FIC: In Which Tibet Features (Sort of)
Title: In Which Tibet Features (Sort of)
Author:
9zanite
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~10,000
Warning: proofread by a pair of engineers. I wouldn't say beta after walking in on a discussion along the lines of "Integral is spelled with an a, so finagle should be, too." "But what about double integrals?" "They aren't spelled integraal, brainiac." "Is there a dictionary somewhere? The library has them, right?"
A/N: My prompt was: John Sheppard is chief of staff for Senator Weir and needs access to research materials in the Library of Congress. Rodney McKay is a cranky librarian at the LoC who John encounters.
Weir got demoted, I took extreme liberties with the Library, a diplomat's life/staff/job, and Washington, D.C., and I probably horribly abused commas and grammar in general. Please point out errors - engineers aren't the best writers around. I can use all the help I can get.
John Sheppard stepped into Elizabeth's makeshift office (possibly a former closet), coffees in hand, to hear Dr. Elizabeth Weir nearly shouting into the phone and knew his day had just gone to hell in a hand basket.
"...if I were just allowed access to the resources I need to make this a success!" When even the extraordinarily diplomatic Elizabeth was driven to shouting, John generally knew that someone was being incredibly unreasonable. He also had a feeling that it was going to end up his job to get her what she wanted from that unreasonable someone's aides.
"Of course I understand that I'm not a member of Congress! In order to do my job, I need those... yes, thank you for your time." She slammed the phone down as she muttered the thank you, clearly having been hung up on. John handed the coffee over with his trademark smile and an appropriate caffeine-fixes-almost-everything comment.
"Thanks. I think these are the only way I'm going to get through these negotiations," she said, "and the actual negotiating hasn't even begun yet. The Congressional Research Service is refusing to provide the materials I need because I'm not a member of either house of Congress. They were very happy to inform me that I could use the Library's resources as a member of the general public by going to the main Information Desk and asking for assistance."
John winced. Getting what you needed starting at the Library of Congress Information Desk meant you had several circles of not-quite hell to travel through before you got anywhere near what you were looking for. "So I'm taking a field trip today, huh?"
Elizabeth sighed. "I'm sorry to put you through that, but I need that information before my meetings tomorrow and it may take some time to work through. Aren't you still dating one of the librarians? Chaya, was it?"
Ignoring the comment about Chaya, who'd been a two day thing once he'd figured out that not only was she very New Age, she was the leader of her very own religious cult where she was the object of worship, John just took the list of necessary speeches and books he'd made yesterday, his coffee, and a lifesaver from the candy bowl and gave one of his standard done-in-no-time replies and a smile on his way out.
An hour later as he stood waiting for one of the rather overwhelmed librarians to get to him, John was seriously contemplating a new job. Or at least a raise. Someone had somehow brought a handful of small children in, despite the rules against them and the security officers supposedly preventing their entrance. Said children were very loudly displaying how not thrilled they were with the long wait. A blond with straightened hair and a tri-delta t-shirt was talking inappropriately loudly about her ex-boyfriend's new girlfriend and the many failings of both into a cell phone whose volume was turned up high enough that he was forced to listen to both sides of the conversation. He was having a great time. Really. This smile wasn't strained at all.
Serving as an aide to a negotiator hadn't been his first choice, but not many people would take him at all after the way his Air Force career had crashed and burned. Elizabeth had been willing to give him a chance and the idea of working to end and even prevent some of the ugly situations he'd been stationed in was appealing. He'd seen some interesting places with the USAF, but Elizabeth definitely got better lodging and dining while in countries in somewhat better shape than say, Afghanistan. However, the appeal of the job drained away the longer he waited in line. He was perfectly happy with most of the grunt work he did for Elizabeth, but the Library of Congress was his own special hell today. Maybe he'd written Chaya off too soon.
Finally waved over by a librarian with a receding hairline and an irritated scowl, John pulled out his most charming smile and the list, ready to begin pleasantries.
“What incredibly inane thing do you want fetched because you’re too moronic to go to your local library?” The librarian snapped.
John opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out. Sure, they were pretty busy today, but still, what was this guy's problem?
“No, you seem like the type to be hideously invested in discovering the origin of your modeling-gene family. Did you even read the pamphlet yet? Here.” The man shoved paper at him and started to direct him elsewhere, but -
“Actually, I’m here on behalf of one of the diplomats working on the Tibet negotiations, so I’ll need the things on this list. If you could get me electronic versions, that’d be even better, thanks.” John figured ignoring the total lack of manners was his best bet. He flashed his most charming smile and hoped.
“Than why wouldn’t you go to the Congressional Research Service? There are people employed for this specific purpose, giving you no excuse for wasting my time. NEXT!” The man turned his attention to the adult with the small children that John had been stuck listening to for the past century in line.
Nearly-politely edging the woman out of the way before she could get herself and her horde up to the counter, John practically shoved his list in front of the librarian, quite fed up with the level of service.
“CRS insists that it serves only Congress. They sent me here. Give me what I want and I’ll go away.” His tone was mostly civil, at least. A deaf individual might believe that, anyway. Maybe.
“And you're in a position to make demands,” the librarian said sarcastically as he gestured the woman with her mob of children back over.
This time Sheppard was nowhere near polite as he refused to relinquish his counter position. Completely losing his public smile, he let a little of the pilot who’d seen his fair share of combat show through as he leaned across the counter in a manner not commonly referred to as friendly.
“No, you need to listen to me. If talks go bad, the situation will deteriorate into civil unrest or outright war and people will end up dying. I realize that this is trivial to you with your powerful position of librarian in a city that hasn’t had a serious threat since Lee crossed the Potomac, but it’s people I know who’ll end up sent there to clean up the mess and it’s good kids who’ll come home in body bags and pieces. So you are going to give me the tools I need to help my boss prevent that, got it, Mr. Librarian?” he growled.
With an eye roll and an exaggerated sigh, the man typed rapidly. A moment later he snapped and held out his hand.
“I’m sorry?” Sheppard had no clue what the guy wanted. He’d been here enough times to be pretty certain that tipping wasn’t required.
“Flash drive. Or whatever you want your information stored on. You seem to be using too large a percentage of your brain cells as fertilizer to grow that mane for me to download anything directly to your brain.”
To John’s surprise, he found himself laughing as he handed over the requested device. It apparently surprised the librarian as well, judging by the intent blue-eyed scrutiny.
“This will take a few minutes. While it’s copying the data, which, by the way, you could’ve gotten over the internet, thus saving both your own and my infinitely more valuable Dr. Librarian time, I’ll find the Tibetan texts that are not available in electronic form.” While the words themselves weren’t particularly friendly, the librarian’s tone seemed to have warmed significantly. John may or may not have spent a little too long appreciating the man’s exit.
When he returned long after the computer had given a little ping to indicate that the download was complete, the librarian looked slightly disgruntled. “Tell me, how hard is it to put the books back where they belong! Idiots!”
John looked at the stack of texts, wondering how he was going to get them photocopied or scanned so that he could bring them back to Elizabeth. One of the serious drawbacks of the whole research library thing was the inability to actually check the books out. He sighed and pulled the stack toward him with the best smile he could come up with in the face of hours of tedium and started to ask which machine was fastest.
Dr. Librarian had already caught onto the reason for his despair. “Wait a second.” He pulled the books back across the counter. “Doing that on your own will take forever. I’ll make some of the interns scan them in as part of the digital library work and give you a copy tonight if you can come back for it. Serves them right for proving themselves totally and completely incapable of filing things correctly.” The man was positively gleeful about his intern punishment.
This time the smile was as genuine as it ever got and the thank you was not just one of John’s standard social niceties. Looking at the answering smile, he decided he might just see if Dr. Librarian wanted dinner somewhere when he came back for the Tibetan texts. It certainly wasn’t like he had a military career to worry about these days, and those broad, solid shoulders were definitely worth a little admiration.
“And also, my name’s McKay, Dr. Rodney McKay, not Dr. Librarian.”
John smiled, held out his hand and introduced himself, only to be shoved out of the way by the children with the woman he’d edged out earlier. McKay seemed far too amused at his expense. John would’ve taken offense, but figured lunch was a better plan.
Handing Elizabeth a sandwich along with the portion of her list that had been available electronically got him a raised eyebrow, but John just pushed it closer and reminded her of her 2:00 appointment to update her vaccines before travel abroad.
When he returned ten minutes later with forms to be signed, he pointedly did not smirk at the empty sandwich wrapper.
“Lunch may have been a better idea than I expected,” she replied to his lack of I-told-you-so even though it had been, well, lacking.
“Several of the Tibetan things you wanted were only available as physical texts, so I couldn’t bring them to you with the electronic copies. They’re getting scanned in now and I’ll have them tonight or tomorrow morning. I figured you’d probably want a head start on what was available, though.” Tomorrow morning indeed, if McKay turned out to be as interesting as he seemed.
“That’s fine, thank you.” Elizabeth was already turning to the files. He went to reschedule her doctor’s appointment for tomorrow and made a mental note to only hand over the rest of the information after she’d been vaccinated.
It was well past normal dinner hours by the time he got through with enough of the stuff on his desk that he could almost see the desk calendar that was still turned to March, despite the fact that it was now August. He told people he left it to remind himself of Antarctica because he’d kind of liked it there. He was pretty sure no one believed him. That didn’t bother him in the least. The art of giving nothing away despite telling the truth wasn’t something he’d had to learn from Elizabeth.
Cursing himself for losing track of time, John quickly shut down his computer and left the building, hoping that McKay would still be at the library, despite how unlikely a shift of more than eleven hours was. He tended to forget that normal people got done with their jobs for the day, walked outside, and actually saw daylight most of the year.
He knew he was in luck when he walked in to the much emptier library to the sound of an irritable rant. McKay seemed to be wielding his particular form of customer service to drive off a frazzled college student. John guessed pre-med by the level of panic the kid was showing.
Content to just watch someone else get verbally flayed after hours of forced politeness and unreasonable requests, John hung back and tried to keep his smirk from showing. He couldn’t tell if the amused look on Rodney’s face was the result of the pre-med leaving in need of tissues or of his audience’s enjoyment of the scene.
“The incredibly moronic interns this summer have proven to be completely incapable of using a scanner, despite have been here for nine weeks. It’s entirely possible they pooled their seven brain cells and then forgot the location, especially considering their inability to correctly reshelve anything. And on top of this, I have to deal with some idiot who can’t seem to understand that ‘this book is not in the library’ does in fact mean that it isn’t here! Because, imagine this, we don’t own it!” McKay’s hands gesticulated wildly to punctuate his discussion of everyone else’s incompetence.
John smiled, “But did they manage to get the address wrong on mail to the White House? Ask an Israeli ambassador who was wearing a nametag that included her nationality if she was from Palestine or Pakistan? ”
McKay winced. “Constantly being near this stupidity is making me lose brain cells. While I can certainly afford to lose a few and still function at a level far beyond, oh, everyone, I refuse to be dragged down! This much idiocy is probably contagious! I have plans for my genius!”
Laughing at the librarian’s rant, Sheppard asked after the Tibetan texts.
“And we return to the imbeciles! The last one is being finished now. Miko probably has an hour’s worth of scanning left, and she’s moderately not stupid, so one can reasonably assume that she won’t screw up, unlike the majority of the morons she works with. If they weren’t essentially slaves willing to work overtime and get paid nothing at all - “
“You’d have to hire twice the actual employees and fetch your own coffee, McKay,” Sheppard teased.
“Yes, well, you may have a point. But coffee-fetching is a necessary task if I’m expected to deal with the general public. You saw the children in here today!”
“You do seem like a twelve cup a day kind of guy.” John didn’t even want to picture McKay over-caffeinated - the man already talked a mile a minute and was constantly in motion even when he didn’t seem to be mainlining coffee.
“And working where you do, you aren’t?” McKay shot back.
“My day is practically twice as long as a normal person’s!” John didn’t admit that there were days so crazy that coffee was the only thing he actually consumed.
“I’m sure you’re anything but normal!” The tone was only moderately patronizing. Was that a come-on? If the man had said ‘average,’ he could be sure, but still…
“Hey! I was going to suggest grabbing something to eat in the hour your minion needs to finish, but if you’re going to be insulting…” John playfully let the sentence trail off.
“Yes, fine, you can take me to an extraordinarily late dinner in thanks for vastly improving your day of drudgery. Just no citrus, unless you want me dead, in which case you will never see your precious Tibetan texts because the interns will all have stampeded off to watch soap operas in the janitor’s closet without me there to yell at them.”
“No citrus, got it,” John drawled, easily picking up on the important part of the sentence while still wondering about a janitor’s closet with cable TV and room for a horde of interns. “Italian, then?”
“Yes, citrus bad. Should I keep to simple sentences so as not to overtax your mental capacity?” Despite his retort, McKay seemed amused.
“Italian it is, then. I know a little place near here that makes amazing chicken parm. And lasagna. Actually, pretty much everything there is amazing, and Italian cooking isn’t too big on the citrus.”
Italian met with no (alright, a few, but only token, and more about having to walk multiple blocks than about Italian) complaints on McKay’s part. As they ate, they exchanged stupidest intern stories (the intern who spent an entire day frantically trying to print out the user manual for his office phone in order to call a congressman's assistant for a fax number but didn't know the correct printer to send it to, so flooded Lorne's printer with ninety-three copies of the twenty-seven page manual but never found the fax number won), discussed a new software program Rodney was writing to make the Library catalog easier to search, argued over the best Star Trek captain (Rodney insisted Spock was, even though he never had his own starship on the TV series, but John was all for Sisco) and coolest alien race (Vulcans versus Klingons was declared mostly a tie), and generally enjoyed bantering back and forth.
John found himself getting distracted by Rodney’s flying hands as they sketched out ideas and emphasized his points, but thankfully, Rodney was too wrapped up in what he was saying to notice his short tune outs. It was obvious that the man was passionate about what he was discussing, even when the topic of conversation was as mundane as interns. After a day of insincere, reserved diplomatic pleasantries, McKay's genuine intensity was refreshing.
On the plus side, when he was watching Rodney’s hands, John wasn’t staring at Rodney’s crooked mouth and fantasizing about something other than pasta in it. He also wasn't noticing how solid Rodney was and imagining that weight pinning him to the mattress and fucking him into the middle of next week.
He managed to make it through most of the meal only half hard, but then desert came. It seemed that Rodney was very, very fond of chocolate, and triple chocolate layer cake had its very own set of Rodney porn noises. John was left flushed and struggling to keep his breathing even and napkin placed appropriately. It was entirely possible that he completely forgot his own raspberry pie because he was too busy staring.
“Alright, fine, yes, you can have a bite. But only one! You chose pie!” Rodney pushed the cake close enough that John could have taken a forkful.
“Huh?” John tried to figure out what he’d missed while trying to preserve some sense of dignity.
“You’ve been watching every bite of the cake disappear, you’ve barely touched your pie, and you’re practically drooling! Don’t even pretend you don’t want my chocolate!”
They were rapidly approaching oh shit territory, but John decided to go for it anyway. Blushing, he muttered, “Really not the cake, Rodney.”
“What are you talking about? Are you alright? You're not choking or having a stroke or something are you?” McKay was amazingly oblivious at times. At least he seemed genuinely concerned, if a bit off in his guesses.
John cleared his throat and managed a normal-sounding, “Fine, really, just spaced out or something.” He took a long drink of water to avoid having to say anything else.
“Right. Because people who are fine regularly turn red and sound like they're a step away from keeling over.” Well, scratch the normal-sounding, then. And really, he'd answer, but wasn't it obvious that he was busy taking that long drink of water?
“Your glass has to be nothing but ice by now. What are you doing?” John just put the glass down and gave one of his best smiles that looked like it should convey an actual message but really didn't. Rodney snorted a whatever, but let the topic drop, although he did start watching John like he wasn't sure what to do with him.
Dessert mostly over, the waitress left the check, which Rodney did not actually let John pay, contrary to his earlier statements. He even managed to be only moderately insulting as he refused to let John pay by reason of being a glorified intern that possibly made more than minimum wage. John pretended to be more insulted than he actually was just to watch McKay trip over himself trying to either apologize or justify himself - it wasn't immediately obvious which the man was going for.
“I mean, I'm sure you do more than an intern and by intern I in no way was implying that you have anything in common with phone manual intern and really, you have a legitimate job if only because you have to deal with people like phone manual intern and somehow cause world peace. And really, they pay me a ridiculous salary, especially for a government job, because of the multiple PhDs, and it's not like I have a weird obsession with creating the largest collection of antique eggplant artwork that I could spend it on, and me paying is just a reflection of logic and does not at all impinge on your masculinity!”
John paused a moment to wonder if Rodney had actually taken a breath somewhere in there, then said, “Wait, did you just say I was the girl?” It took serious effort to keep the corners of his mouth from twitching upwards.
Rodney looked even more flustered and started to deny any such implications, then saw the smirk that John couldn't hide any longer.
“You bastard!” But he was smiling as he said it, so apparently the teasing hadn't been amiss.
“I'm sorry,” John apologized insincerely, still grinning. “That really couldn't have been good for you blood pressure. You're gonna bust a gasket getting that worked up, buddy.”
“Exactly! I'm hypertensive! You making me think I've screwed things up by mortally offending you and raising my blood pressure through the roof could give me an aneurism! Or a stroke! Or a heart attack! And then what would you do?”
John managed to guide McKay out of the restaurant, check successfully paid, while the man listed dire consequences. Rodney was too busy detailing the symptoms of various ailments that may or may not have had anything to do with blood pressure that he apparently didn’t notice John’s hand migrating to the small of his back and guiding him between tables and around a waitress with a fully-loaded tray.
“Well, even if I’d been mortally offended, I’m pretty sure I’d still call 9-1-1 for you,” he drawled when Rodney paused for breath.
“Pretty sure? You’re not sure you would? Or you’re not sure you could? This is my brain we’re talking about!” At this point they were on the sidewalk outside the restaurant
“Well, that eleven sure is hard to find on a cell phone.” John didn’t use much of a southern accent. Just enough to get McKay going.
“You’re kidding, right? Please tell me you’re kidding and I haven’t just spent an hour and a half in the company of a moron with hair and a pretty smile.” Pretty smile? Maybe he did have a shot here, despite McKay’s seeming obliviousness.
“You think I have a pretty smile?” John was aware that he was grinning like a loon instead of giving his properly charming smile, but he couldn’t help himself.
“When you’re not trying to be too charming for your own good,” Rodney admitted, then realized exactly what he’d just said and tensed up. John’s hand pressed a little harder against Rodney’s back, drawing Rodney’s attention to it.
“Oh. Really? Am I reading this right? Because you’re seriously hot and I wasn’t sure if it was a date date or just a ‘your intern abuse is amazing’ dinner,” McKay babbled nervously.
“I’m thinking you’re definitely in the same book as me,” John grinned and let his hand drift even lower as he half turned to face Rodney.
“Ha ha, again with the library references.” The response was quiet, said almost against John’s lips.
John closed the gap between them just as Rodney pulled back to ask, “Are we really doing this?” surprisingly clearly for someone being kissed at the beginning of the sentence.
John growled a little to communicate that yes, participation was required here even as his other hand caught the back of Rodney’s head and pulled him into a much firmer kiss. Rodney apparently got the message and stopped trying to speak, putting his tongue to better use.
When they pulled apart for air a few moments later, Rodney’s warm hands curled around John’s hips, leaving an invisible brand and his own palms under Rodney’s multiple layers of shirts, both were out of breath and rather obviously aroused.
“We need a bed, now,” John practically whined, hips thrusting against Rodney’s, drawing a moan from both of them and emphasizing his point.
“I don’t live too far from here. It’s not much of a drive at this time of night,” Rodney panted, hands tightening on John’s hips as they rocked against him.
Deciding not to comment on the disposable income of someone who both lived ‘not too far’ from Capitol Hill and drove to work at the Library of Congress, John pulled away and started dragging Rodney back towards the library, where Rodney had presumably left his car. Despite moving much more quickly than on the earlier stroll down to the restaurant, the trip to the car seemed to take almost as long as the wait in line that morning.
Rodney, of course, had his very own parking space. Granted, the sign had a number under the ‘Reserved For,’ but it was still rather prestigious for the somewhat battered BMW that couldn’t have been younger than ten years old. The manual windows and door locks (“it has electronic locks, they just haven’t worked since I drove up to Ontario last February!”) didn’t decrease the impression of age.
Rodney wasn’t exaggerating when he said the drive back wasn’t far, even with anticipation lengthening the minutes. The streets certainly weren’t empty, but traffic was heavier going in the opposite direction as they made their way to Rodney’s apartment. It was late enough that even the late joggers and dog walkers were gone and the street in front of Rodney’s building was quiet and empty.
They made it inside the apartment building and to the elevator before John decided he couldn’t keep his hands to himself a second longer. Wrapping himself around Rodney from behind as he called for the elevator, John’s hands went to work on Rodney’s belt while his mouth set to work on the convenient spot behind Rodney’s ear.
Moaning, Rodney half-heartedly tried to push him away. “At least wait until we’re in the elevator! The security guard can still see us!”
“So?” John replied, moving across Rodney’s jaw until their lips met and lazily grinding against Rodney’s ass.
With a ding, the elevator arrived, precluding any discussion of publicity. John released Rodney just long enough to let the man get on and select his floor before he drew him in for another kiss. He was happily discovering just how good a kisser Rodney was when the elevator doors opened at their floor. Managing keys and door locks and two people unwilling to detach from each other long enough to get into the apartment proved tricky, but eventually they were behind a closed door.
“Bed, now,” Rodney said. “You really need to be horizontal for what I’m going to do to you.”
“Naked, don’t forget naked,” John whined as his hands were pulled away from Rodney’s belt, again, and used to pull him through a somewhat messy apartment into a similarly messy bedroom. It had a clear, albeit unmade, king-sized bed, though, so John had no complaints in any department but nakedness levels.
Somehow, Rodney managed to unbutton John’s shirt and get it and his undershirt off of him and start on his pants without a break in the frenzied kissing, while John had barely managed to shove Rodney’s pants down to mid-thigh. He quickly got with the program and soon both of them had shed their remaining clothing.
Naked now, John pressed himself to Rodney, enjoying the other man’s bulk as they continued to kiss. Rodney’s hands, perpetually in motion outside the bedroom, continued that trend, stroking along his back, caressing his face, squeezing a butt cheek, even as his tongue continued to plunder John’s mouth. John just held on and did his level best to give back as good as he got. Judging by his partner’s sound effects, that wasn’t bad at all.
Apparently deciding that a bed was only a good idea if they were actually on it, Rodney walked him back until his legs hit the side, then shoved before John had a chance to react. Taking advantage of the access to John’s chest, he started licking and nipping his way across, finding a nipple and treating it to extra attention when the first lick drew a gasp out of John. He let go only when John was practically out of his mind with need and reduced to totally incoherent pleading.
Moving further south, he stopped to find a ticklish spot below John’s ribs and discover that John became squirmy when a tongue dipped into his bellybutton. Instead of continuing on a straight path down to John’s cock, Rodney veered aside to lick at the crease between thigh and groin and nip at his inner thigh, surprising a moan out of John.
After teasing for another moment, Rodney switched gears and caught hold of the base of John’s shaft. He sucked just the head for a moment then went down on John for real, driving him to the edge in an embarrassingly short amount of time.
John tugged Rodney’s hair until he pulled off with an irritated, “What? I need my hair! Unlike you, I do not grow it like a yeti!” and then returned to the cock in front of him, only to be stopped again.
“No, I’m gonna come.” Ignoring Rodney’s “that’s the point!” he continued, “I wanna get fucked.”
Taking Rodney’s surprised gasp as something other than agreement, John whined, “Please, Rodney.”
“Yes, not disagreeing here. Let me just -“ he dug through the mess in the drawer of the nightstand, finally producing lube.
Rodney’s mouth moved back to his chest as a slick finger slid into him. John pushed back, fucking himself on Rodney’s finger. He was too far gone for sentences, but a steady stream of ‘please, oh god, more’ mixed with moans in an effort to get Rodney to move more quickly.
Finally, Rodney seemed satisfied that he was stretched well enough. If he hadn’t been out of his mind with need, John would have been amused at the care Rodney took. The man definitely didn’t have anything to compensate for, but he wasn’t that big.
“C’mon, fuck me!” John practically sobbed when Rodney pulled away. The librarian shushed him as he shoved a pillow under John’s hips and returned, sliding in with minimal resistance.
Within a few thrusts, Rodney established a fast rhythm; both were too close to the edge for slow or gentle. Balancing his weight on one hand, Rodney reached down and started jerking John off as he pounded into him. Half a dozen strokes later, John was coming all over Rodney’s hand and his own stomach and chest. Rodney followed, John’s orgasm triggering his own.
Flopped next to John, Rodney muttered something about the necessity of repetition before his breathing slowed into sleep.
“Gimme an hour,” John replied, sliding close enough to use Rodney’s shoulder as a pillow and throw an arm around his waist before dropping off himself.
Part 2