Slot A Tab B

by AbylityMaren

URL: http://www.area52hkh.net/asa/amaren/slottab.php
Summary: John trying to figure out how things should fit together

During his walks with Rodney, as they wandered further and further from the populace in search of privacy, he'd begun to gather materials. Nothing overt, picking up this and that while he thought Rodney wasn't looking. Sparked by sunlight, a piece of wire would catch his eye.

They would tease and joke as they made their way with a sort of Brownian motion through Atlantis. John would palm 10,000 year old flotsam as they passed through debris ridden corridors. Then, without rhyme or reason, John would be satisfied by what he'd found and Rodney would tug him down some half-lit walkway.

He always led him, not by the hand, but by the wrist.

Looking for a larger surface to work on, John eventually carted his collection of half formed pieces out to the conference room. The mass of twisted garbage was proclaimed by Becket to be a `Monument to Tetanus`. At every meeting John would tinker with it. During free moments, he would push another piece across the table in search of just the right one. Bit to bit. No match. Try a different combination. The circle was too small. Tear it down. Bit to bit and."dammit". The second half of the contraption was smaller than the first.

People would occasionally pass by and snicker at his cursing, hardly noticing Rodney at all. He could often be found seated across from John with a cup of whatever passed for coffee this week and a laptop. For the most part, his eyes would remain on the screen, but sometimes they would stray to watch pieces of wire and metal being carefully curved and wound together. Rodney looked on as normally agile fingers proved to be far too awkward for the task. Stray sharp ends bit holes in John's fingertips.

"I could find you a soldering iron," he offered one evening.

"Nah."

John couldn't help but think that this should have been easier. It was only math. He knew the shape of it. This piece fit here and that there. Interconnecting and intersecting to create a whole. But somehow the curve was never quite right. Apparently, the eye didn't know pi times the radius squared.

One night John rolled a set of blue cogs between his fingers. They had been found on that first walk. Wandering had led them to a small cul-de-sac with a blue oval window that let in a watery light.

Each man kept his eyes closed as their hands fumbled beneath shirts, lips argued with each other, and fingers tangled over buttons. Both men jumped at the clang of John's belt buckle as it hit the floor.

But awkward tension was replaced by liquid movement as Rodney's mouth found its way to John's neck to lick the salt and feel the pulse of artery. John followed suit and then brought his hips forward until he felt his soft velvet head brush against the path of hair down Rodney`s stomach. Rodney let out a low groan as he felt himself being pinned between their bodies.

Their fluids and sweat mixed to create a slick surface. Hips bucked to add to sensation as arms encircled waists to close the gap. They stood for a long time, slowly grinding into each other like drunken dancers.

John sucked in a deep lungful of air as Rodney's hand broke the seal between their stomachs to carefully grasp him. John brought his hand to Rodney and their wrists pumped out the remaining beats of the music they were swaying to.

Rodney's voice broke John's revelry and brought him back to the mess on the table, "Those should probably be the central points."

"Huh?"

"If you're trying to make two equal circles, use those," he motioned with his mug, "as the central points and work outward." With that he scrubbed at his face, pushed the laptop closed, and left the room.

A week and a half and another late night, John had his jaw braced on his fist as he surveyed two completed circles laid out in the rubble on the table. They were big, a lot bigger than he'd intended. Rodney commented from behind the laptop's screen that they looked like orphaned bicycle rims and slurped at his `coffee'.

John's only response was to furrow his brow and rise from his seat. He stood the two circles face to face on their edges, equidistant from each other, and carefully balanced them with one hand while the other searched the mad mosaic for the right addition. With a grunt of frustration he set down the perfect rings, retook his seat, and put the fist back under the stubbled chin.

He palmed one of the red rectangular tiles that had caught his eye this evening. They were flat, brittle, and had been found during the walk after Corporal Walker had been killed on a mission.

John had felt the familiar circle of Rodney's hand around his wrist three times before he grudgingly grunted acknowledgment of its pressure. Instead of being lead into some quiet corner, John pushed Rodney into the shattered remains of a room where bright sunlight sliced through broken windows high up on the wall .

He backed the man onto the cracked seat of a bench, pinned him there with his hand. Curving his back he brought his forehead into contact with Rodney's.

Rodney ran his hands up John's stomach and chest to rest his thumbs against the pulse in his neck. Something akin to a whimper crept out of the pinned man's throat.

He arched his neck to meet John's lips. He only received a brush of skin. John's other hand made quick work of his own belt, button, and zipper. As John's pants slid down to his ankles, Rodney's hands traced taut muscle and began to slip on sweat soaked skin. When his palms flattened against John's stomach he felt a convulsive butterfly ripple beneath the surface.

Once again he tilted his head back to meet John's lips. This time he was rewarded with a bruising contact. His neck was bent to an uncomfortable angle. John sucked in the air of Rodney's exhale as Rodney wrapped his hand around the angry pulse at John's groin.

He watched the man above him as his damp palm pumped with ever increasing speed. John's eyes were squeezed shut. His face was distorted to something that resembled rage. His breath was being released in ragged grunts. As the moment of release came John arched backward and away.

Rodney shifted his weight, escaping the grip on his shoulder, and left the room to stand outside. A few moments later John joined him, eyes downcast. The two of them made their way back to the living quarters without their normal bantering.

John's focus barreled back to the darkened room and the debris at his fingertips as Rodney said, "You should use those as the braces for maintaining the distance between the two wheels." With a quick snap he shut the laptop and left the room.

John used Rodney's forgotten coffee cup to hold the slats that he broke from the brittle red rectangles.

A month passed and the two circles had now become one large wheel. It leaned in a corner of the conference room. As the days passed light would run up the spokes and shadow would chase it away. Weir commented that the 'Monument to Tetanus' was becoming an exercise in pointillism. As single pieces it was nothing, but when you stood back it was oddly attractive to the eye.

John would offer no response, he'd merely position himself at the table and begin, once again, to sort pieces.

John was surprised at how easily he'd managed to piece together a large double-sided triangular base. He'd pushed the latest effort clear of the debris, and with a little fishing, he pulled a large straight pin from the pile. That too was set to the side.

Chaos no longer dominated the table. What remained was largely a collection of colored wires and tiles. Most had been gathered in the weeks following Walker's funeral. He pulled a fistful of litter from the pile and squeezed until sharp edges threatened to cut skin.

John glanced over at Rodney's long empty chair. The walks had continued and so did John's harvesting, but now when the warm circle of Rodney's fingers brushed against John's wrist it was only to lead him home.

Two days later, as the sun began to set, Rodney moved away from John to the edge of a balcony to stare out over the ocean. John stood apart from Rodney feeling the weight of 10,000 years pulling at his pockets, barely noticing as a stray wire bit through fabric to scratch against his thigh. The two stood silent, the living areas of the city blocked by the buildings behind them, as the color of the light melted from warm yellows to fired oranges and on into deep reds.

Rodney turned to face John, "Are you ready to go back?".

John didn't answer at first. He stepped out onto the balcony beside Rodney and studied the warm light as it shaded his features. Rodney's eyes dropped to the ground and his toe traced a crack in the floor.

"`Do unto others'. Sometimes I forget that's called the Golden Rule," John whispered.

Rodney gave a shoulder shrug in response and turned back to the ocean.

John reached out and took Rodney's wrist. Somehow, that gentle grip on the wrist had become more intimate than fingers entwined. As John tugged at Rodney to bring him face to face he realized why. Approval through the squeeze of a hand could be faked like a post card smile, but by looping your fingers carefully around the wrist you could feel a truth. Information had displayed itself to Rodney in the rhythm of John's pulse as it worked its way from heart to extremity and back. Now, John felt the truth behind the lie of Rodney's apathy.

He leaned in to brush his lips against Rodney's. Rodney ducked his head a fraction to avoid them. John tried again, this time slightly parted lips met briefly. "I know the rules for getting laid, but I don't know the rules for this." he whispered.

Rodney simply nodded his head, "I don't know when the rules changed."

"But I think we both knew when I broke them." Carefully, John pressed his case and continued his kisses. They were almost innocent, chaste, and brief.

Rodney inhaled and shifted his weight away from John's lips, "This can't work."

"Rodney."

"Under the best of circumstances I am a genuine pain in the ass."

"Well." John stalled and tried to think of something other than the truth. He failed, "Yeah."

Rodney rolled his eyes, "And don't even get me started on the number of studies that have been done on the effects of stress on military personnel. The effects of post traumatic stress disorder alone can shred your average."

"We're not average. We're," John`s free hand flashed through the air as if grasping for the right word, ".weird."

"Weird? Now there's a word I can take comfort in." Rodney sniped as he rolled back on his heels.

Beneath his fingertips John felt the pulse slow from running rabbit to thumping stability. Following that cue he slipped his tongue past lips to be met with receptive warmth. He then took a long moment to suck at Rodney's lip before moving to touch teeth to earlobe.

"The way I figure it," he breathed into Rodney's ear, "we see what works."

"That simple?"

"You think that's simple?"

Rodney's head dropped again, "No. I don't."

John ran light kisses down his neck and around to the other ear. Rodney's hands reached up and squeezed John's shoulders as his breath deepened. As John sucked in the companion earlobe a barely audible moan slipped from Rodney.

"We find rules. We make them. We change them." John breathed.

"And what do we get?"

John placed his hands on either side of Rodney's neck and became acutely aware of his jugular's increasing tempo, "I don't know."

And then John was back to Rodney's lips. Tongues tangled as the hands of both men worked at a frantic pace to meet skin, to deepen the contact even further, to stand within each other. John's hands moved to Rodney's waistband, then pushed up his shirt, brushed flushed flesh. Simultaneously his lips moved downward until hands and lips met over Rodney`s heart. He paused here to feel the quickening rhythm being transferred to palms and mouth. Then his lips reversed the path made by his hands. He stopped to lick and suck at a nipple until Rodney's breath caught in his throat.

As his tongue trailed down Rodney's stomach, John shifted his weight and went to his knees. He began to work at fastenings, Rodney moved to block him. "The rest of that golden rule you mentioned." he stopped unable to finish the sentence but his head moved slowly from side to side.

"It's ok," John whispered as he met Rodney's eyes.

Rodney shifted to lay fingertips on the back of John's hands. John's attention returned to the rhythms of the man before him. With the touch of Rodney's fingertips echoing his hands, he finished freeing Rodney's pants and boxers.

He worked from his own memory of pleasures received. Tilting his head he ran his lips up the shaft to be answered by a sharp intake of breath from Rodney. He took a moment to suck and lick at the head. From the head down to the base. Here, his tongue found another pulse. Fast again but now it was matched by breath. Freeing one hand from Rodney's touch he brought it down to work in concert with his tongue. While the hand began a steady rhythm the tongue was slipping its way up and around.

Rodney stood absolutely still, watching John, his breath coming short, sharp, and fast.

John stopped for a moment to meet Rodney's half lidded eyes while his remaining hand wrapped around to rest in the small of Rodney's back. Then John put Rodney's head in his mouth and began a slow slide down shaft. Rodney's spine snapped back as he choked off a half-formed call of "Oh god." and his now free hands tangled themselves in John`s hair.

John increased the tempo slowly, flicking his tongue, listening to the low moans that were escaping from Rodney with growing frequency. Rodney's hips gave a convulsive shift forward. He stopped the impulse, breath freezing in his throat.

John freed his mouth, "It's ok." His eyes reassured Rodney before drawing him back between his lips. He returned to his former pace. Rodney became lost in the sensation of the warm mouth and the agile tongue. Tentatively at first, then with increasing relish his hips began bucking. His moans became soft grunts. Propelled by Rodney's increasing need John increased his pace. Surprised by his hunger, he allowed himself to become completely lost with Rodney in the place where thought ceases to exist. The sounds of lips, suction, and pleasure drowned out the distant ocean whisper. Rodney's grunts became half formed pleas that were echoed by a soft moaning from John.

"John," a grunted courtesy fought its way out of Rodney's throat, "I'm gonna."

John pulled his head back to run his tongue down the shaft. His hand raced to finish the moment, while his tongue monitored the skip of pulse as Rodney entered the place of convulsive reflex and groaned release.

Rodney wasn't aware of John pulling up his pants and straightening his shirt.

"There should be more golden rules." he sighed as John rose to his feet.

"I have several." said John as he began to steer a wobbly-kneed Rodney back towards the high traffic areas of Atlantis.

"Yeah?"

"The first is never argue with a naked person."

The next evening John retook his seat at the conference table. His head bent low to the table as he focused on the task before him. Pieces of wire needed to be carefully curved and wrapped around tiles. Straight pins added to hold the buckets between the wheels. The flotsam of a people ten thousand years dead combined with Johns memories. They were now twirling and being woven beneath his fingertips.

By the small hours of morning, he and Rodney stood admiring his work. It now had 20 tile and wire additions evenly spaced between its edges. Together they ran the axis piece through the center of the wheel and balanced that on top of the supports.

John reached out and gave it an experiment spin. Perfectly balanced, it made several shimmering rotations before coming to a slow smooth halt.

"It's still missing something," exhaustion made John fall back into his seat.

"It's enough for now. Go to bed. Weir will have a fit if you fall asleep in the meeting tomorrow."

"You coming?" John said as he waggled his eyebrows.

"No," Rodney snarked, "The idea is that you actually sleep."

A half smile crossed John's face as he slowly brushed against Rodney on his way out of the room and to his bed.

Rodney quietly stood studying the work of months.

Suddenly, he turned on his heel and left the room to return 10 minutes later with a box that gave a small series of metallic rattles when he set it down. As a satisfied smile drew itself across his face, he spun a large rubber loop around his index finger.

The next morning John, barely conscious, stumbled his way down the hall to enter the conference room. He nearly ran into the back of a scientist blocking the doorway craning her neck to peer into the room. Noticing him, she smiled and shifted to the side so that he could make his way into the suddenly over crowded space. He caught the flash of spinning wheel from the top of the table. He pushed through warm bodies and smiling faces to get a closer look.

The Ferris wheel stood nearly three feet tall. Every light source within Atlantis seemed to run up the spokes and around the rims of the double sided wheel causing it to flash and coruscate with energy. As it made lazy rotations the multi-colored tile and wire seats swung back and forth.

There was an addition that hadn't been there when he'd made his way to bed last night. A small electric motor had been tucked between the supports and spun a band that had been looped around the straight pin axis. The model now moved with a life of its own.

The voices and admiration of the crowd faded to the background as John reached out and placed his fingertips against the housing of the small motor. His eyes moved through the throng of spectators to meet Rodney's and his thoughts became lost in the pulse of the motor.