muccamukk: Spiral staircase decending multiple levels inside a tower.. (DW: Decendent of Trees)
[personal profile] muccamukk
Title: Too Many Cooks (also here)
Summary: alienz make Rodney and JHon telepathic and give htem lotz of other souperpowerz. MPREG. PLZ REVEIW!!!
Summary written by: [livejournal.com profile] milenaa
Rating/warnings: PG for... um... silliness? Mild profanity? Non-graphic semi-MPREG, I guess.
Notes: For the Summary Ficathon: The SV and SGA Version, of course. This actually is my first in this fandom, so not sure of the voices. Set in season two, but no spoilers. Dedicated to my mother.

Sheppard could feel a tingling in the back of his neck, it might have been flour, but he doubted it. “Stop reading my mind,” he snapped.

Rodney raised his voice over industrial mettle spoon clanging against the pan “What?”

John reiterated with volume.

“I'm not,” McKay claimed, not for the first time that interminable week.

“Are too!” John had flour or cornstarch or something all over his black t-shirt and in his hair by the time he emerged, empty-handed as it turned out. He tapped his forehead. “I can tell.”

Rodney stopped stirring. “Really?”

“So you are reading my mind!” Glancing at the cupboard, he added, “I can't find any coconut milk.”

“Right, because it would make so much sense for me to be shouting across the room then. Although any connection between what comes out of your mouth and actual cognition has yet to be supported by a great amount of empirical evidence.” The garlic browned dangerously, and he quickly returned to reshuffling the contents of the pan. “I'd have thought that you might have looked before you decided we had to make Thai food right this instant. Aren't you supposed to a super chef now?”

John shrugged. “Cheffing maybe, planning not so much.”

McKay looked at him in a way that pertained to far more than aborted Thai-style chicken soup. “Well that's obvious.”

John had apologised for the whole not-especially-innocent --nor, as it turned out, especially-human-- princess thing far, far too many times already. “Maybe we could get the Daedalus to bring some back,” he said, then flinched. Shit, he he'd managed to avoid thinking about Caldwell thus far.

“By which point you'll doubtless want boiled salt pork in white wine sauce. No good. But,” Rodney said, raising his free hand. “There's curry paste, sort of, that blue stuff tastes mostly the same, and we may as well make some use of it after all that, and if I can find some of those anchovies things that they've been netting off the West Pier, I just might be able to whip you up a nice...” he trailed off. “Oh no.”

“What?”

“I'm turning into Martha Stewart. I just can't handle Martha Stewart, no matter what country she's from.” Rodney had dropped the spoon and was slowly backing away from the pan, face pale. “Why is this happening to me? I understand the whole simulated pregnancy as corporal punishment --though why they included me remains a mystery, I was only looking, and even that was definitely your fault-- and the telepathy makes sense, if you worship the Vorlon God Boojee or whoever, but why are we reduced to... to this?” he waved at the formerly pristine mess kitchen. “It makes no logical sense. I don't even like soup.”

John leaned back against the cabinate, head resting against the cool mettle. “You want to go back and ask?” That shut him up. “Look, the doc's going to fix this, and we'll be back to as normal, as normal as anything in this place gets anyway, before you know it.” Once everyone stopped laughing, he thought morosely, which likely wasn't going to be for a very, very long time, especially with all that photographic evidence. “So shut up and take it like a woman. And get the hell our of my head.”

“For the last time, I am not in your head. Why would I be?” He yanked the pan off the heat. “It's not like I don't already know far more about you than any sane person could handle. Besides, Elizabeth made me swear to mind my own business, on the Chair no less.”

“Huh.” She'd used the Johnny Cash poster on Sheppard. He looked at the pan. “Do we have any broccoli?”

“It's also blue, it was a very blue planet.”

No kidding, John thought. “Close enough.”


Also, GIP!

ETA: everyone else's stories. Some serious crack and a lot of fun.
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