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wisdomeagleTitle: "Impulse Control: Pocketful of Starlight"
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Pairing: Sheppard/Weir
Rating: R
Summary: In which Sheppard wants to Screw The Regs, and Weir is still surprising.
Spoilers: set somewhere post-"Brotherhood," but no explicit spoilers
Notes: I blame the usual suspects. I don't know how 'shippy it is. I don't know if I managed to bury the anti-Shep bias deep enough. I don't know what we talked about in class today, because I wrote this instead. Will someone set me straight?
Wordcount: 1,096
Impulse Control: Pocketful of Starlight
Weir is scared, and that frightens him, because she's supposed to be steady. He should be able to push and push and find a solid wall of Weir pushing back with reason and science and controlled fear, but now if he pushed, she'd crumple, and he'd have to catch her. An old song about catching a falling star comes into his mind, which is ridiculous, because the only things falling through their night sky are Wraith darts, and the song only holds if by "catch" you mean "shoot at with the ancient technology given us by our revered ancestors and pray the falling star blows up in the atmosphere." He lowers his chin to the briefing table and looks at Weir, whose head is in her hands. He searches helplessly for the right words to say, comfort, lies. She looks up at him.
"Get some rest," she says. "We all need it, God knows."
"I thought God was a snake demon hanging out in some poor guy's head."
"Still."
"Sleep?" he asks. "You really planning on getting any sleep tonight?"
"I have things to do--"
"So do I."
"Like pestering me?"
"Exactly," he says, and rests his chin on his hands, perfectly balanced and mimicking her. He stares at Weir, whose brow is furrowed from too much paperwork, too little fun.
"Wanna go for a spin in jumper two?"
She looks up, startled that he's still here.
"No thanks."
"Sandwich?"
"John," her voice softens. "What's this really about?"
"Just checking to make sure you're okay."
"I am, " she says, and lowers her head like that's the end of that. He has an urge to shake her, but knows she'd crack. He doesn't want to break her; he wants to make her stronger, but he doesn't know how to build up leadership in others, only how to plunge through it. He also has the urge to kiss her, and that urge doesn't seem to have a downside, so he does. His AF appointed shrink once told him he had poor impulse control. She kisses him back for a second, then pushes him away -- that's as it should be, her pushing back. Except she should be kissing him, and he should have her leaned over the table now, so why is he standing here looking bewildered?
"Major, please don't make me --"
"What?"
"Don't make me into the one who has to say no. You know as well as I do why we can't. The military has regulations about --"
"I've never been much for following regs."
She looks at him with pleading eyes, but he refuses to budge.
"Look, do you want me to say I don't feel it too? That I don't -- don't want you ? I can't. But that doesn't make it right." But it is right, and he's frustrated that she won't see that, won't think about this situation instead of the stupid rules.
He thinks, on the subject of stupid, about the leadership seminar at the Academy, and he thinks about how he can't just force Weir to get smart -- he has to show her that she's really wanted to break the rules all along.
He gives her a wink that means "this isn't over" and goes to his quarters to read pages 50-52 and think about getting Weir to smile and laugh and relax in his arms. He fantasizes about blindfolding her and taking her to see the buttercup field on -477, of teaching himself to play her favorite instrument, but then he remembers he's not courting her -- that would be too easy -- but courting her inhibitions, with the full intent of dashing them to pieces once they're his to command. He thinks of reasoned arguments and appeals to his natural charm, of staring her down and of his hand up her skirt -- if he'd ever seen her in anything so feminine or so impractical. There's a knock on his door. Elizabeth comes in uninvited.
"What page?" she asks, gesturing at his book.
"Forty-nine and a half," he says.
She smiles at him, then sobers and says, "We should do this properly."
"Do what?"
She smiles ruefully. "Break up."
He blinks in confusion. "We aren't going out."
"I suppose we aren't," she says, joining him on the bed. She looks at him with eyes he's never seen before, dark and intense, but he is nonetheless surprised when she kisses him, when she dumps her documents on the floor and kisses him again, harder, when she throws him onto his back. He lets her fierce passion and his own responses take him unaware.
And when, curled around her naked body, he feels the passion relax into sweaty afterglow, he's still a bit shocked. He nuzzles against her and she sighs back, and he knew this was right, that now she's bent but hasn't cracked; she's strong enough to go and save the city because she's got him -- and he feels strong too, he tells himself. He's about to say as much when Weir sits up and starts pulling on her shirt. He blinks away groggy sex-induced laziness and says, "Where ya going?"
She sights, takes his hand, and holds it far away from herself. "John, we should stop seeing each other," she says.
"Seeing each other?" he bursts out. "So that was -- what -- a pity fuck?"
She shakes her head a little sadly. "It was what we needed," she says. "And it was good. But..."
"But what?"
"Emotional ties," she says. "Favoritism, conflict of interests --"
"And that'll go away if we don't sleep together?" He's angry now -- he cares about this. "You can walk out of this room and stop caring?" That gives her pause, so he barges on. "You think I can just push this aside, forget about it? That it couldn't possibly distract me on a mission?"
She sighs. "No. I won't stop caring -- but we've both made sacrifices for Atlantis before."
"Because duty in Antarctica was a luscious temptation."
"That's not what I meant."
"I know."
She's standing, half-dressed, in his tiny, cramped quarters. He lounged naked on his bed, and the impasse grows stonier. Finally she slips the last button into the last buttonhole and leaves. He knows she will be in deep thought, puzzling over the mysteries of regulations and reservations, relationships and rights and wrongs. He takes up his novel, trying to remember if Sonya loves Nicholas.
This is how all great love stories begin.
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Pairing: Sheppard/Weir
Rating: R
Summary: In which Sheppard wants to Screw The Regs, and Weir is still surprising.
Spoilers: set somewhere post-"Brotherhood," but no explicit spoilers
Notes: I blame the usual suspects. I don't know how 'shippy it is. I don't know if I managed to bury the anti-Shep bias deep enough. I don't know what we talked about in class today, because I wrote this instead. Will someone set me straight?
Wordcount: 1,096
Impulse Control: Pocketful of Starlight
Weir is scared, and that frightens him, because she's supposed to be steady. He should be able to push and push and find a solid wall of Weir pushing back with reason and science and controlled fear, but now if he pushed, she'd crumple, and he'd have to catch her. An old song about catching a falling star comes into his mind, which is ridiculous, because the only things falling through their night sky are Wraith darts, and the song only holds if by "catch" you mean "shoot at with the ancient technology given us by our revered ancestors and pray the falling star blows up in the atmosphere." He lowers his chin to the briefing table and looks at Weir, whose head is in her hands. He searches helplessly for the right words to say, comfort, lies. She looks up at him.
"Get some rest," she says. "We all need it, God knows."
"I thought God was a snake demon hanging out in some poor guy's head."
"Still."
"Sleep?" he asks. "You really planning on getting any sleep tonight?"
"I have things to do--"
"So do I."
"Like pestering me?"
"Exactly," he says, and rests his chin on his hands, perfectly balanced and mimicking her. He stares at Weir, whose brow is furrowed from too much paperwork, too little fun.
"Wanna go for a spin in jumper two?"
She looks up, startled that he's still here.
"No thanks."
"Sandwich?"
"John," her voice softens. "What's this really about?"
"Just checking to make sure you're okay."
"I am, " she says, and lowers her head like that's the end of that. He has an urge to shake her, but knows she'd crack. He doesn't want to break her; he wants to make her stronger, but he doesn't know how to build up leadership in others, only how to plunge through it. He also has the urge to kiss her, and that urge doesn't seem to have a downside, so he does. His AF appointed shrink once told him he had poor impulse control. She kisses him back for a second, then pushes him away -- that's as it should be, her pushing back. Except she should be kissing him, and he should have her leaned over the table now, so why is he standing here looking bewildered?
"Major, please don't make me --"
"What?"
"Don't make me into the one who has to say no. You know as well as I do why we can't. The military has regulations about --"
"I've never been much for following regs."
She looks at him with pleading eyes, but he refuses to budge.
"Look, do you want me to say I don't feel it too? That I don't -- don't want you ? I can't. But that doesn't make it right." But it is right, and he's frustrated that she won't see that, won't think about this situation instead of the stupid rules.
He thinks, on the subject of stupid, about the leadership seminar at the Academy, and he thinks about how he can't just force Weir to get smart -- he has to show her that she's really wanted to break the rules all along.
He gives her a wink that means "this isn't over" and goes to his quarters to read pages 50-52 and think about getting Weir to smile and laugh and relax in his arms. He fantasizes about blindfolding her and taking her to see the buttercup field on -477, of teaching himself to play her favorite instrument, but then he remembers he's not courting her -- that would be too easy -- but courting her inhibitions, with the full intent of dashing them to pieces once they're his to command. He thinks of reasoned arguments and appeals to his natural charm, of staring her down and of his hand up her skirt -- if he'd ever seen her in anything so feminine or so impractical. There's a knock on his door. Elizabeth comes in uninvited.
"What page?" she asks, gesturing at his book.
"Forty-nine and a half," he says.
She smiles at him, then sobers and says, "We should do this properly."
"Do what?"
She smiles ruefully. "Break up."
He blinks in confusion. "We aren't going out."
"I suppose we aren't," she says, joining him on the bed. She looks at him with eyes he's never seen before, dark and intense, but he is nonetheless surprised when she kisses him, when she dumps her documents on the floor and kisses him again, harder, when she throws him onto his back. He lets her fierce passion and his own responses take him unaware.
And when, curled around her naked body, he feels the passion relax into sweaty afterglow, he's still a bit shocked. He nuzzles against her and she sighs back, and he knew this was right, that now she's bent but hasn't cracked; she's strong enough to go and save the city because she's got him -- and he feels strong too, he tells himself. He's about to say as much when Weir sits up and starts pulling on her shirt. He blinks away groggy sex-induced laziness and says, "Where ya going?"
She sights, takes his hand, and holds it far away from herself. "John, we should stop seeing each other," she says.
"Seeing each other?" he bursts out. "So that was -- what -- a pity fuck?"
She shakes her head a little sadly. "It was what we needed," she says. "And it was good. But..."
"But what?"
"Emotional ties," she says. "Favoritism, conflict of interests --"
"And that'll go away if we don't sleep together?" He's angry now -- he cares about this. "You can walk out of this room and stop caring?" That gives her pause, so he barges on. "You think I can just push this aside, forget about it? That it couldn't possibly distract me on a mission?"
She sighs. "No. I won't stop caring -- but we've both made sacrifices for Atlantis before."
"Because duty in Antarctica was a luscious temptation."
"That's not what I meant."
"I know."
She's standing, half-dressed, in his tiny, cramped quarters. He lounged naked on his bed, and the impasse grows stonier. Finally she slips the last button into the last buttonhole and leaves. He knows she will be in deep thought, puzzling over the mysteries of regulations and reservations, relationships and rights and wrongs. He takes up his novel, trying to remember if Sonya loves Nicholas.
This is how all great love stories begin.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-02-11 10:58 pm (UTC)I love this. And I was totally shocked to see it, of course, but I just adore this. You successfully buried the hate, AND HOW.
Weir is scared, and that frightens him, because she's supposed to be steady. He should be able to push and push and find a solid wall of Weir pushing back with reason and science and controlled fear, but now if he pushed, she'd crumple, and he'd have to catch her.
I fucking ADORE this beginning. SO MUCH. OMG. Like... yeah. This is so perfect and such a good idea and captured so well. This is *my* pairing and you've made me see them in a whole totally different way. Eeeeeeeeeeeee. *bounces*
"Wanna go for a spin in jumper two?"
She looks up, started that he's still here.
"No thanks."
"Sandwich?"
"John," her voice softens. "What's this really about?"
AWWWWWW!!
His AF appointed shrink once told him he had poor impulse control.
I love you even more for this. Because he so would've gotten sent to a head-shrinker as well as to Antarctica.
He gives her a wink that means "this isn't over" and goes to his quarters to read pages 50-52 and think about getting Weir to smile and laugh and relax in his arms. He fantasizes about blindfolding her and taking her to see the buttercup field on -477, of teaching himself to play her favorite instrument, but then he remembers he's not courting her -- that would be too easy -- but courting her inhibitions, with the full intent of dashing them to pieces once they're his to command. He thinks of reasoned arguments and appeals to his natural charm, of staring her down and of his hand up her skirt -- if he'd ever seen her in anything so feminine or so impractical.
*melts all over the place* You are so. good. I love love love this totally sappy sentimental side of him that he has no clue how to express (and probably wouldn't if he *did* know).
She smiles at him, then sobers and says, "We should do this properly."
"Do what?"
She smiles ruefully. "Break up."
I totally laughed out loud at this. It's perfect. And so funny. And he gets break-up sex before he gets any other kind of sex, which is terribly amusing.
He nuzzles against her and she sighs back, and he knew this was right, that now she's bent but hasn't cracked; she's strong enough to go and save the city because she's got him -- and he feels strong too, he tells himself.
God, I love this, and the earlier set-up to it about how he wants to make her stronger. You express his Alpha Male Ego so well with this, but it's also genuinely sweet and well-intentioned, and I'm melting and squeeeing again.
He takes up his novel, trying to remember if Sonya loves Nicholas.
And the lapsed Slavist in me also sends adoration.
This is how all great love stories begin.
*dies. dead. of. squeee.*
OMG I LOVE YOU SOOOOOOOO. YAYYYYYY! And you've given me like 8 billion ficbunnies (and I'm sure more Shep/Weir fic in the world credited to you is totally not a compliment that you were fishing for, but SO THERE), and wow. Both the kisses came on kind of abruptly, and made me go "wait, what?" but otherwise this is *perfect*, and has so many truly awesome bits in it. I love this, and am totally going to rec it, YAY.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-02-11 11:20 pm (UTC)Personally I think we write some of the best fic for pairings we *don't* see because we really have to think about why they would be together and what they'd be feeling and not just jump straight into the hot, hot sex.
I totally laughed out loud at this. It's perfect. And so funny. And he gets break-up sex before he gets any other kind of sex, which is terribly amusing.
:D
Yay, more Shep/Weir? But yayyyy inspiration, if only of the porny, smutty kind. :D
YAY! *huggles tight* I'm so glad you liked. (and thank you for feedbacking!)
(no subject)
Date: 2005-02-12 03:30 am (UTC)It really forces you to work to get the voices right, when you don't think they work together in the series.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-02-12 02:09 am (UTC)"Wanna go for a spin in jumper two?" I can so see Sheppard saying that.
"And that'll go away if we don't sleep together?" He's angry now -- he cares about this. "You can walk out of this room and stop caring?"
EEEEEEEEEE! Lovely! And the final line just kills.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-02-12 05:52 pm (UTC)The final line came to be a in singular moment of inspiration. I'd typed up the rest and was ready to post and thought "this needs something." And there it was.
:)
(no subject)
Date: 2005-02-12 04:12 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-02-12 05:52 pm (UTC)Yay! I'm glad you enjoyed it.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-02-12 04:51 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-02-12 05:52 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-02-12 08:49 pm (UTC)This was fantastic! I would never have imagined you were writing that against the grain. There are a couple of little moments in which Shep's arrogant streaks come out, but that's just in character! And the break up sex was great! But absolutely, without a doubt, the best bit was the end--yay for Tolstoy and great love stories and Shep/Weir!
Feel free to write against the grain any time you want! ;)
(no subject)
Date: 2005-02-12 11:30 pm (UTC)Thank you! I'm glad you enjoyed it.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-02-13 12:19 pm (UTC)What do you think about me potentially writing a sequel to this? I've had ideas kicking around in my head since I read it (plus a renewed desire to reread War and Peace -- *GASP* Russian lit that I don't get credit for!?), and... yes. Yay. You can totally claim first-look and veto power to it, if you want, unless you'd rather not read another S/W piece as long as you live in which case I can promise not to make you!
(You can also say "no! NOOOoOO!" especially if *hints* you'd like to write a sequel yourself...)
*loves*
(no subject)
Date: 2005-02-14 04:24 am (UTC)But I didn't have any actual ideas for a plot or anything and right now am FAR TOO TIRED to even try to comprehend such things. I'd be glad -- well, maybe not glad in the sense of "Squee, OTP!" but glad in the sense of "squee, Little Red!" to read over a sequel or to offer Helpful Suggestions in the form of "BUT OMG, I ALWAYS MEANT FOR THEM TO ADOPT A CHIMPANZEE! YOU HAVE RUINED MY ARTISTIC VISION!"
Er, yeah, or I could try to respond to this post when I'm not dead on arrival. :p
(no subject)
Date: 2005-02-15 02:28 am (UTC)So you totally have first dibs, even if you want to just say "NO! MIIIIIINE!" and then not do anything with it. :) And even if I write something, you are TOTALLY be allowed to trump me with your own sequel at any time, as per Little Red's Rules For Sequelizing Fanfics.
But squeee. Would be fun. Except less squeee than OMG ANGST with little bits of squeee, really.