i'm sort of back. i say sort of, because i've had a new hard drive since monday, but i've been busy getting everything working again, deleting everything that's been damaged, and going through all the stuff that's worth keeping (which, unfortunately, hasn't been half as much as i'd've liked) so i haven't had the chance to respond to comments yet. and i've been going through the comms, too, asd;fldj.
every wordpad file i had is now utterly destroyed, which, well, sucks. it's not a big deal about all the random fics i'd started (most of them like, a line or two long) and i don't care about the various school stuff i'd had there, but i'm really frustrated about the few fics that i'd almost finished. sga, spn, 104, just, what the fuck. my epic 104 fic of angst and doom is gone, and i'd been working on it for over a year and it was MY BABY. AND IT'S GONE. DDD: (popkin16, that includes the rodneyjohn rec list i promised you, so i'm sorry, but it'll take even longer now. /w-wibble)
fortunately, most of the icons i'd saved seem to be alright, at least, so that's something. :D
a-and i just spent half an hour writing a small rodneyjohn ficlet, oh my god, it was so random. i read something about a fest including rodney, john, a bed, sandwiches, and making out, and i was ... inspired. um. i'm still really insecure about my rodney, i have no idea.
sunrise in the morning, stay awhile, you know that i'll be thinking of you now and everyday ; frank sinatra.
John wakes up to sunlight on his face, the warm cocoon of blankets around him, and the smell of turkey sandwiches. He makes to stretch, a curled up ball of tense limbs, but there's a sound from somewhere above him, and the press of a hand against his leg.
"No, no, no, don't move, do not move," Rodney says, and John looks at him with bleary eyes.
Despite Rodney's warnings, he sits up. And sees Rodney, looking uncharacteristically sheepish, mouth drawn into a tight line, but the corners of his lips are twitching minutely. "Rodney?"
"Uh," says Rodney, and presses a quick kiss against John's lips. "Happy birthday?"
He eyeballs the tray in Rodney's lap. There's an almost empty mug of still steaming coffee and pathetic looking crumbs on it, and Rodney's still holding half of a turkey sandwich.
He lifts an eyebrow.
"Well," Rodney flails, crumbs flying around the sheets (there're some on Rodney's cheek, too, and John gets the urge to lick them away and press them back into Rodney's mouth with his own, to swallow that taste and maybe bottle it, too, because nothing quite tastes like Rodney, like his mouth, and tongue, and skin) and coffee sloshing dangerously close to the rim of the mug. "Well, you always said you liked turkey sandwiches, and I know you do, I've seen you inhale them like they're something you breathe, and I won't even tell you how utterly dangerous that is, who knows when you'll choke because you're too lazy to chew properly, and then you'll have death by a turkey sandwich and I won't get to say I told you so, even though I did tell you so—"
Rodney shuts up when John grabs his non-sandwichy hand and presses his thumb into the hollows of Rodney's palm.
"You made me a turkey sandwich for my birthday?"
Rodney's smile's an embarrassed one, and John kind of wants to smooth his fingers against Rodney's lips, trace the curves and dips and bumps. "No, no, I made a few. Well, four. Okay, five. But I was hungry! And you weren't waking up, and I couldn't just, you know, leave them be, that just would've been cruel."
"To the sandwiches?"
"Yes. I mean, no. To me. Hungry! I don't function when I'm hungry! I don't function without a dozen cups of coffee, either, and you weren't awake to drink it so I did, and. Sorry?"
"Well," says John, curling his legs under the blankets to fit around Rodney, "I guess I'll have to make do with just you, now, huh?"
"Yes, yes, of course, you still have me," Rodney says cheerfully, "which should be more than enough, seeing as it's me."
"Obviously I'm overcome with deep and immense gratitude."
"I don't think I appreciate your sarcasm."
"Sure you do," John says, and leans into lick the crumbs away from Rodney's cheek, to press his mouth against Rodney's until there's no tension left in his bones and they're curled around each other, crumbs and sandwiches and coffee mugs forgotten, and when his eyes flutter open again, all he sees is blue and blue and blue.