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For Cate, and posted with her blessing, a wee snippet set in her A Farm in Iowa universe (~360 words). ♥
Wednesday
Rodney only knows it's Wednesday because it's spaghetti night. But, unlike most Wednesdays, just as he and John are mopping up the last of the sauce on their plates with hunks of bread (and Finn has nearly finished his spaghetti sauce masterpiece), Laura's knocking at the kitchen door and letting herself in. And before Rodney can really wrap his mind around what's going on, John's stuffed him into his jacket and bundled him into the truck and they're rattling along some back road, apparently driving to the middle of nowhere. Rodney's been slanting looks at John for the past several minutes, but John's just tapping his fingers lightly on the steering wheel and determinedly keeping his eyes on the road. John only turns to him after he's turned off the ignition, and everything's suddenly quiet except for the keys he's jingling in his right hand. And then John grins at him and says, "Okay, come on."
It's just as quiet outside the truck-quieter, and so dark that Rodney can't see much of anything save the lights of a house in the far distance. John's bustling around in the back of the truck and then he's right in front of Rodney, laughing a little and manhandling him into the truck bed, pulling him down onto a pile of blankets and saying, "Come on, McKay, get with the program." He and John shove and jostle for space, and then they're tucked side by side, shoulders and thighs pressed together warmly, and Rodney can see their breath puffing out, and far beyond that, a wide open sky pinpricked all over with stars.
"So," John starts, and Rodney thinks he'd be ducking his head and rubbing his neck nervously if he weren't flat on his back, "I guess maybe you're wondering what we're doing - "
"Hello, genius," Rodney interrupts, because, yeah, he's with the program now, all right-he remembers another cold March night in Iowa, remembers hearing what stars sound like, remembers the terrifying rush of kissing John for the first time. And here, now, everything smells like melted snow, and Rodney slips his fingers around John's and feels filled to bursting.
Wednesday
Rodney only knows it's Wednesday because it's spaghetti night. But, unlike most Wednesdays, just as he and John are mopping up the last of the sauce on their plates with hunks of bread (and Finn has nearly finished his spaghetti sauce masterpiece), Laura's knocking at the kitchen door and letting herself in. And before Rodney can really wrap his mind around what's going on, John's stuffed him into his jacket and bundled him into the truck and they're rattling along some back road, apparently driving to the middle of nowhere. Rodney's been slanting looks at John for the past several minutes, but John's just tapping his fingers lightly on the steering wheel and determinedly keeping his eyes on the road. John only turns to him after he's turned off the ignition, and everything's suddenly quiet except for the keys he's jingling in his right hand. And then John grins at him and says, "Okay, come on."
It's just as quiet outside the truck-quieter, and so dark that Rodney can't see much of anything save the lights of a house in the far distance. John's bustling around in the back of the truck and then he's right in front of Rodney, laughing a little and manhandling him into the truck bed, pulling him down onto a pile of blankets and saying, "Come on, McKay, get with the program." He and John shove and jostle for space, and then they're tucked side by side, shoulders and thighs pressed together warmly, and Rodney can see their breath puffing out, and far beyond that, a wide open sky pinpricked all over with stars.
"So," John starts, and Rodney thinks he'd be ducking his head and rubbing his neck nervously if he weren't flat on his back, "I guess maybe you're wondering what we're doing - "
"Hello, genius," Rodney interrupts, because, yeah, he's with the program now, all right-he remembers another cold March night in Iowa, remembers hearing what stars sound like, remembers the terrifying rush of kissing John for the first time. And here, now, everything smells like melted snow, and Rodney slips his fingers around John's and feels filled to bursting.