So, who isn't going to Harry Potter tonight?

[aesc]

Like the subject says, who isn't going (or depending on time zone, hasn't gone) to the midnight release?

Anyone?

Bueller?

Crickets?

Comments

[aesc.livejournal.com]

(if, indeed, UPS trucks have doors . . . I have never really answered that to my satisfaction

The ones I've seen have been doorless, though this might not be uniformly true. Maybe it depends what part of the country they're in? I would hate to be a UPS driver in Maine during the winter.

and an assortment of strange toys for Rodney.

And Rodney, attempting to figure out who's responsible for the potato and actual 1980s Transformer on his front step, lies in wait one day instead of ignoring the doorbell like he usually does (or spending all day at work).

[sheafrotherdon.livejournal.com]

And throws back the door with an almighty "HA!" and a very pleased finger wag . . . only to find the most delicious delivery man he's ever seen standing on the other side of the door, smirking. Smirking.

[aesc.livejournal.com]

And the finger stops mid-wag and, distantly, Rodney's aware that his mouth is hanging open and he needs to shut it, but his brain is sending him critical mass warnings and he can only stare as the UPS guy hands him a pin shaped like Florida along with this week's books.

[sheafrotherdon.livejournal.com]

"Nice to meet you, Doctor McKay," says the delivery guy, and the fact that Rodney isn't saying anything at all seems to just make him smirk even more

Rodney waves the Florida pin weakly.

[aesc.livejournal.com]

"And you--" The questions logjam in Rodney's head. Who are you? How are you so hot? Are we in a porn movie? Where did you get the pin?

"How's the cat?" the delivery guy asks.

Another question. Cat?

[sheafrotherdon.livejournal.com]

"Sits in the window?" the delivery guy prompts.

Rodney tries to figure out why the guy looks so preternaturally pleased with himself. "Oh. Oh - um. Quark. He's - she's fine. Fine. Shedding." What is he saying?

[aesc.livejournal.com]

Sloppy dark hair, tan and kind of sweaty from the warm day. No. wait. Cat. About the cat. Shedding, all over the place. Aviator glasses, the kind that went out in the eighties, and what's going on behind them Rodney has no idea.

"It's spring," he offers feebly, and the delivery guy nods behind his aviators, very slowly as though dealing with someone with brain damage (and he kind of is, Rodney realizes with distant horror).

[sheafrotherdon.livejournal.com]

"So. Uh. Yes. Well, nice to meet you, you probably have - you know. A package." He blushes crimson as soon as the words are out of his mouth. "Packages. Other packages. Packages belonging to - oh hell." He looks at the floor.

[dogeared.livejournal.com]

(But not before he swears he sees the delivery guy look down his own body and then shoot a glance at Rodney's, and, wow, really? Wow. Rodney's not entirely sure what to do with that. And he really, really hopes he's expecting another delivery tomorrow.)

[sheafrotherdon.livejournal.com]

"Well, I'd best get back to delivering my . . . package," the delivery guy says. "I'm John, by the way. I always do this route."

[dogeared.livejournal.com]

"I'm Dr. McKay," Rodney says. "Rodney. Dr. Rodney McKay." The delivery guy - John - smirks and brandishes his electronic clipboard. "I know. Already got your autograph. Plus, you know, package has your name on it."

[aesc.livejournal.com]

"Yes. Yes. Of course you do. Of course it is." Rodney thinks about smacking himself in the face with John's electronic clipboard, or maybe just dying of terminal humiliation.

[sheafrotherdon.livejournal.com]

"And I'm very smart," Rodney says. "Seriously. LIke - a genius."

"Like a genius, or a genius?" John asks with a smirk and a tilt of his head.

[aesc.livejournal.com]

[like this one better *g*]

"A supergenius," Rodney says, relieved to be talking about his intelligence. It's familiar ground, and safe, even though he can see the teasing behind those ridiculous aviators.

[dogeared.livejournal.com]

"Oh, super," John says. Rodney can't quite tell whether he's impressed or not. He notices the patch that reads "SHEPPARD" on John's brown shirt. He's not quite sure why he wants the delivery guy to be impressed.

[sheafrotherdon.livejournal.com]

"Yes. Super. Super - super - I . . . okay, I have to go now. I have very important books to read and you are quite largely unclothed and bad for my brain. In a good way. I mean - something. Yes. Nice to meet you and - " Rodney shuts the door and rushes to his computer, orders four books by next-day delivery.

[aesc.livejournal.com]

(Oh, Rodney.)

Later on, after he manages to rid himself of John Sheppard and his crazy dark hair and sunglasses and his stupid brown shorts, he thinks about canceling his order.

He sends the cursor skittering around the screen, hovering over the CANCEL ORDER button, tells himself he really doesn't need these books (because they're utter crap) and it's not like he's obsessed or anything, but then again he kind of does need these books (because they're utter crap and their authors need to know it) and, well...

"Oh my God," Rodney says to his faint reflection in the monitor. "Oh, my God."

[sheafrotherdon.livejournal.com]

He has a crush. He has a big, ridiculous, hairy crush on the delivery guy - John. John the barely-clothed UPS man of doom. John the leg-flashing book handler of lewdness. John the scorching-hot, aviator-sunglass-wearing strumpet.

[aesc.livejournal.com]

The problem with his crushes, Rodney knows, is that they tend, very rapidly, to develop into what most people would call "disturbing obsession."

And John, in whose mouth package becomes something other than three-day ground from the University of Chicago Press, has just set the new speed record.

[sheafrotherdon.livejournal.com]

Oh shit. He just thought the words "John, in whose mouth" and now it's going to be nothing but cocksucking dreams 'til sunup.

[aesc.livejournal.com]

The problem with being a genius (a supergenius) is that Rodney remembers things really well. Things like John's mouth, moist like he'd licked it when sweat beaded on his upper lip. Also things like John's tongue, which Rodney really hadn't seen but can imagine very clearly, licking salt water away.

And John's stubble, which would be rough against Rodney's thighs, and John's breath, which would be warm.

[sheafrotherdon.livejournal.com]

Rodney swallows and gathers his dignity around him - he is not going to jack off, again, alone, thinking of John the Beyond The Telling Of It Hot Delivery Guy. He's going to get a good night's rest - after drinking two, three beers - and tomorrow this will all be a bad dream.

[aesc.livejournal.com]

At least it will be a bad dream until John shows up wearing that grin and his... his tarty brown shorts, carrying his electronic clipboard and Rodney's absolutely very necessary books.

Maybe, he thinks, he should switch to hard liquor. Vodka-induced amnesia would almost be worth the hangover. But the problem with that is that vodka makes him stupid and horny (which he already is, but this is completely beside the point), and so it'll be a horrible vicious circle of drinking and imagining John's moise mouth wrapped around his cock and jerking off and drinking and imagining and jerking off until it finally stops at unconsciousness.

[sheafrotherdon.livejournal.com]

Bad unconsciousness. The kind he experienced on that exchange trip to Siberia in '92 when he woke up without his shirt and 'I love Ivan' written across his nipples in lipstick.

He shivers. Maybe if he just stays awake all night and watches - something. On TV. He has 1286184 channels of cable and -

Why is the doorbell ringing at this hour?

[aesc.livejournal.com]

"Ignoring. Ignoring!" Rodney stomps into the living room and is about to graft himself onto the couch when he realizes it's quite possible that, in his John-induced fugue state, he'd ordered pizza or flowers or something and had forgotten about it. He's done weirder things under far less influence.

Hoping he's at least ordered something palatable and not involving citrus, Rodney pulls open his door.

"Oh," he says, because there's not really anything else to say.