election day (sga, john/rodney, g, humor)
Title: Election Day
Author: Cesare (almostnever)
Pairing: John/Rodney
Summary: A little light silly humor to buoy us through the wait for the election results.
Ratings/Warnings: G-rated. Shamelessly partisan & pro-Obama.
Word count: 1,222
Please vote!
*
When the Daedalus brought the American absentee ballots, John made sure they were handed out promptly, but he left his to languish in his office. He intended, vaguely, to do his civic duty and so forth, but it was easy to keep putting it off. He didn't much feel like he had a big say in the administration of the US when he had no serious intention of going back to live in the Milky Way, pretty much ever.
A couple of days before the Daedalus was due back, the de facto deadline for Atlantean absentee ballots, John cruised by his office to check his email and found Rodney there, rifling through his stuff.
Rodney glanced up, not bothered in the least at being caught out, and said, "Voted yet?" with a pointed look at the untouched ballot.
"No," John said, and his mouth started to shape What are you-- but Rodney overrode him.
"You need to vote," Rodney's tone added an unspoken moron at the end.
"It's on my to-do list," John answered. "Right after I pick the lineup for my fantasy football league."
Rodney shook his head superciliously and folded his arms across his chest. "You know what-- if you don't vote, then forget it, I'm never having sex with you."
John goggled at him, because what the fuck, where did that come from?
"Also, I'm taking your DS Lite," Rodney said, and returned to scavenging long enough to find it buried under the time-sensitive stuff in John's inbox. "You can have it back when you turn in your ballot."
"Hey! That's a motivational tool," said John. "I need that to get my requisitions in on time."
"Well, if you know how you're voting, which you so should, it won't take you too long," Rodney told him smugly, slipping the DS into his pocket. "And then you can have it back."
And of course John couldn't bring himself to undervote, or mark things at random, so he spent the next two hours researching local initiatives for a town he hadn't seen in five years, all the while distracted and racking his brain trying to remember if he'd ever said or done anything to give the impression that he could be swayed by sex from Rodney McKay, of all people.
At dinner, he tossed his signed, sealed absentee ballot at Rodney and said, "Gimme back my DS."
Rodney slid it across the table while cramming a roll into his mouth. "Congratulations," he mangled through the bread, "you now have Pegasus Cooking Mama and an actually challenging update of Brain Age. Also, Turbo MarioKart. If you pick up the wing power-up, the kart flies."
John flipped the game open, too eager to see Turbo MarioKart to get annoyed that Rodney probably laughed at his many gold coins and medals-- and chic, meticulously customized mama-- in Cooking Mama.
"So who'd you vote for?" he asked.
"Secret ballot, Rodney."
"I'm just saying. If you voted for McCain, seriously. Never having sex with you."
"Whoa, what's with moving the goal posts," John protested before he caught himself and added, "not to mention, what the hell are you talking about?"
"I don't see how I could have been any clearer," said Rodney, and then Ronon sat down with them. John applied himself to his mystery meat and focused on the prospect of a flying MarioKart.
The next databurst was scheduled for November 5th, and the day before, the mood in the city was subdued. That night John sprawled in bed with his DS on his chest, flying his kart over the other racers. Whoever put flight in did it with an eye toward game balance; flying gave John an advantage, but all the other power-ups were on the ground, and from the air, it was harder to see attacks from the other racers coming.
Also, his airspeed was contingent on a lot of factors, like driver skills and vehicle stats, including-- and John had practically sprained his face grinning when he first saw it-- the drag coefficients that had been added to each one.
Staying in the air for an entire race was a challenge, and winning from the air could be genuinely hard, but John wasn't much for giving up, even on pixels, and he had the Pegasus Cooking Mama gold medal for tuttle root soup to prove it.
When the door chimed, he said, "Come in," without looking up, closing in on the finish line. He figured it would be Rodney-- it just seemed like it would be-- even before he heard the characteristic clomp of his boots.
"I can't believe you're so calm!" Rodney said. "As we speak, your home country might be falling under totalitarian rule."
"It's an election," John pointed out as his race ended. Damn, he'd come in 2nd.
"Someone obviously hasn't seen the videos of those touchscreen voting junkpiles flipping the votes around like tiddlywinks regardless of the actual votes cast," Rodney said. "I think if buggy machines manufactured by Republican supporters provide the margin of so-called victory a third time, you can't really call it democracy any more. My country's right above yours, you know, and at this point we're like the kid stuck next to the paste-eater on the school bus."
"Aw, just try a bite," John said, putting away his DS. "Glue's tasty."
"I have to co-represent Earth with you!" Rodney flapped his hands wildly. "For a lot of people, we're all they'll ever meet of our entire galaxy, and you come from a country that's insane!"
"Yeah, but you're personally crazy," John told him. "So I think we balance out."
Rodney flopped down to sit on the bed. "If we find out tomorrow that your president's not Obama, I will never have sex with you."
"Hey!" John sat up. "How is that fair? I'm in a galaxy far far away from all that-- you can't take the entire balance of U.S. politics out on me!"
Rodney smirked at him.
It took John whole echoing seconds to realize why. "You asshole. What is this, the blunt force trauma approach to seduction?"
"It's a model of efficiency," Rodney answered primly. "Two vital questions in one. Minimized chance of personal rejection, maximum persuasion in case you were inclined but on the fence. So who'd you vote for?"
"Secret ballot!"
Rodney cupped his hand around John's bare ankle, his thumb circling around the bone. That was all it took, sadly enough, that one promising touch; it'd been longer than John wanted to think about, and it'd never been Rodney.
"Come here," he said, sounding a little petulant even to his own ears. Rodney wasted no time scrambling up onto the bed next to him, which was at least some consolation, considering how casually he'd lured John into admitting stuff out loud.
Stuff John barely even let himself think about, like Rodney beside him, over him, hand on his chest, looking fond and scared and determined. "Who'd you vote for," he said again, in a tone that made it a completely different question.
"I wrote in Sam Carter," John answered.
"Good enough," said Rodney, and kissed him.
Author: Cesare (almostnever)
Pairing: John/Rodney
Summary: A little light silly humor to buoy us through the wait for the election results.
Ratings/Warnings: G-rated. Shamelessly partisan & pro-Obama.
Word count: 1,222
Please vote!
*
When the Daedalus brought the American absentee ballots, John made sure they were handed out promptly, but he left his to languish in his office. He intended, vaguely, to do his civic duty and so forth, but it was easy to keep putting it off. He didn't much feel like he had a big say in the administration of the US when he had no serious intention of going back to live in the Milky Way, pretty much ever.
A couple of days before the Daedalus was due back, the de facto deadline for Atlantean absentee ballots, John cruised by his office to check his email and found Rodney there, rifling through his stuff.
Rodney glanced up, not bothered in the least at being caught out, and said, "Voted yet?" with a pointed look at the untouched ballot.
"No," John said, and his mouth started to shape What are you-- but Rodney overrode him.
"You need to vote," Rodney's tone added an unspoken moron at the end.
"It's on my to-do list," John answered. "Right after I pick the lineup for my fantasy football league."
Rodney shook his head superciliously and folded his arms across his chest. "You know what-- if you don't vote, then forget it, I'm never having sex with you."
John goggled at him, because what the fuck, where did that come from?
"Also, I'm taking your DS Lite," Rodney said, and returned to scavenging long enough to find it buried under the time-sensitive stuff in John's inbox. "You can have it back when you turn in your ballot."
"Hey! That's a motivational tool," said John. "I need that to get my requisitions in on time."
"Well, if you know how you're voting, which you so should, it won't take you too long," Rodney told him smugly, slipping the DS into his pocket. "And then you can have it back."
And of course John couldn't bring himself to undervote, or mark things at random, so he spent the next two hours researching local initiatives for a town he hadn't seen in five years, all the while distracted and racking his brain trying to remember if he'd ever said or done anything to give the impression that he could be swayed by sex from Rodney McKay, of all people.
At dinner, he tossed his signed, sealed absentee ballot at Rodney and said, "Gimme back my DS."
Rodney slid it across the table while cramming a roll into his mouth. "Congratulations," he mangled through the bread, "you now have Pegasus Cooking Mama and an actually challenging update of Brain Age. Also, Turbo MarioKart. If you pick up the wing power-up, the kart flies."
John flipped the game open, too eager to see Turbo MarioKart to get annoyed that Rodney probably laughed at his many gold coins and medals-- and chic, meticulously customized mama-- in Cooking Mama.
"So who'd you vote for?" he asked.
"Secret ballot, Rodney."
"I'm just saying. If you voted for McCain, seriously. Never having sex with you."
"Whoa, what's with moving the goal posts," John protested before he caught himself and added, "not to mention, what the hell are you talking about?"
"I don't see how I could have been any clearer," said Rodney, and then Ronon sat down with them. John applied himself to his mystery meat and focused on the prospect of a flying MarioKart.
The next databurst was scheduled for November 5th, and the day before, the mood in the city was subdued. That night John sprawled in bed with his DS on his chest, flying his kart over the other racers. Whoever put flight in did it with an eye toward game balance; flying gave John an advantage, but all the other power-ups were on the ground, and from the air, it was harder to see attacks from the other racers coming.
Also, his airspeed was contingent on a lot of factors, like driver skills and vehicle stats, including-- and John had practically sprained his face grinning when he first saw it-- the drag coefficients that had been added to each one.
Staying in the air for an entire race was a challenge, and winning from the air could be genuinely hard, but John wasn't much for giving up, even on pixels, and he had the Pegasus Cooking Mama gold medal for tuttle root soup to prove it.
When the door chimed, he said, "Come in," without looking up, closing in on the finish line. He figured it would be Rodney-- it just seemed like it would be-- even before he heard the characteristic clomp of his boots.
"I can't believe you're so calm!" Rodney said. "As we speak, your home country might be falling under totalitarian rule."
"It's an election," John pointed out as his race ended. Damn, he'd come in 2nd.
"Someone obviously hasn't seen the videos of those touchscreen voting junkpiles flipping the votes around like tiddlywinks regardless of the actual votes cast," Rodney said. "I think if buggy machines manufactured by Republican supporters provide the margin of so-called victory a third time, you can't really call it democracy any more. My country's right above yours, you know, and at this point we're like the kid stuck next to the paste-eater on the school bus."
"Aw, just try a bite," John said, putting away his DS. "Glue's tasty."
"I have to co-represent Earth with you!" Rodney flapped his hands wildly. "For a lot of people, we're all they'll ever meet of our entire galaxy, and you come from a country that's insane!"
"Yeah, but you're personally crazy," John told him. "So I think we balance out."
Rodney flopped down to sit on the bed. "If we find out tomorrow that your president's not Obama, I will never have sex with you."
"Hey!" John sat up. "How is that fair? I'm in a galaxy far far away from all that-- you can't take the entire balance of U.S. politics out on me!"
Rodney smirked at him.
It took John whole echoing seconds to realize why. "You asshole. What is this, the blunt force trauma approach to seduction?"
"It's a model of efficiency," Rodney answered primly. "Two vital questions in one. Minimized chance of personal rejection, maximum persuasion in case you were inclined but on the fence. So who'd you vote for?"
"Secret ballot!"
Rodney cupped his hand around John's bare ankle, his thumb circling around the bone. That was all it took, sadly enough, that one promising touch; it'd been longer than John wanted to think about, and it'd never been Rodney.
"Come here," he said, sounding a little petulant even to his own ears. Rodney wasted no time scrambling up onto the bed next to him, which was at least some consolation, considering how casually he'd lured John into admitting stuff out loud.
Stuff John barely even let himself think about, like Rodney beside him, over him, hand on his chest, looking fond and scared and determined. "Who'd you vote for," he said again, in a tone that made it a completely different question.
"I wrote in Sam Carter," John answered.
"Good enough," said Rodney, and kissed him.