something dorky and stupid? for you? but of course!
a story for spaggel in which there are naked bottoms
Before pushing them into the wormhole, the villagers had taken away their weapons. Not good, John had thought, but unless they also took away their pants at least he would still have his lucky knife. Unfortunately they had been quite insistent on that point as well.
Still, he thought, looking around at the lush vegetation, if you were going to be exiled, disarmed and naked, at least a warm, tropical planet was --
"Hell," Rodney pronounced. "They have sent us to hell. They have sent us to this planet of death, this hellscape, and I'm still, in case you were wondering, blaming you entirely for the loss of my clothes!" He was crouched behind the DHD with an apparent aim at modesty. Since modesty didn't usually manifest itself in blistering monologues of one's own self worth, John decided not to mention that his bottom was poking out the other side of the device in a prominent and rather hilarious way.
"Just dial the alpha site and let's get out of here," he said.
Once Rodney had explained about the DHD being broken and about his own brilliance and John's stupidity, he moved on to their bleak future of skin cancer, starvation and death by ferocious and terrifying jungle creatures.
John was reassuring Rodney that none of those things would harm him since John was bound to end Rodney's life with his own hands, and sooner than Rodney might imagine, when they heard the growl of what sounded very much like a ferocious and terrifying jungle creature.
*********
"Wow." Rodney said sometime later. He made a few more noises of nothing approaching language, then "wow" again.
"Yes, well," John said, blushing and ducking his head. He had been totally impressive, but even so, Rodney robbed of words was still gratifying.
"No, really," Rodney said, eyes wide and incredulous, "that was one of the dumbest things I have ever seen! What made you think you could kill a leopard with your bare hands?!"
"A visualisation exercise, Rodney," John snapped, feeling greatly put-out and also feeling like he had just been totally impressive in a manner that warranted some acknowledgement. "What do you think? Adrenaline and training and the burning desire to not be killed and eaten. Besides," John muttered, prodding the carcass with his foot, "I had a rock."
**********
He didn't quite understand how, after battling with and triumphing over, not to mention skinning, a large, man-eating cat, Rodney was the one dressed in furs, regal and smug and irritating.
He looked down at his own fig leaf.
"Doesn't this strike you as a little unfair?" he asked in a tone he had not meant to come out as being quite so petulant.
"Me doing all the work while you sun yourself like a cabana boy?" Rodney said, working intently on the DHD. "Actually, yes. Go find me some food."
John gritted his teeth. "I meant the clothing situation, actually."
Rodney turned and faced him, hands on his hips, lips pulled tight in annoyance. "We discussed this. I have a sensitivity to some plants. I think the possibility of permanent damage to my..." Rodney coughed. "To me, would outweigh your primitive desire to drape yourself in trophies of the hunt."
"I just don't see why we can't go halves," John tried, but Rodney looked so scandalized, gasping and flattening one palm across his chest as if John was asking him to, oh, parade around in a leaf or something, that he gave up. "Never mind," he said, stomping off to find some fruit, far too aware of just what sort of view he gave Rodney who was, no doubt, watching him leave.
Soon, he thought, soon Atlantis would figure out where they were and send him through some pants. Any day now.
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a story for spaggel in which there are naked bottoms
Before pushing them into the wormhole, the villagers had taken away their weapons. Not good, John had thought, but unless they also took away their pants at least he would still have his lucky knife. Unfortunately they had been quite insistent on that point as well.
Still, he thought, looking around at the lush vegetation, if you were going to be exiled, disarmed and naked, at least a warm, tropical planet was --
"Hell," Rodney pronounced. "They have sent us to hell. They have sent us to this planet of death, this hellscape, and I'm still, in case you were wondering, blaming you entirely for the loss of my clothes!" He was crouched behind the DHD with an apparent aim at modesty. Since modesty didn't usually manifest itself in blistering monologues of one's own self worth, John decided not to mention that his bottom was poking out the other side of the device in a prominent and rather hilarious way.
"Just dial the alpha site and let's get out of here," he said.
Once Rodney had explained about the DHD being broken and about his own brilliance and John's stupidity, he moved on to their bleak future of skin cancer, starvation and death by ferocious and terrifying jungle creatures.
John was reassuring Rodney that none of those things would harm him since John was bound to end Rodney's life with his own hands, and sooner than Rodney might imagine, when they heard the growl of what sounded very much like a ferocious and terrifying jungle creature.
*********
"Wow." Rodney said sometime later. He made a few more noises of nothing approaching language, then "wow" again.
"Yes, well," John said, blushing and ducking his head. He had been totally impressive, but even so, Rodney robbed of words was still gratifying.
"No, really," Rodney said, eyes wide and incredulous, "that was one of the dumbest things I have ever seen! What made you think you could kill a leopard with your bare hands?!"
"A visualisation exercise, Rodney," John snapped, feeling greatly put-out and also feeling like he had just been totally impressive in a manner that warranted some acknowledgement. "What do you think? Adrenaline and training and the burning desire to not be killed and eaten. Besides," John muttered, prodding the carcass with his foot, "I had a rock."
**********
He didn't quite understand how, after battling with and triumphing over, not to mention skinning, a large, man-eating cat, Rodney was the one dressed in furs, regal and smug and irritating.
He looked down at his own fig leaf.
"Doesn't this strike you as a little unfair?" he asked in a tone he had not meant to come out as being quite so petulant.
"Me doing all the work while you sun yourself like a cabana boy?" Rodney said, working intently on the DHD. "Actually, yes. Go find me some food."
John gritted his teeth. "I meant the clothing situation, actually."
Rodney turned and faced him, hands on his hips, lips pulled tight in annoyance. "We discussed this. I have a sensitivity to some plants. I think the possibility of permanent damage to my..." Rodney coughed. "To me, would outweigh your primitive desire to drape yourself in trophies of the hunt."
"I just don't see why we can't go halves," John tried, but Rodney looked so scandalized, gasping and flattening one palm across his chest as if John was asking him to, oh, parade around in a leaf or something, that he gave up. "Never mind," he said, stomping off to find some fruit, far too aware of just what sort of view he gave Rodney who was, no doubt, watching him leave.
Soon, he thought, soon Atlantis would figure out where they were and send him through some pants. Any day now.