Broken Mnemonic (imagechild) wrote in wondergeeks,
Broken Mnemonic
imagechild
wondergeeks

Zelenka's Ankles.

I took the bodypart squee challenge over at ria_kukalaka 's eljay, and got Radek's Ankles
so here is my entry! Just a drabble and a sketch.

Pairing: Rodney / Radek
Rating: G
warnings: none
Artist/writer: imagechild
Disclaimer: This was typed realtime stream-of-conciousness into the LJ window as I uploaded the sketch--and as such is completely unbetad and filled with mistakes. I do ask that you find it in your heart to overlook them =P


Zelenka's ankles.



It had been one of those days--not a normal Terran day, no...a Pegasus day...city systems in shambles, intense fear, humiliation, mental and physical exhaustion. Just another day in paradise. The citywide ventilation system failure had been fairly easy--though they'd be smelling burned wiring for a week until the charred vent shafts could be cleaned. The complete electrical system failure had been harder--the entire engineering team had been up for 30 hours straight working on that one.

"Day" was becoming a very loose concept for most of the hard science teams of late. He and Radek had been repairing blown fuses and melted wiring for the last two hours straight. Rodney checked the voltimeter one last time and pushed himself away from the console, letting tired legs fold under him, his body slowly slipping down the slick wall until he was sitting comfortably. Radek had been snoring quietly for about ten minutes, leaned up against the opposite wall, head up, as if any moment he'd be awake again. Sleep was sounding more and more like a good idea....no...a fantastic idea. Radek had lost his shoes sometime earlier in the day, between crises, Rodney thinks back, his mind wandering, and recalls shoving him into a vent shaft, pulling his dark-soled shoes off so he wouldn't scuff the delicate inner lining. Radek had bitched in both Czech and english, but Rodney had pushed him, urging him to go check the malfunctioning sensors before they all smothered or burned to death. In his delirious state, Rodney almost laughs at the Czech's socks, filthy and pulled halfway down his foot, slouched not unlike their owner, as if in slumber.

He takes a moment to look Radek over, his gaze one of an amused and unbiased observer. Hair touselled beyond all recognition? Check. Glasses askew and smudged? Check. Once-white coat dirtied beyond all reasonable wear and hanging off? Check. His eyes go again to the amusing socks, and as he makes the slow journey (now too slow, lingering almost--and he should really not be doing that) down Radek's leg to his foot, Rodney's tired eyes catch a short stretch of pale skin between the Czech's pant hem and the escaping socks. He's never seen this particular bit of skin--and he and Radek have been in close enough quarters and in rough enough situations to have seen things above and beyond the constraints of civilized society. But this...this vulnerable, white stretch of skin that usually hides beneath tidy socks--it seems somehow too intimate.

Rodney yawns mightily, rousing himself, and begins considering getting up, going home, slipping into bed....but his mind and his eyes wander again...drawn irresistibly to that same stretch of taut skin. It's peppered with soft dark hair, smooth-looking and quite sparse. There is a soft curve there, the jut of Radek's anklebone, that soon gives way to bone and sinew, making a soft furrow that disappears down into the dingy safety of Radek's sock.

He shouldn't be looking--especially at this....this uninteresting, unerotic part of Radek's body--especially while he's sleeping. At least pick something sexy, he thinks....his neck, his arms, the vee of crotch exposed by Radek's upraised knee..yeah, that should be the sexier part, not this little few inches of skin. He certainly shouldn't be wondering whether he could circle the ankle with his hand....shouldn't be considering how it'd feel in his hand, as he moved the ankles apart, opening himself to a whole world of exploration.

definitely not...

and as Rodney slips into exhausted sleep against the table leg, his hand cupped slightly as if touching that forbidden skin, he muses on what's forbidden and what's not--and how one little patch of exposed skin could make him want so much.

and the sketech


Tags: art, fic
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