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Beta: Yes! Thanks so much to Penny and Laura. Any further errors are my own.
Warnings: Insanity inspired OOC, humor, pre-slash, song fic
A/N: This was inspired by the song "Crazy Chick" by Charlotte Church which I first discovered when watching the Atlantis vid "Crazy Duet" by Shepardster. There is shameless referencing to the song in this story.
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It was the high-pitched, girly giggles that kept him running through the empty halls of the old city, not daring to stop.
He was coming unglued.
If he'd had any doubts, the fact he was channeling his inner teenage girl as a 30-plus male Colonel in the United States Air Force was more than enough proof.
The gleeful hysteria didn't ease up until John Sheppard found himself deep in the city, out of breath and completely lost, his mind twisting. Leaning against a wall, he slid down and realized it was official now; he was incredibly, unbelievably screwed. He needed professional help, but whether in the form of Dr. Carson Beckett or Dr. Kate Heightmeyer, he wasn't sure and he was afraid to find out.
It happened slowly, this whacked out need, creeping along so slowly that John didn't realize how bad it was until he was a lost cause. John had noticed the hands, of course. There wasn't a person in any galaxy that could miss those expressive hands. Hands that were artfully in motion no matter what mood the resident genius of Atlantis was experiencing. Hands that wrung together when nervous, or flew through the air when expounding on a new piece of knowledge. Strong, large hands with rather long fingers that could dance over delicate equipment with the grace of a concert pianist.
If only the observations had stopped there.
But they hadn't.
Okay, so those slightly crooked lips were just as expressive as the artful hands and it was perfectly understandable that he'd noticed.
Right?
And those flashing blue eyes, the array of expressions on that open face and the multi-layered snark that could filet the most hardened Marine. Not to mention those biceps that became more defined each week as well as that broad chest with a fine dusting of golden hair....
But really, John had to draw the line at the ears.
They were really tiny ears if compared to the average person's ears and were a contrast to the size of that huge noggin. John was horrified to discover he had a theory that the size of those ears were, perhaps, a direct relation as to why listening was such an under-developed skill.
None of this was logical so he couldn't be held responsible, could he?
When he'd found himself giggly over ears, he'd done what any respectable, military officer would do in the face of such madness. He had called for an immediate retreat and ran for the hills. Or, in this case, the most deserted parts of the city.
Okay, all he needed was a little time to pull himself together. Along with a lot of the good drugs Carson kept locked up in the infirmary. It wouldn't be too hard to sneak in and pick the lock. What good was all that military training if he couldn't put it to good use?
"Colonel!" McKay called out, huffing from the long run as he collapsed next to him on the floor.
He chased after me!
That wasn't a squeal, John admonished silently.
It just wasn't.
That's when he saw it. A long, dirty streak down McKay's face from working on some Ancient piece of equipment. Appalled, John felt the sudden surge to reach out and smear the streak of dirt all over that flushed, pale skin.
"What the hell was that all about back there?" McKay asked, though not as harshly as he might have, offering John a look like he was questioning his friend's sanity.
"You're making me a crazy chick." Dear God help me. John watched his hands pull the startled scientist forward until their lips met and his mind shorted out.
Perfect, perfect, perfect....John's mind chanted at the array of sensations that coursed through his body, those that only Rodney McKay, head scientist of Atlantis, could create.
When they needed air, they parted, breathing hard and staring at each other.
"What the hell do you mean; I'm making you a crazy chick? What the hell is wrong with - " This time it was McKay's turn to squeal when John reached in and licked his ear. That delicate, small ear that had tormented him so much just a short time ago was now in John's possession and he took full advantage by licking and nipping at it's gentle swirls.
"You - you have obviously been infected or taken over by - " a moan cut off McKay's words when John's wicked, wicked tongue discovered a sweet spot just below and behind one of those ears. "You're - you're making a pass at me, aren't you?"
Taking one of those wonderfully large hands and placing it on the growing bulge in his crotch, John whispered breathlessly to McKay. "You're driving me to insanity."
"That you've lost your mind is blatantly obvious." McKay's words were tempered by the wide-eyed look on his face and the fact that he hadn't moved his hand away. "Do you want me to take care of that?"
A whimper was the only response John could muster.
"You need professional help, you know that? Why didn't you just say something?" McKay muttered, helping John to his feet. John just stared, shocked as those strong hands manhandled him, shocked as he felt that inner teenage girl swoon.
"Sex?" Sex, sex, sex. NOW. Because that's what men did, they went straight for the sex without the foreplay that women demanded in their relationships. With the relief that he hadn't completely lost his masculinity, John was certain aggressively terminating the emergence of an unexpected feminine side wouldn't be so hard.
"Ah - it speaks. If sex doesn't fix this, I'm taking you straight to Carson and if he can't figure out what's wrong, you're going right to Heightmeyer. Understood?"
John just smiled stupidly, not really sure how a mental breakdown was leading to sex but he was sensible enough to know not to question it. Perhaps he could sort it out in his next diary entry.
--end