"Yes, yes, because that's possibly the most annoying, useless thing you could ever say at a time like this and -- "
John's hand over his mouth cut off the rest of the words ready to bubble over and out. He left it there, using the slow glide of his thumb up Rodney's cheek, the pad resting awkwardly against the curve of Rodney's nose, to gauge the frantic way Rodney breathed -- too fast, too shallow for panting, like his lungs weren't taking in enough air, working triple time to compensate for their own unending mistakes -- and the equally frantic pulse of his heart, banging so hard John could feel it far away from a pulse-point, echoing and reflecting, growing until all of Rodney was one desperate, despairing pulse, hammering away.
Releasing his mouth, John curved his hand to the back of Rodney's neck, smoothing away the clammy sweat there with his own skin. "You can do this, Rodney, deep breaths."
"Oh, yes, because Lamaze is going to help me!"
It might, actually, but without the familiar, hovering presence of Carson and his stash of drugs, John didn't know what else to do. Rodney was practically vibrating from tension, a sullen ball of jumbled up worries he couldn't separate or deal with. John kneaded the tense, probably aching muscles under his fingers; the tendons were stretched so tightly they nearly twanged at the pressure, and didn't loosen even a little.
"C'mon, McKay," he tried again. Carefully, ignoring Rodney's shrill objections, John got them both on the bed, Rodney's back pressed warm and snug up against his chest, his hands busy. He doubted Rodney could really feel what he was doing, and when he did it didn't seem to be a pleasant sensation -- his nerves were too jangled for the slow, steady glide of John's palm up his arm to feel good. Goose bumps sprouted up in his wake, a shivering rejection.
John knew better than to take it personally, but it was still hard.
"I hate this," Rodney said, voice quavering, face hidden. He turned abruptly, burying his head into John's neck, clinging with more strength than his confused, shaking body seemed to possess. "I hate this, I hate it."
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Date: 2007-02-16 09:40 pm (UTC)"Yes, yes, because that's possibly the most annoying, useless thing you could ever say at a time like this and -- "
John's hand over his mouth cut off the rest of the words ready to bubble over and out. He left it there, using the slow glide of his thumb up Rodney's cheek, the pad resting awkwardly against the curve of Rodney's nose, to gauge the frantic way Rodney breathed -- too fast, too shallow for panting, like his lungs weren't taking in enough air, working triple time to compensate for their own unending mistakes -- and the equally frantic pulse of his heart, banging so hard John could feel it far away from a pulse-point, echoing and reflecting, growing until all of Rodney was one desperate, despairing pulse, hammering away.
Releasing his mouth, John curved his hand to the back of Rodney's neck, smoothing away the clammy sweat there with his own skin. "You can do this, Rodney, deep breaths."
"Oh, yes, because Lamaze is going to help me!"
It might, actually, but without the familiar, hovering presence of Carson and his stash of drugs, John didn't know what else to do. Rodney was practically vibrating from tension, a sullen ball of jumbled up worries he couldn't separate or deal with. John kneaded the tense, probably aching muscles under his fingers; the tendons were stretched so tightly they nearly twanged at the pressure, and didn't loosen even a little.
"C'mon, McKay," he tried again. Carefully, ignoring Rodney's shrill objections, John got them both on the bed, Rodney's back pressed warm and snug up against his chest, his hands busy. He doubted Rodney could really feel what he was doing, and when he did it didn't seem to be a pleasant sensation -- his nerves were too jangled for the slow, steady glide of John's palm up his arm to feel good. Goose bumps sprouted up in his wake, a shivering rejection.
John knew better than to take it personally, but it was still hard.
"I hate this," Rodney said, voice quavering, face hidden. He turned abruptly, burying his head into John's neck, clinging with more strength than his confused, shaking body seemed to possess. "I hate this, I hate it."