelter from the sun between the few feeblish palm trees.

    There was nothing and nobody else: no rescue in sight, not enough food to last more than perhaps two days, and even less fresh water. Fine, there was a single coconut on one of the palm trees, but that wouldn’t last him that long either.

    “At least I’m not dead, yet,” he muttered, and flicked some sand off his shoulders. His air force jumpsuit still smelled of smoke and fire, and his hair felt singed at the tips and around his ears.

    So, this was what having still some problems with the re-entry procedure meant, he thought wryly, and looked up, scanning the horizon for any ships or helicopters searching for him. Nothing. And there still was nothing three hours later, four hours later, five… he got nervous as afternoon turned more and more into evening with still no sign of help, and nothing he could do to contact his rescue.

    The radio had died on re-entry along with pretty much anything else, and he doubted the emergency signal was still active after the heat it had to endure.

    With his luck they’d probably decided he had burned up on re-entry, and now was nothing more than ashes floating about in the atmosphere. Colonel Caldwell certainly wouldn’t mind. He would think of it as confirmation for all his doubts about John’s test pilot qualifications for such an important project, and would go ahead and blame the loss of a million-dollar test aircraft on him, too.

    Post mortem, but anyway, Caldwell would have enough arguments to close down the project for good.

    John started circling the edges of the island, looking out and listening for any kind of engine over the sounds of the waves crashing onto the sand, but there was still nothing.

    He waited an entire day.

    But all he had encountered as the end of the second day approached, after another fruitless hour of circling, was an old, greenish bottle with a long neck and a round bottom he'd found washed up on the shore. The paint was flaking off around the middle, giving it the look of an old Christmas bauble, and it sparkled in the sun.

    He busied himself with checking the bottle over for the next ten or so minutes. then he flopped back down in the shadow of his parachute, dropping the bottle into the sand next to him.

    The second day was not different.

    He had no water left for the third day, and after the coconut was gone, he’d have to go dry.

    The coconut was gone awfully quick.

    John was too tired and worn out to stay awake that night, and he woke the next morning with a stiff neck, a parched throat, and the painful understanding that he was going to die of thirst surrounded by water.

    He had lost most of his hopes for rescue as the sun coloured the sky red and orange on the fourth day. He'd be able to stay alive for another day or two if he fell back on water recycling, but eventually he would have to face the unavoidable end.

    Lacking anything else to do, he picked up the bottle and started to peel off the flaking paint to busy his hands with something instead of worrying about his impending death. In retrospect, he should have known something about that bottle was off the moment he found it, but he hadn’t listened to that tiny little voice of instinct. It was too late to do anything about it anyway, as the damn thing started glowing and shaking.

    John yelped and threw it away as the cork flew off and strange pink smoke begun to spill from the bottle’s neck.

    “Fuck!” he cursed and crawled away from the growing cloud, ending up with his back pressed up against one of the trees.

    A human form shaped itself from the smoke, turning from pink smoke to flesh and blood, until a grown up man stood over the bottle. He had his arms crossed over his bare chest, wore hilariously pink harem pants and frowned down at John with obvious displeasure as soon as he opened his eyes.

    And it got only worse as he became aware of where he was.

    “Is this a…” he started speaking, and crunched up his face at the ocean. “Oh, no, it is. This is an island? I wound up on an island in the middle of nowhere? Really? I knew my last Master wasn’t happy about the way he had wasted his last wish, but seriously, he can’t expect me to know when he’s just cursing and when he’s wishing in earnest. 'I wish you’d go to hell' is a wish, strictly speaking…”

    He threw his hands into the air and started pacing towards the water and back again to the trees, muttering and yelling on and on, and ignored John entirely.

    John, after a few minutes of that show, started to really ask himself if he’d gone insane, or if the impact of his Jumper had caused a concussion which made him hallucinate, or… he had no clue what, but this wasn’t real.

    “What the hell…” he muttered and tried to close his eyes, count to ten and open them again. The man was still there as he looked up again, and even worse, had returned to John’s shelter, staring down at him as if he expected an answer to an important question.

    “Are you even listening to me?”

    “Eh… What?” John asked, blinking up at the man.

    “Oh, great. An idiot.” The man sounded as if he’d been just punished the worst way possible. “You know, actually that’s kind of fitting. With the Masters I had in the past, I’m surprised you’re not an ape or something. I though it couldn’t get worse, but it obviously has. I was probably stranded here for thousands of years, and now I’ve got an absolute idiot as my new Master. Not that any previous Masters were better in any way, always the same stupid wishes for fame, gold, girls, or camels. Always bigger camels, always faster, better, with bigger bumps…”

    “Wow, stop, wait a second,” John said, trying to get a word in. “Master?”

    “Master, yes, you are retarded, right? I said all that already,” the man said and swirled a hand dismissively towards him. “Do I speak Chinese or something? You should understand me, I’m pretty sure of that.”

    “No… I mean yes.” John shook his head to clear it before he asked again, “Master? You said I’m your new Master. What's that supposed to mean?”

    “You rubbed the bottle, you are the Master,” the man said, annoyance over that fact obvious. “You can wish for stuff, I have to do it.”

    When John was young, not older than five or six, his dad had told him stories of Sinbad and Aladdin. About the Jinniee and the magic carpet Aladdin with what he had rescued his princess.

    “Like…” John looked at the bottle and up at the man again. “A Jinniee?”

    The man rolled his eyes. “I’m not a Jinniee, that’s what my sisters are called, and I’ve got a lot of them, alright, and we look nothing alike! I’m a Djinn, it’s spelled differently and sounds differently, and anyway, do I look like a girl? I’m a man, a manly male man.”

    He waved his hands towards his body and John looked him up and down. No, he looked absolutely male, not as muscled as John was used from other members of the Military, but he had his charms. John stuffed that part of his brain that was responsible for the last assessment back where it belonged and started smirking, because maybe it was a male, but the pink pants, well.

    “Well, your pants don’t exactly scream manly at me,” he drawled, and Djinn’s face turned red.

    “Don’t mock the pants,” he snarled. “Your uniform isn’t that hot either. And anyway, I don’t take fashion advice from some random guy with sunburn and awful hair. Did you have a camel chew on it, or something?”

    John patted his hair, suddenly aware of how it must look like after the little fire accident and days of sand and sun.

    “Hey,” he grumbled. “It’s not that bad.”

    “It’s bad enough,” the man answered. “Now: wishes…” he snapped his fingers impatiently. “Wish for women and money already so I can go back into my bottle, I’ve got more important things to do than wait around…”

    John tilted his head. “Like what?”

    Djinn spluttered for a moment before he composed himself. His mouth opened and closed a few times but no words came out. Eventually he huffed and crossed his arms again, chin held up arrogantly.

    “Well, it’s certainly not waiting around until you make up your mind over what to wish up first!”

    The answer answered nothing at all.

    John scratched the back of his neck, sand rough beneath his fingertips, and contemplated his situation. The sun was already going down at the horizon, and there still was nobody around. He'd obviously gone insane, or had a brain haemorrhage or something, so he was likely to die anyway before any kind of rescue would arrive. He could as well indulge himself a little and enjoy his last moments on earth with whatever his damaged brain could come up with.

    “Well, how many wishes do I have? Three?”

    “Three,” the man repeated flatly. “No, there’s no limit. Who has the bottle, has the wishes. This three wish thing comes from some rather lazy examples of my profession who usually barely manage to keep their masters alive for longer than that, not all of us are as good in what we do as I am.”

    “Alive…” John echoed.

    “Yeah, carelessly phrased wishes can kill pretty damn fast,” Djinn said and shrugged. “So let’s go down to business already, what’s it gonna be? Fame? Fortune? Fast Camels? If it’s camels, I’ve got to warn you that I’m allergic to them. I get this rash all over my arms and face, my throats closes up and I start hacking up a lung which isn’t nice…” he trailed off at John’s amused look and huffed. “What do you want?”

    Patience obviously wasn’t one of Djinn’s talents.

    “What am I supposed to do with a camel on this island? Right now I’d rather have some water,” John said. Somehow it was fun to piss him off.

    Djinn rolled his eyes dramatically and produced a large pink umbrella from behind his back which he opened up with an evil smirk on his face.

    “Fine,” he said and thunder growled in the semi-dark above. Rain started to fall in large, cool drops, hammering down on the makeshift roof of the shelter and collecting in the parachute’s folds.

    John jumped up and started laughing and jumping about like a kid, mouth open and arms spread wide as he moved around and tried to catch as much water as he could. If his rescue had come at that moment, and he was oddly glad it hadn’t, they would have seen an Air Force major circle around a man wearing harem pants who was holding a pink umbrella over his head and scowling disgustedly at the major's antics.

    “You know you're not exactly improving my opinion of your intelligence with that kind of behaviour, right?”

    “It’s raining,” John yelled and remembered that he had to save the water somehow.

    “Really? I hadn't noticed,” Djinn said sarcastically as he watched John spread out whatever he could rig up to catch the water.

    “Is it enough now?” Djinn asked eventually.

    “I think,” John answered. He was busy with filling the water from one of the parachute’s folds into the empty water bottle he had managed to rescue from the Jumper before.

    “Wonderful.” The rain stopped and Djinn made the umbrella vanish just like it had appeared. “Anything else, Master?”

    “You can call me John,” John said, smiling at him.

    “Great,” Djinn set his mouth in an unhappy line and repeated his previous words. “Do you want anything else? And not that I want to criticise your survival strategies, John, or doubt your obviously very impressive talent for improvisation, but really, as I see it you’re stranded on this island, right?”

    John nodded.

    “So how about you wish yourself off the island, then?”

    John might have just forgotten about that for a while there, damn it.

    “I’m totally wasting my powers on you, you know? There should be a rule against fulfilling idiots' wishes.”

    “Fine, how about some rescue then,” John snapped.

    And not five minutes later a ship appeared at the horizon and a helicopter approached, light bright and blinding as it found John on his tiny island in the middle of nowhere. He hopped up and down in the spot of light and waved his arms around wildly, and as he looked back to where the Djinn had stood before, nobody was there.

    So much for hallucinations, he thought, but he didn’t leave the bottle behind.

    John somehow managed to take the bottle with him on the helicopter, and, after a few days of infirmary stay and a rundown from Colonel Caldwell about how John had to do better next time, he even brought it home.

    He had a tiny house with brown grass in the garden and front for which he never had time. A rusty, classic Mustang in the garage which he should take out for spins more often, but never had the time for either, and a home with a wonderful view of the runway from the kitchen. He liked the airplanes enough to not mind the rattling of the cups in the kitchen shelves, and anyway, it wasn’t as if there were any houses on base which didn't have the same problem. His wife had talked about nothing else when she’d been out to meet the other pilots’ wives; that, and how the others had agreed that it was better to get a divorce now, before there were kids who'd be hurt by it, than later.

    He put the bottle on the kitchen counter and sat down on a stool he had pulled over, a beer from the fridge in his hands. The bottle looked almost worse now than it had back on the island. Stripes of the paint were hanging loosely down its sides, and more of the silvery colour below had started to show through.

    He had two choices: a) go and report to Doctor Heightmeyer about hallucinating a guy wearing pink harem pants that had some distinct similarities with a girl he faintly remembered from a TV show from the 50s. Or b) scrub a little more of the chipped paint off the bottle’s side, and see what happens.

    By the time he was aware again of what he was doing, he had already started to peal a thin, foil-like stripe off of the bottle's neck.

    The bottle rattled and fell over, and he stepped back as the smoke appeared right in the middle of his small kitchen. The man swirled around and gave his surroundings a measuring look as soon as he was half way solid.

    “Okay, not an island which is an improvement,” he said slowly, and reached out to poke at a pile a dirty plates John may have forgotten to clean up before he’d left for the test flight. In his defence: he hadn’t counted on disappearing for more than a week.

    “…but only a little. This is pretty unsanitary, really.”

    “Sorry, but I was sort of tied up over the last few days, so washing my dishes was the last of my worries,” John said

    “You could wish for a servant to do that,” the Djinn said.

    “Thanks, but I’ve got a dishwasher,” John said. The Djinn scowled at him and crossed his arms again, vibrating with impatience.

    “Look, now that we’ve rescued you, what do you want next?”

    John thought about it for a moment. Part of him still couldn’t believe he wasn’t hallucinating even as he was already trying to come up with all sorts of things to wish for. Like, say, a own plane, or some money to get a house off base. Well, there were a lot of possibilities.

    “I don’t know,” John admitted.

    “You don’t know,” Djinn said scornfully. “Just wish for money, that’s always popular, or, I don’t know, a woman? Do you have a wife?” He looked at the dirty dishes and at the tiny living room area and kitchen, and missed out on John’s flinch. “Well, no, you have no wife, so that would be a wish, right?”

    John still had one, at least until he signed the papers.

    “What would you wish for?” John asked and the Djinn squeaked indignantly.

    “This isn’t about me,” he answered. He waved a hand towards John. “Just wish for something random already. A better house? This one is really small, you know.”

    “No.

    “A nice garden, with green grass…”

    “No.”

    Djinn looked out through the kitchen window. “Are you aware your yard is brown?”

    “Yep,” John said.

    It went on like that. John let Djinn rattle off suggestions and found himself enjoying it too much to actually wish for anything. He made popcorn after he finished his beer, and started picking a movie to watch. He didn’t know why, but the constant annoyed chatter somehow filled a place in him he hadn’t even been aware was empty.

    “I could make you rich.”

    John shook his head. “No, I’m fine.”

    “What kind of human says no to money?” Djinn snapped, sitting on the couch with a bowl of popcorn in his lap.

    “I do,” John said shrugging while he went through his pile of DVDs. “I’ve got enough money, the house belongs to the military, and I like my job, and even if Nancy – that’s my wife, well, almost ex-wife - wants half of anything, I don’t need that much.”

    “Humans are all the same,” Djinn said leaning back in the couch. “You're all petty, greedy and selfish.”

    “Not all of us.” John picked a random western from the shelf and popped it in before sitting down alongside the Djinn.

    “Huh, sure. Who's got several millenia of experience here, you or me?”

    Djinn may have only been introduced to popcorn about 10 minutes ago, but he already liked it enough to hog the bowl and devour its content with obvious pleasure. John couldn’t stop grinning as he went through DVD menu and started the movie.

    “Well, you, but I still don’t need money.”

    Djinn propped up his feet on the small coffee table. And look at that, John thought, the pants came with fitting pointy shoes.

    “Women, then?” Djinn suggested.

    If John had to be sincere, he didn’t really need that either right now. Besides, he couldn’t date a woman against her will. “Ah, well no…”

    “It’s not goats, or… let’s say, something else you want me to…”

    “Goats?” John couldn’t say he wanted to know that story. “No, no goats, thank you very much.”

    The movie started and two cowboys appeared on screen, riding through a wide open desert landscape.

    “So, are there people you don’t like? You could wish me to take care of them,” Djinn said with a full mouth, eyes fixed on the screen.

    “You could kill someone for me?”

    “No,” Djinn muttered. “I don’t kill, well, I could. But I don’t. I can put them someplace where they get lost for a while, though. I did that for some Viking Queen once, pretty creepy woman by the way, who wanted me to send her husband and his gang of dirt bags on a long, long journey…” he said and frowned. “I think I sent them to a place not that far from here, up north? Anyway, I can do that.”

    John pondered for a moment if he'd be able to live with Caldwell getting lost somewhere, just for a while, but although he really hated the man he didn’t hate him enough for that.

    “No, nobody,” he said.

    “Okay, now you’re really lying,” Djinn said and poked a buttery finger accusingly into John’s shoulder. “You told me about your Colonel Caldwell already. I could make him lose all his hair if you want to…”

    John laughed. “I think nature already did that for you.”

    “You’re really hard to satisfy,” Djinn sighed and shook his head.

    “Maybe,” John shrugged, reaching for the popcorn. “But you said I’d have to formulate carefully right?”

    Djinn swatted his hands away from the bowl and rolled his eyes. “At this rate I’m going to be stuck with you for a long time.”

    John wasn’t sure he’d mind that.
    Administrative Postings meiner Person im Zuge meiner Betätigung auf Stargate-Project.de als Moderator sind in roter Schrift verfasst. Andersfarbige Postings sind als Bekundung meiner eigenen Meinung zu werten.


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  13. #13
    Mod& Freiberufliche Wraith Queen Avatar von Amarra
    Registriert seit
    29.05.2006
    Beiträge
    122

    Standard

    Title: "I Dream of Jeannie"
    Genre: Friendship
    Rating: PG-13
    Lenght: 3518 words (I know, it's the longest piece as of yet, but should we get a Fic section, I'm going to make it an own topic later.
    Spoilers/Warnings: None, and Crackfic (you know, humour, insanity, pink harem pants, such stuff)
    Notes: Betaed by the lovely Lavvyan on Lj. Crackfic Rodney!Jeannie AU oneshot. The title is the American original of "Bezaubernde Jeannie".

    Under a spoiler for length:

    Spoiler 


    ****

    The sand was golden, the sky cloudless and blue, and the ocean surrounding the island in all four directions seemed endless. The Jumper had dug itself nose-first into the beach and was now useless, burned out and half-underwater. John had used what was left of the emergency parachute and what little equipment he could safe from the water to build a shelter from the sun between the few feeblish palm trees.

    There was nothing and nobody else: no rescue in sight, not enough food to last more than perhaps two days, and even less fresh water. Fine, there was a single coconut on one of the palm trees, but that wouldn’t last him that long either.

    “At least I’m not dead, yet,” he muttered, and flicked some sand off his shoulders. His air force jumpsuit still smelled of smoke and fire, and his hair felt singed at the tips and around his ears.

    So, this was what having still some problems with the re-entry procedure meant, he thought wryly, and looked up, scanning the horizon for any ships or helicopters searching for him. Nothing. And there still was nothing three hours later, four hours later, five… he got nervous as afternoon turned more and more into evening with still no sign of help, and nothing he could do to contact his rescue.

    The radio had died on re-entry along with pretty much anything else, and he doubted the emergency signal was still active after the heat it had to endure.

    With his luck they’d probably decided he had burned up on re-entry, and now was nothing more than ashes floating about in the atmosphere. Colonel Caldwell certainly wouldn’t mind. He would think of it as confirmation for all his doubts about John’s test pilot qualifications for such an important project, and would go ahead and blame the loss of a million-dollar test aircraft on him, too.

    Post mortem, but anyway, Caldwell would have enough arguments to close down the project for good.

    John started circling the edges of the island, looking out and listening for any kind of engine over the sounds of the waves crashing onto the sand, but there was still nothing.

    He waited an entire day.

    But all he had encountered as the end of the second day approached, after another fruitless hour of circling, was an old, greenish bottle with a long neck and a round bottom he'd found washed up on the shore. The paint was flaking off around the middle, giving it the look of an old Christmas bauble, and it sparkled in the sun.

    He busied himself with checking the bottle over for the next ten or so minutes. then he flopped back down in the shadow of his parachute, dropping the bottle into the sand next to him.

    The second day was not different.

    He had no water left for the third day, and after the coconut was gone, he’d have to go dry.

    The coconut was gone awfully quick.

    John was too tired and worn out to stay awake that night, and he woke the next morning with a stiff neck, a parched throat, and the painful understanding that he was going to die of thirst surrounded by water.

    He had lost most of his hopes for rescue as the sun coloured the sky red and orange on the fourth day. He'd be able to stay alive for another day or two if he fell back on water recycling, but eventually he would have to face the unavoidable end.

    Lacking anything else to do, he picked up the bottle and started to peel off the flaking paint to busy his hands with something instead of worrying about his impending death. In retrospect, he should have known something about that bottle was off the moment he found it, but he hadn’t listened to that tiny little voice of instinct. It was too late to do anything about it anyway, as the damn thing started glowing and shaking.

    John yelped and threw it away as the cork flew off and strange pink smoke begun to spill from the bottle’s neck.

    “Fuck!” he cursed and crawled away from the growing cloud, ending up with his back pressed up against one of the trees.

    A human form shaped itself from the smoke, turning from pink smoke to flesh and blood, until a grown up man stood over the bottle. He had his arms crossed over his bare chest, wore hilariously pink harem pants and frowned down at John with obvious displeasure as soon as he opened his eyes.

    And it got only worse as he became aware of where he was.

    “Is this a…” he started speaking, and crunched up his face at the ocean. “Oh, no, it is. This is an island? I wound up on an island in the middle of nowhere? Really? I knew my last Master wasn’t happy about the way he had wasted his last wish, but seriously, he can’t expect me to know when he’s just cursing and when he’s wishing in earnest. 'I wish you’d go to hell' is a wish, strictly speaking…”

    He threw his hands into the air and started pacing towards the water and back again to the trees, muttering and yelling on and on, and ignored John entirely.

    John, after a few minutes of that show, started to really ask himself if he’d gone insane, or if the impact of his Jumper had caused a concussion which made him hallucinate, or… he had no clue what, but this wasn’t real.

    “What the hell…” he muttered and tried to close his eyes, count to ten and open them again. The man was still there as he looked up again, and even worse, had returned to John’s shelter, staring down at him as if he expected an answer to an important question.

    “Are you even listening to me?”

    “Eh… What?” John asked, blinking up at the man.

    “Oh, great. An idiot.” The man sounded as if he’d been just punished the worst way possible. “You know, actually that’s kind of fitting. With the Masters I had in the past, I’m surprised you’re not an ape or something. I though it couldn’t get worse, but it obviously has. I was probably stranded here for thousands of years, and now I’ve got an absolute idiot as my new Master. Not that any previous Masters were better in any way, always the same stupid wishes for fame, gold, girls, or camels. Always bigger camels, always faster, better, with bigger bumps…”

    “Wow, stop, wait a second,” John said, trying to get a word in. “Master?”

    “Master, yes, you are retarded, right? I said all that already,” the man said and swirled a hand dismissively towards him. “Do I speak Chinese or something? You should understand me, I’m pretty sure of that.”

    “No… I mean yes.” John shook his head to clear it before he asked again, “Master? You said I’m your new Master. What's that supposed to mean?”

    “You rubbed the bottle, you are the Master,” the man said, annoyance over that fact obvious. “You can wish for stuff, I have to do it.”

    When John was young, not older than five or six, his dad had told him stories of Sinbad and Aladdin. About the Jinniee and the magic carpet Aladdin with what he had rescued his princess.

    “Like…” John looked at the bottle and up at the man again. “A Jinniee?”

    The man rolled his eyes. “I’m not a Jinniee, that’s what my sisters are called, and I’ve got a lot of them, alright, and we look nothing alike! I’m a Djinn, it’s spelled differently and sounds differently, and anyway, do I look like a girl? I’m a man, a manly male man.”

    He waved his hands towards his body and John looked him up and down. No, he looked absolutely male, not as muscled as John was used from other members of the Military, but he had his charms. John stuffed that part of his brain that was responsible for the last assessment back where it belonged and started smirking, because maybe it was a male, but the pink pants, well.

    “Well, your pants don’t exactly scream manly at me,” he drawled, and Djinn’s face turned red.

    “Don’t mock the pants,” he snarled. “Your uniform isn’t that hot either. And anyway, I don’t take fashion advice from some random guy with sunburn and awful hair. Did you have a camel chew on it, or something?”

    John patted his hair, suddenly aware of how it must look like after the little fire accident and days of sand and sun.

    “Hey,” he grumbled. “It’s not that bad.”

    “It’s bad enough,” the man answered. “Now: wishes…” he snapped his fingers impatiently. “Wish for women and money already so I can go back into my bottle, I’ve got more important things to do than wait around…”

    John tilted his head. “Like what?”

    Djinn spluttered for a moment before he composed himself. His mouth opened and closed a few times but no words came out. Eventually he huffed and crossed his arms again, chin held up arrogantly.

    “Well, it’s certainly not waiting around until you make up your mind over what to wish up first!”

    The answer answered nothing at all.

    John scratched the back of his neck, sand rough beneath his fingertips, and contemplated his situation. The sun was already going down at the horizon, and there still was nobody around. He'd obviously gone insane, or had a brain haemorrhage or something, so he was likely to die anyway before any kind of rescue would arrive. He could as well indulge himself a little and enjoy his last moments on earth with whatever his damaged brain could come up with.

    “Well, how many wishes do I have? Three?”

    “Three,” the man repeated flatly. “No, there’s no limit. Who has the bottle, has the wishes. This three wish thing comes from some rather lazy examples of my profession who usually barely manage to keep their masters alive for longer than that, not all of us are as good in what we do as I am.”

    “Alive…” John echoed.

    “Yeah, carelessly phrased wishes can kill pretty damn fast,” Djinn said and shrugged. “So let’s go down to business already, what’s it gonna be? Fame? Fortune? Fast Camels? If it’s camels, I’ve got to warn you that I’m allergic to them. I get this rash all over my arms and face, my throats closes up and I start hacking up a lung which isn’t nice…” he trailed off at John’s amused look and huffed. “What do you want?”

    Patience obviously wasn’t one of Djinn’s talents.

    “What am I supposed to do with a camel on this island? Right now I’d rather have some water,” John said. Somehow it was fun to piss him off.

    Djinn rolled his eyes dramatically and produced a large pink umbrella from behind his back which he opened up with an evil smirk on his face.

    “Fine,” he said and thunder growled in the semi-dark above. Rain started to fall in large, cool drops, hammering down on the makeshift roof of the shelter and collecting in the parachute’s folds.

    John jumped up and started laughing and jumping about like a kid, mouth open and arms spread wide as he moved around and tried to catch as much water as he could. If his rescue had come at that moment, and he was oddly glad it hadn’t, they would have seen an Air Force major circle around a man wearing harem pants who was holding a pink umbrella over his head and scowling disgustedly at the major's antics.

    “You know you're not exactly improving my opinion of your intelligence with that kind of behaviour, right?”

    “It’s raining,” John yelled and remembered that he had to save the water somehow.

    “Really? I hadn't noticed,” Djinn said sarcastically as he watched John spread out whatever he could rig up to catch the water.

    “Is it enough now?” Djinn asked eventually.

    “I think,” John answered. He was busy with filling the water from one of the parachute’s folds into the empty water bottle he had managed to rescue from the Jumper before.

    “Wonderful.” The rain stopped and Djinn made the umbrella vanish just like it had appeared. “Anything else, Master?”

    “You can call me John,” John said, smiling at him.

    “Great,” Djinn set his mouth in an unhappy line and repeated his previous words. “Do you want anything else? And not that I want to criticise your survival strategies, John, or doubt your obviously very impressive talent for improvisation, but really, as I see it you’re stranded on this island, right?”

    John nodded.

    “So how about you wish yourself off the island, then?”

    John might have just forgotten about that for a while there, damn it.

    “I’m totally wasting my powers on you, you know? There should be a rule against fulfilling idiots' wishes.”

    “Fine, how about some rescue then,” John snapped.

    And not five minutes later a ship appeared at the horizon and a helicopter approached, light bright and blinding as it found John on his tiny island in the middle of nowhere. He hopped up and down in the spot of light and waved his arms around wildly, and as he looked back to where the Djinn had stood before, nobody was there.

    So much for hallucinations, he thought, but he didn’t leave the bottle behind.

    John somehow managed to take the bottle with him on the helicopter, and, after a few days of infirmary stay and a rundown from Colonel Caldwell about how John had to do better next time, he even brought it home.

    He had a tiny house with brown grass in the garden and front for which he never had time. A rusty, classic Mustang in the garage which he should take out for spins more often, but never had the time for either, and a home with a wonderful view of the runway from the kitchen. He liked the airplanes enough to not mind the rattling of the cups in the kitchen shelves, and anyway, it wasn’t as if there were any houses on base which didn't have the same problem. His wife had talked about nothing else when she’d been out to meet the other pilots’ wives; that, and how the others had agreed that it was better to get a divorce now, before there were kids who'd be hurt by it, than later.

    He put the bottle on the kitchen counter and sat down on a stool he had pulled over, a beer from the fridge in his hands. The bottle looked almost worse now than it had back on the island. Stripes of the paint were hanging loosely down its sides, and more of the silvery colour below had started to show through.

    He had two choices: a) go and report to Doctor Heightmeyer about hallucinating a guy wearing pink harem pants that had some distinct similarities with a girl he faintly remembered from a TV show from the 50s. Or b) scrub a little more of the chipped paint off the bottle’s side, and see what happens.

    By the time he was aware again of what he was doing, he had already started to peal a thin, foil-like stripe off of the bottle's neck.

    The bottle rattled and fell over, and he stepped back as the smoke appeared right in the middle of his small kitchen. The man swirled around and gave his surroundings a measuring look as soon as he was half way solid.

    “Okay, not an island which is an improvement,” he said slowly, and reached out to poke at a pile a dirty plates John may have forgotten to clean up before he’d left for the test flight. In his defence: he hadn’t counted on disappearing for more than a week.

    “…but only a little. This is pretty unsanitary, really.”

    “Sorry, but I was sort of tied up over the last few days, so washing my dishes was the last of my worries,” John said

    “You could wish for a servant to do that,” the Djinn said.

    “Thanks, but I’ve got a dishwasher,” John said. The Djinn scowled at him and crossed his arms again, vibrating with impatience.

    “Look, now that we’ve rescued you, what do you want next?”

    John thought about it for a moment. Part of him still couldn’t believe he wasn’t hallucinating even as he was already trying to come up with all sorts of things to wish for. Like, say, a own plane, or some money to get a house off base. Well, there were a lot of possibilities.

    “I don’t know,” John admitted.

    “You don’t know,” Djinn said scornfully. “Just wish for money, that’s always popular, or, I don’t know, a woman? Do you have a wife?” He looked at the dirty dishes and at the tiny living room area and kitchen, and missed out on John’s flinch. “Well, no, you have no wife, so that would be a wish, right?”

    John still had one, at least until he signed the papers.

    “What would you wish for?” John asked and the Djinn squeaked indignantly.

    “This isn’t about me,” he answered. He waved a hand towards John. “Just wish for something random already. A better house? This one is really small, you know.”

    “No.

    “A nice garden, with green grass…”

    “No.”

    Djinn looked out through the kitchen window. “Are you aware your yard is brown?”

    “Yep,” John said.

    It went on like that. John let Djinn rattle off suggestions and found himself enjoying it too much to actually wish for anything. He made popcorn after he finished his beer, and started picking a movie to watch. He didn’t know why, but the constant annoyed chatter somehow filled a place in him he hadn’t even been aware was empty.

    “I could make you rich.”

    John shook his head. “No, I’m fine.”

    “What kind of human says no to money?” Djinn snapped, sitting on the couch with a bowl of popcorn in his lap.

    “I do,” John said shrugging while he went through his pile of DVDs. “I’ve got enough money, the house belongs to the military, and I like my job, and even if Nancy – that’s my wife, well, almost ex-wife - wants half of anything, I don’t need that much.”

    “Humans are all the same,” Djinn said leaning back in the couch. “You're all petty, greedy and selfish.”

    “Not all of us.” John picked a random western from the shelf and popped it in before sitting down alongside the Djinn.

    “Huh, sure. Who's got several millenia of experience here, you or me?”

    Djinn may have only been introduced to popcorn about 10 minutes ago, but he already liked it enough to hog the bowl and devour its content with obvious pleasure. John couldn’t stop grinning as he went through DVD menu and started the movie.

    “Well, you, but I still don’t need money.”

    Djinn propped up his feet on the small coffee table. And look at that, John thought, the pants came with fitting pointy shoes.

    “Women, then?” Djinn suggested.

    If John had to be sincere, he didn’t really need that either right now. Besides, he couldn’t date a woman against her will. “Ah, well no…”

    “It’s not goats, or… let’s say, something else you want me to…”

    “Goats?” John couldn’t say he wanted to know that story. “No, no goats, thank you very much.”

    The movie started and two cowboys appeared on screen, riding through a wide open desert landscape.

    “So, are there people you don’t like? You could wish me to take care of them,” Djinn said with a full mouth, eyes fixed on the screen.

    “You could kill someone for me?”

    “No,” Djinn muttered. “I don’t kill, well, I could. But I don’t. I can put them someplace where they get lost for a while, though. I did that for some Viking Queen once, pretty creepy woman by the way, who wanted me to send her husband and his gang of dirt bags on a long, long journey…” he said and frowned. “I think I sent them to a place not that far from here, up north? Anyway, I can do that.”

    John pondered for a moment if he'd be able to live with Caldwell getting lost somewhere, just for a while, but although he really hated the man he didn’t hate him enough for that.

    “No, nobody,” he said.

    “Okay, now you’re really lying,” Djinn said and poked a buttery finger accusingly into John’s shoulder. “You told me about your Colonel Caldwell already. I could make him lose all his hair if you want to…”

    John laughed. “I think nature already did that for you.”

    “You’re really hard to satisfy,” Djinn sighed and shook his head.

    “Maybe,” John shrugged, reaching for the popcorn. “But you said I’d have to formulate carefully right?”

    Djinn swatted his hands away from the bowl and rolled his eyes. “At this rate I’m going to be stuck with you for a long time.”

    John wasn’t sure he’d mind that.
    Administrative Postings meiner Person im Zuge meiner Betätigung auf Stargate-Project.de als Moderator sind in roter Schrift verfasst. Andersfarbige Postings sind als Bekundung meiner eigenen Meinung zu werten.


    ~*+*~

    HERE


  14. #14
    Lieutenant General Avatar von Antares
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    Oh, this is cute!! *lol*

    I like the tone of the story very much - and Rodney does a very convincing Djinn.

    "I’m a man, a manly male man.” - yes, despite the pink trousers!

    I love how exasperated Rodney gets, when John has no "real" wishes for money, women or fame and the last paragraph is perfect - because it must be fun to have such a Djinn around!

    And I like the "clash of cultures" in this one - Rodney always promising camels (John doesn't need them), trying to get John a servant (John has a dish-washer)

    There are a lot of funny and very lovely moments in it, too many to cite them all!

  15. #15
    Lieutenant General Avatar von Antares
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    This is the slightly longer version of my drabble because there were so many details I couldn't fit within the 100 words. *g* And I won't translate it into German because it somehow would lose the double entendre.

    Title: The Prince with the Golden Balls
    Author: Antares
    Rating: PG
    Pairing: John/Rodney
    Genre: AU
    Word Count: 807
    Beta: Many, many thanks to Shazz!
    ---------------------------------------------

    ---------------------------------------------
    Once upon a time, young Prince Rodney was walking through the royal gardens playing with his golden math-ball. It was an Ancient toy and his Aunt Lizzie had given it to him on his 21st birthday. The higher you threw this golden math-ball, the more difficult the mathematical riddles the ball asked you. There was another ball for astrophysics but Rodney rarely used it because it made him yearn to travel to the stars.

    One day what his mother had predicted the day he received this present happened; by accident Prince Rodney tossed his ball high in the air and before he could catch it the ball fell into the royal well.

    Splash ... gurgle ... gone.

    “Oh, no! No,no, no!” Rodney tried everything to get the ball back; fishing rods, nets, special constructions involving claw arms and magnets – all without success. And his father, the ignorant King, wouldn’t authorize a rescue mission that involved blowing up or draining the well.

    Rodney was desperate. For long hours he sat on the stony border of the well, plotting schemes to get his ball back and wallowing in his own misery.

    During one of these phases of self-pity he suddenly heard somebody say, “I could help you.”

    It took Rodney a moment to figure out that the speaker was a small green frog with a little golden crown - but as there were also talking dragons in his father’s army, he wasn’t too astonished. Instead, he asked the first practical question that popped into his mind, “How much will that cost me?” Using all his pocket money for technical knickknacks there was always a gaping hole in his purse at the end of the month and today was the 28th.

    “A kiss,” the frog croaked.

    Rodney pondered the question. Usually, he liked his frogs roasted, with a tiny bit of garlic butter and a thick béarnaise sauce, but desperate situations called for desperate measures.

    “Okay. Payment upon delivery.”

    The frog nodded and disappeared.

    The next day, when Rodney was training in the garden with his master of weapons, Ronon, he suddenly noticed a small frog that was working hard at rolling a golden ball in the grass.

    “Hey, you could help me instead of staring,” the frog complained when he was within earshot of the prince.

    “Right. Right,” Rodney hastened to reply. He bent down and retrieved the golden ball – and – it was his Ancient math-ball!

    “Perfect!” he exclaimed and threw his golden ball in the air, happy to hear the question about Euler’s number that he loved so much.

    “Sorry to interrupt you.” The frog sounded pissed. “Didn’t you forget a tiny little part?”

    “What?”

    “Kiss me.”

    “But ... but ... You’re a frog!”

    “Well duh! That didn’t bother you when you accepted my help.”

    “I thought that ...”

    “Is that true, Prince Rodney?” asked the master of weapons with a trace of menace in his voice.

    “Yeah, it’s true. But ...”

    “Then you must stand by your word.” There was no room for discussion in Ronon’s words and stance, his hand was resting on the hilt of his sword.

    Rodney picked up the frog, his disgust clear. “Can we please disinfect the frog first? All those bacteria and germs sitting on his skin.” He offered the frog to Ronon.

    The frog had the impertinence to chuckle – and that was not a pleasant sound with a frog.

    “Your highness, don’t be such a sissy. One kiss and you are done.” Ronon, the traitor, laughed with the frog.

    Rodney knew when he had lost. He screwed his eyes shut, took a deep breath and bestowed a quick kiss on the green creature in his hand.

    “Finally...” someone said. And that sounded deeper, less croaking, and Rodney opened his eyes.

    His hand wasn’t holding the frog anymore but it was still in the same position and therefore he was squeezing the ass-cheeks of a very good-looking, dark haired, naked man. The only sign that this gorgeous man had indeed been the frog was the small golden crown sitting upon his unruly hair.

    “Uhm...”

    “I’m Prince John. Thanks for saving me.”

    Rodney was a bit overwhelmed because frogs turning into princes were clearly a cliché from one of Jeannie’s fairytales. So he mumbled rather ungraciously, “You are welcome.” Then he snatched his hand from its resting place.

    “You don’t know what to do with me?” Prince John asked smirking.

    “Uh ...Why?”

    “You saved me, so my life belongs to you,” the good-looking prince assured him with a mischievous grin.

    “Really?”

    “Really.”

    Rodney let his eyes travel over the body of the man in front of him, and found nothing to complain about. Clearing his voice, he asked, “Okay. Bedroom ...?”

    “Your wish is my command.”

    Together they went to the castle, played with the balls and ... lived happily ever after.

  16. #16
    There is good in you... Avatar von Chayiana
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    Yay! You haven't forgotten it ... *gg*

    I'm still giggling about Prince Rodney and that cheeky frog.
    “Sorry to interrupt you.” The frog sounded pissed. “Didn’t you forget a tiny little part?”
    Well, Rodney, you promised it, and you always should keep your promises! *gg*

    And in this case I guess it was worth it, wasn't it ... more balls to plays with ...

    Thanks again, Antares, for this cute little fic and the laughter that brought it to me.

  17. #17
    Lieutenant General Avatar von Antares
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    Thank you very much for your lovely words!

    And a woman, who also speaks Japanese, told me "in Japanese the testicles are called 金玉, or 'golden balls'. " That's a coincidence, isn't it? *lol*

    Thank you!

  18. #18
    Major General Avatar von Kris
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    @ Antares: It is very sweet, and I kept smiling, while I read the story.

    And now to something completly different. Some time ago I choosed to translate some of my drabbles. They changed a little bit, but not in a bad way. And I have no Beta-Reader, so I have to trust on my own feelings for language.

    Here is one of them. Maybe some of you will recognize it.



    Title: Threat or Opportunity
    Rating: T
    Genre: Humor/ Slash (very very mild)
    Pairing: McShep (What else?)
    A/N: This little drabble is translated from my german version (and changed a little bit). I hope it is not to lame now. It takes place very early in the first season, some days after the pilot, and plays with the most wanted pairing – but on a early stage. And I do not own Stargate Atlantis and its characters.


    John leaned against a stack, when suddenly something nearby awakened with a sound.

    His eyes narrowed, recognizing the source. It was here? Now he knew, why the lifesigns-detector disappeared yesterday.

    But McKay was mindfuller than he thought.

    Without looking up, the scientist waved his hand in a threatening gesture. "Major, I have seen that. If the detector is not an his place, I will search you later – personally!”

    John smiled. „Really?“

    "Would you like to take the chance?" McKay emphasized.

    John took the hand ayway from the lifesigns-detector but then decided otherwise. Maybe he shouldn’t let this opportunity slip away.
    Kolya, der Trust und ein irrer Serienkiller in:Im Grau der Schatten, Double Trouble & In den Händen des Schicksals. Ungekannte Abenteuerer von John Sheppard & Co in "Stargate Atlantis - Die verborgenen Szenen": Aufbruch in eine neue Welt und Das erste Jahr und Die Specials.

    John Sheppards Schicksal im Vegasverse :"Solitary Man" no more

    *Neu:* Kapitel 22 seit Okt 2016: Wenn der schlafende Tiger erwacht (Star Trek Into Darkness Prequel)
    * NEU* Doktor Who: Die Saat des Zorns * Der Schatten des Doktors * Drabbles

  19. #19
    Lieutenant General Avatar von Antares
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    Thanks for the nice feedback, Kris.

    Yes, I recognize your drabble! And I hope John sticks with his plan to sieze this opportunity.

  20. #20
    Lieutenant General Avatar von Antares
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    Standard These Boots Are Made For Walking [NC-17]

    I won't translate this story into German, so here's the English Original:

    Title: These Boots Are Made For Walking
    Author: Antares
    Pairing: Sheppard/McKay
    Rating: NC-17 !
    Word Count: 2519
    Beta: Many thanks to kimberlyfdr
    Notes: I changed the title after first posting it and "borrowed" this title from Nancy Sinatra
    Warning: Light D/s scenario, Kink: boot-fetish - - - If you don't like it - don't read it!! *g*


    -----------------------------------------------------------

    No, no, and no. Rodney had no boot-fetish. He had never salivated at the sight of high-heels or, God beware, rubber-boots. No.

    But during the last months he had developed a – as he called it euphemistically in his head – “deep appreciation” for Sheppard’s black combat boots. Tied nonchalantly challenging the military regulations, they seemed to be the quintessence of the man himself.

    TBC in the spoiler ...
    Spoiler 
    Those black combat boots had started to feature in Rodney’s nightly wet dreams shortly after they had reached Atlantis. He hadn’t been able to return to his favorite fantasy of a Sam-Carter-clone at his beck and call, seducing him with expensive lingerie the moment he entered his apartment. No, there were always black shining boots in his dreams now. And instead of being a short aberration due to inhuman stress and not enough sleep – like he had hoped in the beginning – their unhealthy influence had started to also invade his days.

    These damned black boots made him hard during the day when he was lying under a console and Sheppard was standing besides him; passing him tools or simply poking him with questions about the “why” and the “how long”.

    The only time he was half-way safe was when they were encrusted with dirt and slime, reeking from some off-worldly green-gray stinking mud. Only then was Rodney’s deep-rooted fear of germs and contagious alien plagues able to dampen his enthusiasm for Sheppard’s footwear.

    As a scientist, Rodney had tried to find out with scientific methods what triggered this kink. He had stared at Lorne’s boots until the Major had noticed and asked him if something was wrong. But nothing was wrong. Lorne’s combat’s boots left him as cold as the sight of a male botanist nibbling on someone’s stilettos, a photo McKay had found ‘accidentally’ on the Atlantis intranet.

    To make a bad situation worse, the more Rodney’s friendship with Sheppard deepened, the more he became obsessed with Sheppard’s boots. It wasn’t often that he remembered his dreams, as usually he was too tired, but when he did, sexual gratification was always somehow linked to a pair of combat boots. Even if Sheppard was naked in his dreams, and turned him on with that lean body of his, what made him come in minutes were the boots. Rodney tried to argue logically that he had never seen Sheppard naked, but that he saw the boots on a daily basis, therefore, his subconscious would go with the scenario it was more acquainted with – but even in his own ears that sounded lame. So he was stuck with this unfortunate kink.

    -------------------------------------------------

    Tonight he entered Sheppard’s quarters with two bottles of beer in one hand, and a bowl of something that smelled and tasted nearly like potato chips even if it was green, in the other.

    “Sheppard? We still going to watch the new ‘Transformers’ DVD?” he called when the colonel was nowhere to be seen.

    “I’m in the bathroom. I’ll be with you in five minutes. ‘Transformers’ is on the chair.”

    “Sure,” Rodney answered. He put the bowl on the bed, opened his beer, and went in search of the DVD. Being it Valentine’s Day, the ‘official’ movie to be shown in the mess hall was certain to be some uber-romantic, disgustingly sweet sentimental crap, where everybody would be happy in the end, making mooneyes and kissing. Robots were definitely better.

    “Ha!” Rodney spotted the DVD on top of Sheppard’s discarded clothes – but he also spotted Sheppard’s boots, half buried under a t-shirt that had fallen to the floor. He picked the shirt up and hung it over the back of the chair.

    Then he stared. There they were, shiny and freshly polished, smelling of leather; luring him, provoking him. Rodney heard the water running in the adjacent room and after a short, uncertain look at the bathroom door he went down onto his knees. He could always say he was picking up something from the floor, he reassured himself.

    He hesitated for a second, but then he bent forward and took a deep sniff.

    Wham!

    It went directly to his head, traveled down his spine, and tentacles of lust reached for his groin, weaving a net of longing and recklessness. He inhaled again. Leather, shoe polish, the scent of worn shoes and the knowledge that these were Sheppard’s made Rodney’s breathing quicker. All of his dreams and half-dreams came to him in a rush. Rodney’s fantasies mingled with reality. His fingers were gliding over the smooth leather, playing with the shoelaces, and he had to adjust himself because his cock was pressing uncomfortably against the seam of his pants.

    Rodney listened again, but there was still the sound of the shower, so he wiped his handkerchief over the boots. When he was sure they were as clean as they looked, he took a deep breath. Only seconds separated him from fulfilling his deepest yearning. Now or never, he had to get it out of his system. He leaned forward again, stuck out his tongue, and licked tentatively. He couldn’t suppress a small groan when his tongue touched the boot for the first time. It was even better than in his dreams.

    “I could help you.”

    Rodney’s head shot up, and with horror he saw Sheppard standing nonchalantly in the door of the bathroom, arms crossed over his chest, the water was still running in the background.

    Opening his mouth to respond, Rodney found that his head was all of a sudden totally void. There was just no way to explain what he was doing there. But he had prepared an excuse, hadn’t he? “I … I … was looking for …” Crap, he hadn’t thought about what he was searching on the floor! And so Rodney ended lamely, “I think I lost a … button.”

    “You were sniffing and licking my boots,” Sheppard stated unequivocally.

    “No! I wasn’t. I was …” Rodney started to get up. He had to leave!

    But John ordered, “Stay where you are!” He thought the shower off and advanced to where Rodney was still kneeling on the floor.

    Instead of bolting out of the door and running, the only thing that came to Rodney’s paralyzed mind was that John moved with the grace of a panther despite his worn sweatpants and his loose fitting gray t-shirt. He felt like the proverbial deer in the headlights and looked a bit helplessly up to Sheppard. How could he have been so careless, sniffing Sheppard’s boots in his own quarters? Rodney wasn’t sure if his mortification or his yearning for this hot man and his boots were going to win his inner battle.

    “If you say ‘Caldwell’ I’ll stop immediately. Okay?”

    Wait, wait, Sheppard hadn’t said what he thought he had said, had he? “W...w...what?”

    “You heard me.” Sheppard was now standing directly in front of Rodney. Barefoot, old clothes, his hair still dripping wet – but he was using his command voice that sent needle-sharp tremors down Rodney’s spine.

    Rodney was wetting his suddenly dry lips with his tongue when realization hit him. Oh my God! Sheppard wanted to play games! There was still the nagging suspicion that this was a very elaborate joke – but then, how could Sheppard know about this special kink of his? He nervously rubbed his palms on his pants. One breath of air later, he decided to be brave and to jump in at the deep end. Rodney croaked, “Okay.” He was fully aware that at this moment he had consented to more than only accepting a safeword.

    “Fine.” Sheppard picked up the boots, made three steps to the nearest chair, and sat down. He pulled his boots on and then told Rodney, “Come here and lace them.” He snapped his fingers in a very McKay-like manner.

    Rodney hesitated, but when he tentatively tried to stand up, Sheppard shook his head. “No.”

    McKay tried to convince himself. ‘Come on, Rodney, it’s only three or four meters and it’s like a mirror image of your dreams.’ But then it had been always dream-Rodney the submissive one. Real-Rodney was a genius and ... very bossy.

    As if Sheppard could read his thoughts, he coaxed seductively, “Even the best scientist in two galaxies is allowed to have dreams.”

    Rodney made an effort and started crawling. Silly, silly, silly his rationality sung, but was drowned out by the lust of surrender that was submerging Rodney. Every scratch of his knees on the floor left scratches on his self-confidence. But it was worth it. When he reached Sheppard he was painfully hard.

    He was grateful that he had a task awaiting him, and he took great pains to lace the boots meticulously. “Done,” he announced two minutes later and ventured a look at Sheppard’s face. There was no mockery or boastfulness. Rodney relaxed a bit.

    Sheppard wiggled his feet from the left to the right, examining them attentively, then he criticised, “There’s still dirt on the toecap. Lick it clean.”

    Lacing the shoes of somebody and ‘kinky’ boot-licking were two very different things, but the throbbing of his cock convinced Rodney that he really wanted to do that. He bent forward and the sensations were even stronger now that Sheppard had given the order while wearing the boots. Rodney deactivated all his higher brain-functions and started to indulge in his fantasy, getting bolder each minute that passed. He was rubbing his cheek against the leather, licking with his tongue, and kissing Sheppard’s boots. Electric shocks were running through his body, tingling and enticing whenever he thought about how he must look for Sheppard. He glided his left hand in his trousers, but Sheppard’s foot kicked this hand away.

    “You’re not going to touch yourself, understood?”

    “But I have to come!”

    “Later. Now I want you to get up and strip, slowly. First the pants, then the t-shirt.”

    What was Sheppard offering? Of course this was a sexual experience for Rodney and there was no doubt that Sheppard knew it, but... was it also one for John? Rodney knew only one way to find out. He stared intently at John’s crotch. It was very difficult to tell with the sweatpants, but that looked suspiciously like a bulge. Oh. Good. Very good, indeed.

    Rodney made up his mind and got on his feet, He kicked off his shoes and started unbuttoning his pants. His boxer shorts revealed his arousal and John would know how turned on he was, but stubbornly Rodney continued to pull his t-shirt over his head. “Voilà!” he said and tried not fidget too much.

    “Nice. Now the boxer shorts.”

    “But then I’m naked and you’re still fully clothed,” Rodney complained.

    “That’s the general idea.” John grinned, but then he repeated sternly, “Strip!”

    That was ... new. In his dreams Sheppard would always magically lose his clothes with him so that they were both naked in the end. Rodney pulled down his shorts and held his breath. His cock was hard and leaking and there was no denying how much he liked this situation.

    “Very nice.” John cleared his voice and this was the first indication that he was way more affected than his slouch in the chair let on. “Kneel right in front of me and spread your legs.”

    His nakedness made Rodney shiver but the reason wasn’t the temperature in John’s quarters. He wanted to kneel with every fiber in his body, but once again his intellect was telling him that would be embarrassing and he shouldn’t do it. Rodney was torn.

    “Kneel.” John let his legs fall apart a bit and his right hand disappeared into his sweatpants.

    Rodney was clearly able to see the languorous up and down of John’s fingers. Rodney knelt, breathing heavily, and spread his legs. He felt totally vulnerable and hoped fervently that John would end the anticipation quickly. His fists were clenched so he wouldn’t touch himself even if he longed to do so.

    “Hands behind your back,” his tormentor ordered now and Rodney obeyed. It was easier that way.

    He was rewarded with John’s boot that was caressing the outside of his thigh. Smooth leather on hot skin left a trace of burning sensations. After a while, John’s foot changed to the inside of Rodney’s leg and wandered slowly higher until the boot touched Rodney’s balls for the first time. Rodney hissed loudly, which made John chuckle and continue to let his boot glide carefully over Rodney’s cock.

    Rodney closed his eyes when Sheppard once more pressed his boot between his legs, pushing them even more apart. He glided behind Rodney’s balls with the toecap, pressing on Rodney’s perineum. Rodney couldn’t suppress his moans any longer. The combination of combat boots and everything they represented on this delicate body-part – Rodney’s head began to swim in pure lust.

    “Rub yourself against my boot until you come,” Sheppard demanded hoarsely.

    “Yes, yes,” Rodney whispered zealously and pressed himself tentatively against the leather of the shoe. The feeling was incredible. The still slightly cold leather against his naked skin sent shivers down Rodney’s spine. Shamelessly, Rodney rubbed himself against Sheppard’s boot. No comparison to his dreams; this was ten times more intense.

    And the best was, John was also moaning.

    Light-headed, Rodney pressed his whole body forward, rubbing his dick against the shaft of the boot. The laces were sending delicious spikes of near-pain through his body. “I ... I have to come,” he panted.

    John pulled down the seam of his sweatpants, revealing his aroused cock.

    Yes, yes, yes, Sheppard was on the same page with him. The scent of soap and arousal was filling Rodney’s nostrils. He inhaled deeply. This was perhaps even more perfect than the smell of leather! John pressed his dick with only two fingers just below the crown, and Rodney considered taking John’s dick in his mouth, but he knew that he was already too uncoordinated and too close.

    Once more John’s foot bumped firmly against his perineum. Rodney gave a high-pitched moan as he babbled, “John, John, please, yes, please” and came, spilling white spurts over John’s boot. He needed his hands to secure his balance and leaned them against the chair John was sitting on. Waves of ecstasy crashed over him and left him limp and breathless.

    When he was done he felt John’s hands in his hair, urging him gently on, and Rodney obeyed once more. He opened his mouth and started sucking on John’s dick. The new sensations intertwined with the aftermath of his climax and he was humming contentedly. Only a shocking thirty seconds later, he tasted John for the first time. At least he hoped that it was the first time and that there would be a repeat performance. He looked up and John was grinning down at him.

    “Wanna finish the evening in bed?” John asked.

    “Oh yes, my knees are killing me,” Rodney complained, noticing for the first time how uncomfortable the ground was. He allowed Sheppard to help him to his feet.

    “You okay?” John asked with a hint of concern.

    "I'm good," Rodney said, meaning it in more ways than one.



    ------THE END----





    ©Antares, February 2010

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