Sheppard/McKay AU: Fair Trade (NC-17) -- Part 2
Title: Fair Trade (Part 2) (Series link)
Podfic: linked here, recorded by wihluta.
Author: esteefee
Pairing: Sheppard/McKay
Rating: NC-17
Words: ~18,000 total
Categories: FT, AU
Beta: crysothemis, who, srsly: knew *just* what to point to, and offered the perfect suggestions. Thank you, crys.
Spoilers: A tiny bit for Phantoms. That's where it all takes an abrupt left turn.
Summary: John owns a coffee roastery in San Francisco. Rodney is the Angry Customer Zero who is bound to tell him where to stick his beans.
Warnings: Are at the bottom.
Part 1 is here.
Part 2
It was tough pulling himself out of bed the next morning. He and Doubledoc had kept up the back-and-forth until way too late, going from full on battle to philosophical debate to what John almost thought was flirting, and then back to bickering again.
John had to dry swallow a couple of the ibuprofen before he even made it to bathroom, and after coffee and a stale bagel, he maneuvered himself onto his bike and did a little easy riding to warm himself up before he hit the hill.
He called it the Mountain in his head sometimes, but it really was just a hill. Maybe if Ronon fixed him up, John would be able to ride up Mount Tamalpais. Now there was a real challenge. Actually, there were a lot of things he could do if Ronon fixed him. For one thing, John could maybe get laid. Nobody wanted to fuck a gimp; that was for sure.
It being Friday, Ahsarvat was manning the counter and Sandi was out picking up pastries and quiches and the like to prepare for the bigger crowd coming. They had some local singer/songwriters scheduled for tonight, popular enough that John planned to make himself scarce come eight p.m.
But first, he had one little errand to run. So, after he freed Zeke, John went down the street to the Pottery Barn to do some shopping.
By the time McKay showed up John had already unbagged his purchase and put it in place.
McKay made a beeline straight for the counter, not even noticing John as he strode in. But as soon as he had taken two huge gulps of his coffee he turned around and targeted John's corner. John lifted his coffee with a grin, and watched Rodney's eyes widen as he took in the brand-new, plush cushion sitting on the bench opposite John's seat.
"I see you've upgraded," Rodney said as he approached. "A wise decision on your part-" he cleared his throat, "-keeping the customer happy, I mean."
John rolled his eyes. "PR is my life."
"Obviously, considering the amount of time you must spend on your hair."
Blinking in surprise, John started to raise an outraged hand toward his hair before dropping it. "It does this on its own," he protested.
"Yes, yes, I'm sure," Rodney said dismissively and started in on his chocolate-chip croissant. "I know it's Friday when there are still croissants left when I get here."
"Fridays are good," John agreed, munching on his ham-and-cheese croissant.
Rodney smirked at him, a little flake of pastry caught on his lower lip, and John felt a sudden urge to reach out and brush it off, which he stifled with a start.
He didn't know when he'd started thinking of Customer Zero as an attractive guy. Probably around the time he became Rodney, John thought. But there was no way he could pursue anything at this point, even assuming Rodney was interested in him like that. John definitely got a little ping off him, but then he considered Rodney's "I'm with genius" T-shirt mismatched against his-were those plaid?-yellow and green pants, and thought maybe he was imagining the way Rodney seemed to be scoping him out every so often.
It was moot, anyway. John was a gimp, with the scars to prove it. The last time he'd had sex was a hurried blowjob in a supply tent on the airfield at Kandahar, just one day before his life took a serious left turn.
"So, there's music tonight?" Rodney said.
"Yeah, couple of local kids. They're pretty good, if you're interested."
"Me? No, I have...plans."
"Oh. Okay." John sipped his coffee to cover his sudden disappointment.
"Nothing urgent," Rodney blurted suddenly, then blushed.
Actually blushed.
John swallowed too fast and almost burned his throat. "That's cool. Hey, do you like chess?"
Which was how John ended up spending the rest of the afternoon popping between the roasters and the café's chess set. He could tell Rodney was taken aback the first time John had him on the ropes, and his blue eyes sharpened as he leaned over the board.
The day went by pretty fast after that, with them trading wins and talking trash, and then Ahsarvat started moving tables and chairs around to make room for the performers.
"Tomorrow we'll have the tie-breaker," Rodney said as he packed up the chess set.
"Tie-breaker? I'm up by one."
"Yes, but everyone knows it's best five out of seven."
"Uh-huh." John stretched a little and tried to crack his back, but a sudden twinge from his hip made him suck in a sharp breath. "Well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow then," he said, wanting Rodney to be gone before he tried to get up.
Rodney cocked his head, then nodded abruptly and took off.
John couldn't help with the tables, but he did help Sandi fill the display case before going into his office. His computer here was a rusty old thing, but it could still manage email.
There was nothing from Doubledoc, though, and, disappointed, John buzzed through a Sudoko website and printed out some puzzles to keep himself occupied.
:::
Fridays were a late closing, and he crashed so quickly that night he didn't even have the energy to check his email again when he got home. In fact, he could barely keep his eyes open while brushing his teeth, and fell face-first into sleep with Punk still dangling the mouse against his arm.
The next morning he felt better than he had in a long time. He wasn't sure why, but he had this sense there was something to look forward to. Then he remembered he'd forgotten to check his email the night before, and he got up and tapped his computer awake.
Punk was asleep on the couch and gave him a sleepy yawn before closing her eye again.
To: blackhawk@sbcglobal.net
From: doubledoc@mathpuzzler.net
Subject: Re: Batman versus Spider-man
Dear Blackhawk:
My rebuttal to your ridiculous arguments in re: who would win in a fight.
1. Batman isn't a whiny school kid.
But neither is Batman a well-educated scientist.
2. Batman is a billionaire. While this might not have a direct outcome on any battle, obviously Batman's equipment is superior, plus the bat-cave is a more excellent place to practice his moves than some dinky, one-room apartment.
Regardless your opinion on Batman's "equipment," and, yes, those are quotation marks, the bat-cave, need I remind you, is FILLED WITH BATS. As well as, I'm sure, no small amount of air-borne molds and pathogens.
It's a wonder the poor man hasn't perished already from guano-related histoplasmosis.
3. Batman wears black. Need I say more?
Oh, yes, because fashion is the deadliest of weapons.
(And, btw, I understand your choice in logins much more clearly now.)
4. Batman doesn't need anyone. He's a loner. His parents were killed, leaving him free of social constraints. Also, there's the burning rage factor (so Parker's uncle got shot. Big deal.)
You are a blood-thirty bastard, aren't you? I suppose it would have been better for Parker's battle-fu if he'd seen his parents gunned down in front of him?
I remind you that Spider-man accidentally killed his girlfriend, Gwen Stacy. Batman never kills the female supervillains. He just ties them up and then lets them wiggle free after sex.
>5. Batman's stuff explodes. Spider-man's is just...sticky.
I'm not touching that one with a ten-foot pole. Unless, well.
>6. Batman trained in Tibet. Spider-man trained in clown school.
Now you're just being insulting. And I remind you that Batman is known to use hallucinogens and also probably has venereal disease on top of the histoplasmosis. I'm surprised he can get out of bed without his dick falling off.
Yours most sincerely,
Doubledoc
John snorted out loud, startling Punk into flopping over and giving him a dirty look. Ten-foot pole, huh? John thought, and wondered a little idly where Doubledoc lived. Not that it mattered. People were never as interesting in person as they were online.
But a little flirting never hurt.
There was another message from later with the subject, "Are you there? Is my argument perhaps too compelling? ". John replied to that one first.
I'm here. Late night at work on Fridays. Tonight, too.
(No, I'm not a bartender. Or a stripper.)
I will respond to your completely insane comments in re: Batman after I've had my morning coffee. But you are going *down*, buddy.
John was still grinning when he settled down to do his free-weight routine. He'd never lifted weights before his injury, but after he lost so much muscle mass in the hospital, he'd made an effort to at least build his arms and shoulders back up. It gave him a small amount of satisfaction to know he was still strong in one area, at least. He followed the weights with some crunches, and then showered and got ready for work.
:::
McKay wasn't there when John arrived, so John went straight into the back to check the whiteboard. Zeke didn't work Saturdays, but he usually left a couple of jobs for John to roast.
John added his own little blending experiment to the board-another small, ten-pound roast combining the two Hawaiians with some aged Sumatra. He didn't allow himself to think about how they were Rodney's three favorite beans, and that maybe John was a little invested in getting another one of Rodney's blissed-out smiles like from the day before.
After he'd loaded and set the start of the roast, he went out front for his morning coffee, lifting a raspberry scone from under Sandi's nose.
"Hey! That's the last one!"
"Mmm hmm."
"Mr. Kreutchfeld comes in on Saturdays and always wants a scone," Ahsarvat explained.
John swallowed quickly. "Then give him a currant."
"He prefers raspberry," Sandi said archly.
"Yeah, I know. So do I," John said, grinning and accepting the punch in the arm. "So, has McKay been in?" he asked casually. It was almost noon.
"You mean your new best friend? Nope, I haven't seen him today."
"He's not my-I just met the guy!"
"Well, you seem pretty buddy-buddy to me. Which is good," Sandi added hastily at his expression, "because he's a lot nicer to have hanging around here, lately."
Ahsarvat nodded frantically.
John rubbed the back of his neck. "Sorry if he's been a pain," he said, wondering even as he said it why he was defending Rodney of all people to his team.
"No, he's no pain. He tips very nicely," Ahsarvat said, grinning.
"Oh, well, then," John replied, complete with an eye-roll.
Sandi laughed.
"I'll be in the office if anyone needs me," John said, trying to be nonchalant.
"I'll tell him where to find you."
John bit his tongue on his sharp reply and went back into his office, where he painstakingly composed a response to Doubledoc's spurious slander of his favorite comic book character, ending with:
Plus, Spider-man smells.
:::
McKay didn't show up all day, not that John was checking or anything. When he pulled out the blended roast he packaged two pounds of carefully selected beans into one of Fair Trade's waxed bags and put a sticky note on it that said, "For McKay." He didn't feel like putting it out under the counter, though, so he just stashed it in the storeroom.
That night they had a good musician playing, a regular favorite named Monica. She was a pretty girl, with long black hair and big brown eyes, and she even knew a couple of Cash tunes, and always played them with a wink for John. She had a sweet, high voice, which he'd thought would sound weird on "Solitary Man" the first time she started it, but now it was a favorite of his. Something about her singing those silvery notes way up there made it sound more wistful, somehow. Less hurtful.
As he listened, he thought about Nancy, and how she'd called him only once while he was in the hospital, and could barely find three words to say to him. Then he thought about Holland asking him where the rest of his crew was. But John had come alone. He hadn't asked the rest of his team, didn't want them risking their lives or sending their careers into the crapper when it was pretty much a lost cause.
But he'd brought Holland home after all. He'd brought him home, and sometimes when Holland called him up to shoot the shit or talk about his son, John would think what a good deal he'd gotten; in spite of the bad hip and the bum leg, even after losing the sky, he'd do it all over again.
He'd always do it again.
Monica was singing "Beautiful Disaster" now, and John almost laughed at how she seemed to be reading his mind.
After the show he tried to help Ahsarvat clean up but got shooed away, so he sat in his corner and talked to Monica while she counted up her tips and laid her beautiful guitar in its velvet-lined case.
"You ever think about going pro?" he asked her, and she shot him a rueful look.
"Sure, if I wanna give up everything I really love about this. All that shit-promo tours and letting some producer muck around with my 'sound' until there's nothing left of me in there? No way. I'm gonna record my album in my boyfriend's basement."
John barked a laugh. "Seriously?"
"Yeah. It's easy now, anyway-software is cheap and all you need is a couple of really good mics, and you can mix it all in the program."
"What about all the rest of it?"
"Sandi says she'll do the artwork."
"Really?" John craned his head to look at Sandi, who was steaming clean the espresso machine.
"Really. She's awesome."
"Oh, I know-she did our logo, you know. I just didn't know you guys knew each other."
"John. Seriously? We've all been hanging out in your café for two years now-everybody knows everybody."
"Oh."
"Yeah." Monica grinned. "We all know each other's secrets, too, so..."
John laughed uneasily. "Hey, don't look at me-I don't have any."
"Sure," she said, drawing it out. "Right." She snapped her guitar case closed and stood up. "Thanks again for the good space."
"Thanks for the music," John said, meaning it.
Ahsarvat and Sandi converged on the front door just as Monica was leaving, so he followed them out and locked up behind them.
"Solitary Man" was still running through his head as he rode home.
:::
He couldn't shake his mood, even after a night's sleep. He didn't know what was wrong-or maybe he did, a little. What Monica said about secrets, well, John had a doozy. He'd been keeping it since before the Air Force, and only let that side of him out to play every so often.
And he was itching for it now for some reason. Not just sex, but sex with a man. One guy in particular, actually-as abrasive and cantankerous as Rodney was, John liked him. Maybe even because of that. And he liked the way Rodney's hands moved when he talked, urgent and expressive. John could imagine Rodney doing amazing things to him with those hands.
But Rodney hadn't shown up. Not that he was obligated to stop by every day, but John had gotten used to it in such a short time, and that was a kick in the head, really. He didn't even know where Rodney lived or what his phone number was. Hell, he didn't even have Rodney's email address, so he couldn't do the ultimately casual thing and drop him a note.
John popped open his laptop.
To: blackhawk@sbcglobal.net
From: doubledoc@mathpuzzler.net
Subject: cf. Excuse me, but Batman smells. And Robin laid an egg.
(Not that I ascribe to childish nursery rhymes, but proof is proof, I suppose.)
So, you claim you're not a stripper. Nor a late night caped crusader? And yet, I haven't heard any more from you today. Of course, I'm sure you have a very busy social schedule, what with the Mensa coffee klatches and your Puzzlers Anonymous meetings.
Actually, I find I want to know more about you than what I've gleaned from your postings. I want to know why you never told us you were in the hospital when you first joined the group. For how long? Why were you really in there?
Quid pro quo, if you're interested.
Today I spent the entire day trapped in boring meetings where useless people argued around and around on decisions they had no business making. So, please, give me something to get this awful taste out of my mouth.
~DD
John felt the strain of wanting to tell, but knowing how he'd feel afterwards-like he'd lost something, or given it away, making it cheap. But he made himself hit reply anyway, and started typing.
I didn't tell you guys because I didn't want a bunch of fake sympathy.
They had me in there for 2.5 months. Some not-so-friendlies hit the road in front of us with an RPG, and I rolled the jeep.
It's okay--it was stolen, anyway.
My buddy got thrown free, but I got trapped underneath. Some of our guys came zooming in and dug me out, but I took some damage.
I guess that's all I want to say about that, except I think your puzzles saved my sanity when I was in the hospital. I never said thanks for that. So, thanks.
QPQ: why's a smarty-pants like you diddling around with a puzzle group? You're way too smart to be wasting time with us.
Blackhawk
(I think I need a .sig.)
John hit send without letting himself think about it. Digging the fuzzy mouse out from behind the cushions, he threw it for Punk in a low arc just over her head. She jumped up and batted it down, then savaged it by shaking her head before trotting back over and dropping it on the couch next to John's leg.
John picked it up by the tail and swung it in the air a couple of times, trying to fake her out, but she waited to start running until he released it, and then knocked it around the carpet for a little while before bringing it back.
He'd just tossed it again when his computer binged. That meant Doubledoc had to be online.
To: blackhawk@sbcglobal.net
From: doubledoc@mathpuzzler.net
Subject: you're a dunce
That sounds like a nightmare. I hate hospitals. For one thing, they're usually filled with sick people, notorious vectors for all kinds of hideous diseases. I'm amazed you didn't die of cholera your second day there.
And by the way, the others don't have to know you to feel badly for you, Hawkeye. Yes, yes, that isn't your name. But since Blackhawk isn't either, let me have my fun. Anyway, you might've told me. At least I could've made you some extra puzzles to keep you from going stir-crazy.
Are you all better now?
Re: my QPQ--ouch. You really know where to stick the knife. And I can't tell you the whole thing, because believe me, the people with interest are probably still paying attention. But suffice to say yes, I am brilliant. I'm so brilliant I made something I shouldn't have. For all the right reasons, I promise you--I was trying to solve this little problem we call global warming. But it went bad, and we barely managed to shut the prototype down in time, and I was booted from the scientific community with extreme prejudice.
That's why I use a pseudonym. No one would take me seriously as a scientist anymore. I'm not sure I don't agree with them.
QPQ: straight, gay, or bi?
Oh, man. Doubledoc didn't miss a trick. John responded quickly.
Bi. At least, as far as I can remember. It's been a while.
QPQ: gay or bi? (see how I'm not accepting straight for an answer.)
And, Jesus, DD, what's this about a prototype that, from the sound of it, could have blown up in your face?
You realize if you had died you wouldn't have been around to drag my head out of my ass when I was in Landstuhl? Pretty selfish of you, buddy.
It doesn't matter what those yahoos think, anyway. You're still the smartest guy I know.
>Are you all better now?
Not really. My hip is in bad shape. Doc says I could get better if I went back in for more surgery. But I don't know what I'd do about my business (I own a coffee roastery. Best beans this side of the Pacific.) I'd be out of commission for six weeks, at least, and I can't afford the extra help.
Speaking of which, I'm going to have to cut this short. Have to be up early tomorrow since my morning guy is taking the day off.
TTYL.
Blackhawk
"Flying is learning how to throw yourself at the ground and miss." <--like my new .sig?
John put his computer to sleep with the uneasy feeling he'd revealed too much. It always felt like that when he really connected with someone. Maybe that was why he was so pissed at Rodney for not showing up today. They'd had a good thing going, and him not showing up felt like he was throwing it all in John's face.
Which was stupid. The guy probably had to work, or maybe his cat got sick-he'd told John he had an annoying cat with a hairball fetish.
John washed up and crawled into bed, but his body was buzzing a little, so he reached into his boxers and palmed his dick. Yeah, definitely something going on there. He gripped himself and started stroking, shuffling through his fantasies for a good one. Like the one where his first D.I., Peterson, was hazing him when he was just a nugget, but instead of making John drop and give him fifty, he'd make John drop his pants and bend over his chute pack.
John thought of Peterson spreading his cheeks and fingering his asshole. Yeah, that's good, airman. That's a nice, tight little ass. And maybe he'd work his finger in on a some spit and loosen John up so he could fuck him.
God, he really needed to be fucked. Needed to feel wanted like that, like he was the hottest thing going. And John would open right up, take those fingers, take that heavy cock even if it was a tough fit. Feel it stroking inside his ass, rubbing up against his sweet spot-
John groaned and cupped his hand over the head of his cock to catch it as he shot. Christ, that feels good. He didn't know why he didn't jack off more often, except that afterward it always felt the same. Like he'd never have that again.
Grabbing a tissue from his nightstand, he wiped off and then set his alarm before going to sleep.
:::
John woke up at six with Punk's ass in his face. Not a great start, which he followed with almost slipping in the shower, giving his hip a nice wrench when he caught himself.
He was careful in the kitchen getting his cereal, and eased himself down on the couch to eat while he checked his mail. A couple of new messages were waiting from Doubledoc, which made John smile until he opened the first one.
To: blackhawk@sbcglobal.net
From: doubledoc@mathpuzzler.net
Subject: ?????
Where do you live????
No quid pro quo, no response to John's screed, just that one question. A sinking feeling hit John in the gut before he fully realized what it meant. What it had to mean. He opened the second message, sent not a minute later.
To: blackhawk@sbcglobal.net
From: doubledoc@mathpuzzler.net
Subject:
John? Is that you?
Because John was an idiot, wasn't he? Not nearly as smart as Doubledoc. Not as smart as Rodney. Both of them scientists, brilliant and perpetually annoyed and hilarious and interesting. Both of them the kind of guy he was always attracted to.
Doubledoc was Rodney. Rodney was Doubledoc.
John was twice as screwed. Because now he wanted Rodney twice as bad, but John had told more to Doubledoc because it was safer, and then Doubledoc flirted with him anyway so what the hell did that mean about his chances with Rodney?
He had to know.
:::
John was out the door before he remembered to feed Punk, and then had to walk halfway up again, his heart hammering in his chest. He beat his personal best climbing the hill, though, the adrenaline enough to make the trip almost painless. On his way down he had to focus on using the brakes, on watching the street surface, thinking impossible thoughts about corny Hollywood movies where the hero is killed in a horrible accident on the way home to seeing his sweetheart.
Maybe Rodney could be that for him. Maybe he wanted to be. On the other hand, maybe Rodney didn't want a boyfriend who couldn't walk very well. He hadn't given John any real signs.
John guessed he'd find out.
Fair Trade was all locked up, of course, because he was opening today. Except he was an hour early, and besides, Rodney never rolled in until nine at the earliest.
The thought calmed John down a little bit, and he went through the motions of flicking on lights, powering up the espresso machine and setting down all the chairs. Probably a couple of people would drift in, even though it was early, so he started some coffee brewing and opened the register.
The bell above the door rang, and Rodney walked in.
For a second John just stared at him, completely helpless to do anything, to say anything. It was like all the words in the universe had been sucked into a black hole.
"I-I was waiting. Over at-at the newsstand," Rodney stammered, his cheeks flushed pink. Then he frowned, his hands rising to make an outraged gesture. "Of course it's you. Of course. Because you are the most singularly annoying man, except there were two of you, equally annoying-"
"Oh, I'm annoying-?"
"Yes, very. Which is why I didn't think-but of course, because you are brilliant at chess, which is a dead giveaway, and the Douglas Adams thing, which we have discussed in the past, as I recall, and you probably still hold to the ridiculous notion that So Long, and Thanks for All the Fish is the best book in the series-"
"So? I like dolphins!"
Rodney's mouth snapped shut suddenly, and then he started to smile, really wide, wider than John had ever seen him smile. Maybe John should have known after all, because he'd always been the only one who could reduce Doubledoc to babbling in outrage, and the same thing was true of Rodney.
"I really like you," Rodney said. "And I realize you haven't evinced any interest in my-well, my corporeal form-"
"Oh, shut up and get over here." John eased around the counter and stood waiting with his heart climbing his throat. Rodney didn't disappoint him; he hurried closer, and then he was there, so solid, right in front of John.
That was good, because John was going to kiss him now.
"I'm gonna-" he started to say, but Rodney was already kissing him. Soft, warm kisses, not nasty, but with the potential definitely there in the curl of Rodney's tongue against his, and the way his mouth was slick and pushy and everything John wanted. John's dick jumped to immediate attention, but he told himself to back off, because he hadn't even asked Rodney what his thoughts were on guys who weren't normal. Who couldn't maybe do the things Rodney might want to do.
"Wait," John said, pulling back, and that's when the bell rang again and some customers walked in.
"Shit," Rodney said under his breath.
John couldn't help grinning-kind of goofily, probably, but he didn't care.
"May I help you?" he said to Rodney, stepping back behind the counter.
Rodney chimed in with, "Yes, please. Do you have any coffee?"
"Why, certainly, sir. It's a coffee shop."
"You didn't just quote Monty Python at me," Rodney whispered furiously. "Now I really, really want to f-"
"Your coffee, sir," John said loudly, hoping to drown Rodney out. Rodney took his cup and offered John some cash, but John just frowned at him.
"Very well," Rodney said, putting the money back in his pocket, "but you realize you're setting a very poor precedent."
"I'm sure I'll regret it," John said agreeable. "Now let me take care of these nice people."
The customers were familiar, a couple that came by the shop on the weekends. "Hi," John said, wishing he was better at remembering names. "Latte, extra foam, dash of chocolate?"
"Yes, thanks," the taller one said. Anton, that was his name.
"And just black for you, right?"
The other guy nodded, "Both to go, thanks."
John handed over the regular coffee and got to work on the latte, conscious the whole time of Rodney leaning against the pillar by the bathroom, watching his every move.
John almost burned himself with the steamer.
"Here you go. That'll be three seventy-five."
"You're not usually open this early," Anton said as he paid. "It was nice to see the lights on." He flicked a glance over to Rodney and then smiled innocently at John.
John felt his face heat. "Yeah, special occasion," he said, and then almost bit off his own tongue.
"Congratulations," Anton said, the teasing note gone, and his partner added seriously, "Mazel tov."
"Thanks." They were very nice, but John really wanted them to leave already.
Rodney seemed to be of the same mind, because he followed them to the door to lock it behind them, and then flipped the OPEN sign back over.
"Rodney," John protested half-heartedly.
"What? It's only," Rodney peered at his watch, "seven-ten. You guys don't open until eight. Besides," he continued, looking a little uncertain, "I want you to show me the roasting room."
"Yeah?"
"Yes. I've heard it's really very nice. And private." Rodney waggled his eyebrows ridiculously.
"Well. Most of the equipment is old. Worn out," John said cautiously. "In fact, some of it doesn't even...work right."
Rodney's eyes softened. John didn't even know Rodney could look like that.
"That's okay," Rodney said gently. Then he rolled his eyes. "I can't believe we're talking about your 'equipment.'"
"We're not!" John said, his voice almost breaking into a squeak. "I mean, not that equipment. Jesus!"
"So, you're saying Batman's stuff still explodes?" Rodney said slyly.
"Oh, for the love of-"
"Come on. Show me," Rodney said, and John couldn't think of any reason not to, so he led the way back toward the roaster room, taking a small side-trip into the store room and flicking on the light.
"Here," he said gruffly, handing Rodney the bag. "Made this for you."
Rodney looked at the sticky note then pulled it off, smiling when he saw what was written underneath. "'Rodney's Blend?'"
"Well, yeah," John said, the heat in his ears almost painful. "Except now I think I'll call it 'Doubledoc.' Has a better ring to it."
"Now, of course, I'm going to have to blow you."
"Yeah?" John said weakly.
"You named coffee after me." And then Rodney put the bag down and pushed John deeper into the storeroom before pulling the door closed. "Sit," he said, sounding a little breathless.
John sat on a stack of beans, spreading his legs as best he could so Rodney could stand between them. Rodney leaned down and kissed him, his tongue pushing into John's mouth, and John tilted his head back and let him in, giving up breathing in favor of kissing back the best he could. God, Rodney tasted amazing, and it wasn't just because he'd been drinking John's coffee.
"Okay." Rodney pulled back. "Now comes the part where I blow you for naming a coffee after me. Seriously, that's practically a Nobel Prize," he said as he got down on his knees and started tugging at John's belt. John helped him get his pants open, and then Rodney was pushing down his boxers far enough to take John's cock in his hand.
"Oh, God," John said before he could stop himself. Rodney just grinned, his blue eyes gleaming, and bent to tilt John's cock into his mouth.
John's hands flew back to brace himself against the sensation as Rodney started sucking him.
"Yeah, Rodney," John moaned and tried to thrust up, but his hip immediately complained, making him hiss.
Rodney raised his head. "That wasn't a good sound. I know my good sounds and that wasn't one."
"Sorry," John gritted. "Remember I warned you about the broken equipment."
"So? This seems to be working fine," Rodney said, giving John's cock a quick stroke. "Why don't you let me handle the hard part?"
John groaned at the pun, and then groaned even louder when Rodney sucked him back in, his tongue working hard against the underside of John's cock. The instinct to thrust hit him again, but he made himself relax, and Rodney made a happy, approving sound as he sucked and licked, fingering John's balls at the same time.
"Jesus God that's good," John mumbled, "Use your hand. Use your hand, Rodney, I'm so close-"
Rodney hummed in agreement and started jacking John's cock with his hand while he sucked and slurped over the head, and John felt his nuts draw up right before the pleasure hit him and he started to come. He moaned and jerked a little when he felt Rodney swallowing, his teeth brushing a little against the shaft and making John peak again.
"Christ," John said when he was done, and he passed shaking fingers over Rodney's thinning hair. "Thank you. Thanks."
"No, thank you," Rodney said, and pushed himself to his feet with a little groan.
"Knees bad?"
"No. I think I bent my dick in half," Rodney said ruefully. John grabbed him and pulled him down for a kiss, then reached for Rodney's fly.
"Think I can fix that," John said. "Kiss it better or something."
"Oh, do. By all means," Rodney said, sounding like he was laughing, but there was more to it. He sounded blissed out, almost giddy.
John knew how he felt. He got a nice whiff of Rodney's scent, the smell of male arousal, and it made him eager to get Rodney's cock in his mouth, make him feel even a little of what John had felt looking down at Rodney's head moving over his cock.
"Come closer," John complained, tugging at him, and then pushed Rodney's pants and boxers down.
Rodney's cock was a thing of beauty, a deep pink flushing the puffy head. He had a foreskin snugged like a wrapper at the base of the crown, and John rubbed it curiously. He'd never sucked a guy with a foreskin before.
"Mmmm," Rodney said. "Yes, please. Like that."
"How the hell does this thing work?" John said, partially under his breath, making Rodney bark out a laugh.
"Spider-man's stuff is slightly different," he explained, and John thwapped him on the hip just to make him yelp.
Well, there was only one way to figure it out, and that was to do it. John pulled Rodney forward by the hips and ran his tongue over the crown of Rodney's cock, dipping lightly into the slit before slipping down under the foreskin.
Rodney made an unholy sound and set his hand on John's hair, lightly, but pushing a little as if he wanted John to take him deeper. John obliged, and sucked Rodney deeper into his mouth, then put his hand over Rodney's to show him. Yeah, like this. Fuck my mouth.
And Rodney did-started fucking John's mouth, slowly at first, and then really pulling John down onto his cock, over and over, those same sweet sounds spilling from Rodney's lips and making John wish he could get hard all over again.
Come in my mouth. I want to taste you, John thought. I bet you taste good.
He did, John discovered when Rodney sighed and started to come, his cock twitching in John's mouth. Rodney tasted like green grass after a hard rain. He tasted like bitter grounds and winter snow. John swallowed as much as he could before he had to pull back and take over with his hand. It had been a long time and maybe he was out of practice, or maybe Rodney always came like this, because he was still groaning and his cock jerked again, spitting come on John's T-shirt.
"Oh," Rodney said, his eyes closed, the same expression on his face that he'd had when he took that first sip of Moloka'i.
John's dick gave a half-hearted twitch, like it wanted to go another round but couldn't predict the outcome.
Rodney leaned over him and gave him a hot kiss. John could taste himself there, his come in Rodney's mouth. They kissed until Rodney complained of neck pain and straightened up.
"You're going to have to change shirts," Rodney said, not looking guilty at all.
John looked down at the spatter of come drying on his chest, and sighed before pulling his shirt off. "It's okay, I've got a spare set of clothes I keep in the office."
"For just this occasion?" Rodney asked, but he sounded a little remote, and John looked up hastily.
Rodney was staring at John's crotch; or maybe at the scar noodling its angry way from his hip to under his jeans. The scars got worse under there, and he was a little glad he hadn't dropped his pants all the way.
"Not so pretty, huh?" John said, dropping his T-shirt onto his lap. "Ronon-he's my orthopedic surgeon-wants to make a couple more cuts to finish the job."
Rodney dropped down to his knees again, and John could no longer avoid his eyes.
"You told me," Rodney said quietly, his hands on John's thighs. "Remember?"
"Right...I told Doubledoc," John said, distracted again by how odd that was.
"Are you planning to go through with it?"
"Not-I'm not sure. I don't know. I told you, there's no one to-I can't just-" The words tangled in a traffic jam, an accident waiting to happen, and he bit his tongue before it could do anymore damage.
Rodney gave him a narrow look, but didn't say anything.
John bent his head and started fixing himself up. "I should get ready," he said. "Opening up soon, and all that."
"Yes, of course," Rodney said, weirdly formal, but when John started to try to get up, Rodney's hand was there on offer, and John took it and let Rodney haul him to his feet.
"Thanks." John leaned forward and kissed him, just because he could, and Rodney's mouth curved in a smile even as he kissed back.
"This was nice."
"Real nice," John agreed, and couldn't resist kissing Rodney's slanted mouth one more time. Unfortunately, the delivery bell rang a second later, and John pulled away with a rueful grin. "Back to work."
"Back to work. Hopefully later you can show me the rest of the room. I want my promised tour. Oh! And my coffee," Rodney said and bent to retrieve it, giving John an excellent rear view.
Soon, John thought as he snagged his spare shirt from the office and then walked over to the delivery door. He had to struggle to get his arms in the holes, he was so dazed by the surprise sex, and the surprise of Rodney, and the idea of "soon." And now John had someone-well, he was pretty sure he did, anyway, and for the first time in a long time he had something to look forward to.
He took the morning pastry delivery and cradled the big pink boxes in his arms to carry them into the front. Rodney had served himself coffee and was lounging with a newspaper on his bench. John could tell he'd be hard at work keeping Rodney in coffee, and the idea made him grin while he worked.
He'd just finished filling the display case when Sandi buzzed in, her pink hair a little wild and her eyeliner smudged.
"Rough night?" he asked mockingly, and she smirked at him.
"It depends on what you mean by 'rough.'"
John rubbed the back of his neck and hid a smirk of his own. He looked over at their corner, and Rodney raised his head. His face brightened into a brilliant smile, and John couldn't help smiling back.
Sandi followed his gaze and said, "You seem like you're in a good mood."
"Yeah, well, it's been a good week," John said.
"I'm glad, boss."
John's face heated, but he returned her smile.
"A really good week," he repeated softly to himself, and sauntered over to where Rodney was waiting.
:::
Teyla showed up soon after with Ronon in tow, and Sandi squealed and went charging over.
John got it when Ronon caught her and gave her a kiss.
"Hi, guys," John said. He looked across at Rodney, who was watching him intently. "Uh, this is Rodney McKay. Rodney, this is Dr. Teyla Emmagan and Dr. Ronon Dex."
"I've seen you here before, I believe," Teyla said, walking over to offer her hand. "Please, call me Teyla."
"Hi, Teyla," Rodney said. He turned back to John and mouthed, wow.
"And I'm Ronon." Ronon nodded at Rodney and gave John a wolfish smile.
"Teyla likes to do the crossword," John said hurriedly, then added under his breath, "And embarrass me whenever possible."
"I'm sure I don't know what you mean, John. But may we join you?"
So that's how they all ended up in John's corner working on the Sunday crossword together while Sandi buzzed around them plying them with coffee and pastries.
It was kind of nice, John had to admit once he'd stopped flushing. It felt friendly. Eventually, though, he had to leave them all alone together to check on the roasts, and when he came back it was painfully obvious they'd been talking about him.
One thing was for damned sure: Rodney couldn't do 'innocent' even with the help of ten vestal virgins and a pound of stage makeup.
"So," John said darkly. Ronon coughed
After an awkward moment, Rodney looked down and crowed "Smew! On eleven across," and everything felt all right again.
:::
John made Rodney come home with him after closing, since Punk was waiting for her dinner. To hear Rodney complain about it, the hill to John's house was practically Kilimanjaro.
"Tell me, seriously," Rodney said, huffing between words, "you like doing this?"
"Keeps me in shape," John said. He was in granny gear, biking slowly next to Rodney because it was way easier than walking.
"Yes, I can tell. The way you barely fill out your jeans-"
"You saying my ass is substandard?"
"What? No. Of course not! You have a very nice ass," he said primly, "-for a beanpole," he added, and John resisted the temptation to whack him on the head. Not out of politeness, but because John didn't want to risk losing his balance.
They crested the hill and started down the other side. John pointed out the organic grocery, and Rodney wanted to stop inside. John noticed him filling his cart with breakfast-type items, and wondered what that meant-whether Rodney planned on spending the night with him.
He'd like that. He'd like to have Rodney stretched out on his big bed, to undress him and have the opportunity to explore him head to toe.
John adjusted himself in his jeans and waited for Rodney to check out.
"I'm just up here," John said as they approached his building. "I have to warn you, there's no elevator."
"Unbelievable," Rodney muttered. John couldn't tell if he was going slow for John's sake, or if he really was that out of shape, but Rodney only stopped complaining about halfway up to cock his head and say, "What's that sound?"
"That is my weird cat. Her name is Punk."
"You have a cat? I have a cat, too. Her name is Ada, after Ada Lovelace."
"You mentioned you had one. Ada Lovelace was the first computer programmer, right? A good mathematician, too," John said, and caught Rodney's surprised smile.
"I keep forgetting," he said as John unlocked the door.
"What?"
"That you're him. That you're Blackhawk."
"Yeah, me, too," John said, his voice a little husky. "I always wondered where you got your login."
"Oh, that. I have two doctorates," Rodney said off-handedly, as if it were no big deal.
"Two?" John raised an eyebrow.
"Yes, what? Oh. Well-" Rodney grimaced, "-not like they're doing me much good anymore."
"I know what you mean," John said quietly. He turned and opened Punk's food bag to scoop some into her bowl. "Thousands of hours of flight time, and all I have to show for it is a bum hip." John leaned on the counter.
Rodney set down the bag of groceries and put his hand on John's side. He hesitated, then brushed a kiss over John's mouth. "Can I see?"
"You've already-"
"No, I mean-can I see?"
John nodded, swallowing hard, and led Rodney to the bedroom.
They undressed almost silently, like it was some weird rite. John could practically still feel Rodney's mouth around him in the storeroom, the smell of coffee rising as the beans shifted under him. He wanted Rodney's mouth again, but he also wanted skin-Rodney's skin, which it turned out was pale and smooth. He had pink nipples, and a sprinkling of hair on his chest. He was definitely John's type, solidly built with a little roundness to his belly, and John felt a little self-conscious taking off his shirt, his jeans opened loosely. Rodney came over to him, wearing just his boxers now, and put his hand right over John's scar.
"Come on," Rodney said, pushing John's pants down and giving him something to hold onto while he kicked them off his feet.
John nudged Rodney onto the bed, not wanting to have to explain that he couldn't support Rodney's weight on him. He knelt between Rodney's legs and lowered himself down, biting his lip against the rush of feeling all that warm skin under his, Rodney's body like the perfect cushion.
"God, you feel good," John said helplessly. "And you smell good." He leaned down and sniffed along Rodney's collarbone before laying kisses there, following the ridge to the hollow of Rodney's throat. "So good."
"I smell like coffee," Rodney said, and John snickered.
"Must be why." He tilted his head back and looked into Rodney's amused eyes.
Rodney's expression changed suddenly when John reached down and took his cock in hand. John worked the foreskin up and down over the head, still a little fascinated. Rodney moaned in his ear, and John shivered, then bent down and licked across Rodney's nipple before sucking it into his mouth.
"Oh!"
He likes that, John thought, adding it to his mental notes, along with how a slight nibble made Rodney suck in his breath, his cock jerking in John's hand. He liked gentle bites on his neck, too, and when John nuzzled under his jaw, Rodney tilted his head all the way back and made a blissful sound.
John started stroking him, focusing on the feel of Rodney's cock gliding in his palm, the way rubbing a thumb right where the foreskin made a frill had Rodney's hips jerking almost frantically. Speeding up the tempo, John leaned down again and this time bit down a little harder on Rodney's hot pink nipple, and Rodney clutched at John's head and came, his jizz leaking between John's fingers and onto the back of his hand.
Rodney sighed, and then twitched a little in warning, so John eased his grip and then raised his sticky fingers up to his mouth to clean them off with his tongue. He thought maybe Rodney had caught him doing it, because he closed his eyes and licked his own lips.
"You are so hot," John whispered helplessly. "I can't believe you're in my bed."
"You're a fruitcake," Rodney responded, and gave him a weak thwap. "Obviously, your vision was damaged at some point in a freak roasting accident."
"Still 20/20, McKay. Five-by-five."
"Oh, God, with the military talk." Rodney pushed him over suddenly, making John hold his breath, anticipating the jolt. But his hip was doing okay, maybe because right now he was high on Rodney and the way this was making him feel. Rodney's hands rubbed over his chest, teasing his nipples, and then Rodney hitched himself downward. John bit his lip, eager for Rodney to suck him, but instead Rodney veered east and kissed his hip.
John shifted, a little uncomfortable with the direction, but Rodney persisted, his hand clasping John's when John tried to nudge him away. Then Rodney's soft lips traced a slow line of worship that freed something in John's chest, making him feel hot and liquid, like he was mainlining the very best drug.
"Rodney," John sighed.
"Mmm," Rodney replied, lifting his head. John was expected it, but still jumped at the sensation of Rodney's mouth on his cock, hand curling around him and lifting him into deep, wet suction.
"Jesus Christ," John muttered. It was just like this morning, but even better, because he could spread his thighs and urge Rodney's hand between his legs, feel the pads of Rodney's fingers pressing up behind his balls.
It didn't take much, just some soft, hot pressure, and that wicked tongue-it had been so pushy in his mouth, and was even pushier on his cock, rubbing hard under the crown until John groaned and shot toward the edge. He felt Rodney rhythmically pressing a palm behind his balls, and he made a helpless sound and started to come, dizzy with the pleasure of it.
"What the hell was that?" John groaned, feeling completely wasted.
"Just a little trick I picked up in a Nevada brothel."
John shot him a look.
"Kidding. Kidding."
"Come here. Now." John tugged on Rodney's shoulder, not that he could do much without leverage, but Rodney came easily to lay himself along John's left side, whether by chance or intent, John didn't know. He set a kiss on Rodney's jaw, on the soft rise of his cheek, and brushed his lips over Rodney's arching eyebrow, feeling a little ridiculous as he did it, but helpless to stop himself. All he knew was it was good like this-he was feeling no pain at all for the first time in weeks.
"Definitely seven today," John said, almost mumbling.
"What? That better not be out of ten!" Rodney's outrage was only halfway believable, considering he was playing with John's hair, running his fingers into it and fluffing it up again.
John shook his head slightly, not wanting to explain. "Tell you later sometime. It's about...it's about my hip."
"Later?" Suddenly Rodney's face was right there hanging in front of his, and John smiled what he was sure was the goofiest smile in existence.
"Later," he said. "I will."
"Okay, then." Rodney harrumphed as he settled back down, and John let his fingers run over the soft skin of his shoulder. "About that, though..."
John waited.
"Not that I have any right to say anything, but then again that's hardly stopped me in the past, and though I realize it's a jump to be making...plans per se, but then again, if you're talking about 'later,' then maybe it is appropriate to, well-"
"Rodney-"
"The thing is, if you needed someone to help out-just temporarily, and I'm only extrapolating on your email and your earlier incoherency about not having the resources to take care of the problem. And you need to. So-well. If you did?"
"If I did?" John said, frowning a little.
"I just wanted to point out that I'm offering. To help."
John turned his head, pulling his hair away from Rodney's fingers. "I couldn't pay you," John said flatly.
"Excuse me?" Rodney huffed. "Did I ask to be paid?"
"I wouldn't take it in charity, either," John said, starting to get angry.
"Of course not. But how about in trade?"
John felt his mouth drop open about the same time Rodney laughed-more of a snort, really.
"Ha! You should see your face. No, not as my sex slave; appealing as the idea is, I'm pretty sure you'd volunteer without me having to bribe you."
"Oh." John's brain whipsawed between what the fuck? and hello, hard-on. "What?"
"I meant you could trade me in coffee. I can easily drink my weight in a single day, but at retail prices, my labor would be well worth it. Also, I'd like to learn how to do it."
There was a secret hidden in Rodney's voice, but John was too relieved to try to puzzle it out. All he knew was this could work. But when he didn't answer right away, Rodney started talking even faster.
"I'm not the only one who wants to help out, you know. The others feel the same way. And, anyway, you seem to have a lot of down time between tending the machines; I could work on my own projects then. So, you see, it's really not that much of a burden."
"Wow," John said when Rodney finally ran out of steam.
"That's all you have to say?"
"That, and...yeah, you're right, that would be-that might work." John swallowed thickly. "Thanks. Just...thanks."
Rodney made a pleased grunt. "Of course I'm right," he said, and unselfconsciously arranged his head on John's pillow while John squeezed his eyes shut, his brain reeling with the sudden possibilities.
He could have this. Have Rodney, and maybe get his life back. Not the flying, but everything else he'd given up, including the possibility of energetic sex with his brand-new, coffee-loving boyfriend.
It was a little too much to take in, and John had to curl around Rodney and brush his lips over Rodney's shoulder to make sure he was real.
Just then Punk batted at John's toes and then jumped up onto the bed, making Rodney yelp. She delicately navigated her way over their tangled limbs and dropped her spit-soaked mouse right under Rodney's chin.
"Um, thank you?" Rodney said.
"Back at you," John murmured, meaning it.
Because as Rodney's breathing slowed to a deep purr beside him, it occurred to John he'd gotten a pretty sweet deal.
End.
The sequel to this story is Möbius, or view the series.
A/N: Punk is named after runpunkrun, in thanks for creating the Doctor Rodney's Science Corner universe and letting crysothemis play in it, leading to me getting hopped up on the idea of Rodney designing science experiments for kids.
Base of cover image created by Grape Frogg.
To quote the Wikipedia entry, "Fair trade is an organized social movement and market-based approach to empowering developing country producers and promoting sustainability." That means, among other things, if you buy coffees or other agricultural products with the Fair Trade seal you know you are paying the workers a fair wage for their efforts, without them suffering the effects of working crippling hours or with dangerous pesticides, the focus being on sustainability of the business and the environments people live and work in. To have a coffee shop devoted to selling only Fair Trade coffees would mean John would have to struggle a little more as an owner but, considering the neighborhood I put him in, it wouldn't be impossible to have a viable concern under those conditions. And I think he would do it, if only because he's such a stubborn cuss.
Mario's Bohemian Cigar Store Café. You have to show up by 10am or you are SOL for getting one of Mario's famous apple turnovers.
The Museum of Science and Industry in Exposition Park used to have a Möebius strip exhibit with a little arrow that ran on a track.
Warnings: John is mildly disabled due to injury; we do hope it isn't permanent.
Podfic: linked here, recorded by wihluta.
Author: esteefee
Pairing: Sheppard/McKay
Rating: NC-17
Words: ~18,000 total
Categories: FT, AU
Beta: crysothemis, who, srsly: knew *just* what to point to, and offered the perfect suggestions. Thank you, crys.
Spoilers: A tiny bit for Phantoms. That's where it all takes an abrupt left turn.
Summary: John owns a coffee roastery in San Francisco. Rodney is the Angry Customer Zero who is bound to tell him where to stick his beans.
Warnings: Are at the bottom.
Part 1 is here.
Part 2
It was tough pulling himself out of bed the next morning. He and Doubledoc had kept up the back-and-forth until way too late, going from full on battle to philosophical debate to what John almost thought was flirting, and then back to bickering again.
John had to dry swallow a couple of the ibuprofen before he even made it to bathroom, and after coffee and a stale bagel, he maneuvered himself onto his bike and did a little easy riding to warm himself up before he hit the hill.
He called it the Mountain in his head sometimes, but it really was just a hill. Maybe if Ronon fixed him up, John would be able to ride up Mount Tamalpais. Now there was a real challenge. Actually, there were a lot of things he could do if Ronon fixed him. For one thing, John could maybe get laid. Nobody wanted to fuck a gimp; that was for sure.
It being Friday, Ahsarvat was manning the counter and Sandi was out picking up pastries and quiches and the like to prepare for the bigger crowd coming. They had some local singer/songwriters scheduled for tonight, popular enough that John planned to make himself scarce come eight p.m.
But first, he had one little errand to run. So, after he freed Zeke, John went down the street to the Pottery Barn to do some shopping.
By the time McKay showed up John had already unbagged his purchase and put it in place.
McKay made a beeline straight for the counter, not even noticing John as he strode in. But as soon as he had taken two huge gulps of his coffee he turned around and targeted John's corner. John lifted his coffee with a grin, and watched Rodney's eyes widen as he took in the brand-new, plush cushion sitting on the bench opposite John's seat.
"I see you've upgraded," Rodney said as he approached. "A wise decision on your part-" he cleared his throat, "-keeping the customer happy, I mean."
John rolled his eyes. "PR is my life."
"Obviously, considering the amount of time you must spend on your hair."
Blinking in surprise, John started to raise an outraged hand toward his hair before dropping it. "It does this on its own," he protested.
"Yes, yes, I'm sure," Rodney said dismissively and started in on his chocolate-chip croissant. "I know it's Friday when there are still croissants left when I get here."
"Fridays are good," John agreed, munching on his ham-and-cheese croissant.
Rodney smirked at him, a little flake of pastry caught on his lower lip, and John felt a sudden urge to reach out and brush it off, which he stifled with a start.
He didn't know when he'd started thinking of Customer Zero as an attractive guy. Probably around the time he became Rodney, John thought. But there was no way he could pursue anything at this point, even assuming Rodney was interested in him like that. John definitely got a little ping off him, but then he considered Rodney's "I'm with genius" T-shirt mismatched against his-were those plaid?-yellow and green pants, and thought maybe he was imagining the way Rodney seemed to be scoping him out every so often.
It was moot, anyway. John was a gimp, with the scars to prove it. The last time he'd had sex was a hurried blowjob in a supply tent on the airfield at Kandahar, just one day before his life took a serious left turn.
"So, there's music tonight?" Rodney said.
"Yeah, couple of local kids. They're pretty good, if you're interested."
"Me? No, I have...plans."
"Oh. Okay." John sipped his coffee to cover his sudden disappointment.
"Nothing urgent," Rodney blurted suddenly, then blushed.
Actually blushed.
John swallowed too fast and almost burned his throat. "That's cool. Hey, do you like chess?"
Which was how John ended up spending the rest of the afternoon popping between the roasters and the café's chess set. He could tell Rodney was taken aback the first time John had him on the ropes, and his blue eyes sharpened as he leaned over the board.
The day went by pretty fast after that, with them trading wins and talking trash, and then Ahsarvat started moving tables and chairs around to make room for the performers.
"Tomorrow we'll have the tie-breaker," Rodney said as he packed up the chess set.
"Tie-breaker? I'm up by one."
"Yes, but everyone knows it's best five out of seven."
"Uh-huh." John stretched a little and tried to crack his back, but a sudden twinge from his hip made him suck in a sharp breath. "Well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow then," he said, wanting Rodney to be gone before he tried to get up.
Rodney cocked his head, then nodded abruptly and took off.
John couldn't help with the tables, but he did help Sandi fill the display case before going into his office. His computer here was a rusty old thing, but it could still manage email.
There was nothing from Doubledoc, though, and, disappointed, John buzzed through a Sudoko website and printed out some puzzles to keep himself occupied.
:::
Fridays were a late closing, and he crashed so quickly that night he didn't even have the energy to check his email again when he got home. In fact, he could barely keep his eyes open while brushing his teeth, and fell face-first into sleep with Punk still dangling the mouse against his arm.
The next morning he felt better than he had in a long time. He wasn't sure why, but he had this sense there was something to look forward to. Then he remembered he'd forgotten to check his email the night before, and he got up and tapped his computer awake.
Punk was asleep on the couch and gave him a sleepy yawn before closing her eye again.
To: blackhawk@sbcglobal.net
From: doubledoc@mathpuzzler.net
Subject: Re: Batman versus Spider-man
Dear Blackhawk:
My rebuttal to your ridiculous arguments in re: who would win in a fight.
1. Batman isn't a whiny school kid.
But neither is Batman a well-educated scientist.
2. Batman is a billionaire. While this might not have a direct outcome on any battle, obviously Batman's equipment is superior, plus the bat-cave is a more excellent place to practice his moves than some dinky, one-room apartment.
Regardless your opinion on Batman's "equipment," and, yes, those are quotation marks, the bat-cave, need I remind you, is FILLED WITH BATS. As well as, I'm sure, no small amount of air-borne molds and pathogens.
It's a wonder the poor man hasn't perished already from guano-related histoplasmosis.
3. Batman wears black. Need I say more?
Oh, yes, because fashion is the deadliest of weapons.
(And, btw, I understand your choice in logins much more clearly now.)
4. Batman doesn't need anyone. He's a loner. His parents were killed, leaving him free of social constraints. Also, there's the burning rage factor (so Parker's uncle got shot. Big deal.)
You are a blood-thirty bastard, aren't you? I suppose it would have been better for Parker's battle-fu if he'd seen his parents gunned down in front of him?
I remind you that Spider-man accidentally killed his girlfriend, Gwen Stacy. Batman never kills the female supervillains. He just ties them up and then lets them wiggle free after sex.
>5. Batman's stuff explodes. Spider-man's is just...sticky.
I'm not touching that one with a ten-foot pole. Unless, well.
>6. Batman trained in Tibet. Spider-man trained in clown school.
Now you're just being insulting. And I remind you that Batman is known to use hallucinogens and also probably has venereal disease on top of the histoplasmosis. I'm surprised he can get out of bed without his dick falling off.
Yours most sincerely,
Doubledoc
John snorted out loud, startling Punk into flopping over and giving him a dirty look. Ten-foot pole, huh? John thought, and wondered a little idly where Doubledoc lived. Not that it mattered. People were never as interesting in person as they were online.
But a little flirting never hurt.
There was another message from later with the subject, "Are you there? Is my argument perhaps too compelling? ". John replied to that one first.
I'm here. Late night at work on Fridays. Tonight, too.
(No, I'm not a bartender. Or a stripper.)
I will respond to your completely insane comments in re: Batman after I've had my morning coffee. But you are going *down*, buddy.
John was still grinning when he settled down to do his free-weight routine. He'd never lifted weights before his injury, but after he lost so much muscle mass in the hospital, he'd made an effort to at least build his arms and shoulders back up. It gave him a small amount of satisfaction to know he was still strong in one area, at least. He followed the weights with some crunches, and then showered and got ready for work.
:::
McKay wasn't there when John arrived, so John went straight into the back to check the whiteboard. Zeke didn't work Saturdays, but he usually left a couple of jobs for John to roast.
John added his own little blending experiment to the board-another small, ten-pound roast combining the two Hawaiians with some aged Sumatra. He didn't allow himself to think about how they were Rodney's three favorite beans, and that maybe John was a little invested in getting another one of Rodney's blissed-out smiles like from the day before.
After he'd loaded and set the start of the roast, he went out front for his morning coffee, lifting a raspberry scone from under Sandi's nose.
"Hey! That's the last one!"
"Mmm hmm."
"Mr. Kreutchfeld comes in on Saturdays and always wants a scone," Ahsarvat explained.
John swallowed quickly. "Then give him a currant."
"He prefers raspberry," Sandi said archly.
"Yeah, I know. So do I," John said, grinning and accepting the punch in the arm. "So, has McKay been in?" he asked casually. It was almost noon.
"You mean your new best friend? Nope, I haven't seen him today."
"He's not my-I just met the guy!"
"Well, you seem pretty buddy-buddy to me. Which is good," Sandi added hastily at his expression, "because he's a lot nicer to have hanging around here, lately."
Ahsarvat nodded frantically.
John rubbed the back of his neck. "Sorry if he's been a pain," he said, wondering even as he said it why he was defending Rodney of all people to his team.
"No, he's no pain. He tips very nicely," Ahsarvat said, grinning.
"Oh, well, then," John replied, complete with an eye-roll.
Sandi laughed.
"I'll be in the office if anyone needs me," John said, trying to be nonchalant.
"I'll tell him where to find you."
John bit his tongue on his sharp reply and went back into his office, where he painstakingly composed a response to Doubledoc's spurious slander of his favorite comic book character, ending with:
Plus, Spider-man smells.
:::
McKay didn't show up all day, not that John was checking or anything. When he pulled out the blended roast he packaged two pounds of carefully selected beans into one of Fair Trade's waxed bags and put a sticky note on it that said, "For McKay." He didn't feel like putting it out under the counter, though, so he just stashed it in the storeroom.
That night they had a good musician playing, a regular favorite named Monica. She was a pretty girl, with long black hair and big brown eyes, and she even knew a couple of Cash tunes, and always played them with a wink for John. She had a sweet, high voice, which he'd thought would sound weird on "Solitary Man" the first time she started it, but now it was a favorite of his. Something about her singing those silvery notes way up there made it sound more wistful, somehow. Less hurtful.
As he listened, he thought about Nancy, and how she'd called him only once while he was in the hospital, and could barely find three words to say to him. Then he thought about Holland asking him where the rest of his crew was. But John had come alone. He hadn't asked the rest of his team, didn't want them risking their lives or sending their careers into the crapper when it was pretty much a lost cause.
But he'd brought Holland home after all. He'd brought him home, and sometimes when Holland called him up to shoot the shit or talk about his son, John would think what a good deal he'd gotten; in spite of the bad hip and the bum leg, even after losing the sky, he'd do it all over again.
He'd always do it again.
Monica was singing "Beautiful Disaster" now, and John almost laughed at how she seemed to be reading his mind.
After the show he tried to help Ahsarvat clean up but got shooed away, so he sat in his corner and talked to Monica while she counted up her tips and laid her beautiful guitar in its velvet-lined case.
"You ever think about going pro?" he asked her, and she shot him a rueful look.
"Sure, if I wanna give up everything I really love about this. All that shit-promo tours and letting some producer muck around with my 'sound' until there's nothing left of me in there? No way. I'm gonna record my album in my boyfriend's basement."
John barked a laugh. "Seriously?"
"Yeah. It's easy now, anyway-software is cheap and all you need is a couple of really good mics, and you can mix it all in the program."
"What about all the rest of it?"
"Sandi says she'll do the artwork."
"Really?" John craned his head to look at Sandi, who was steaming clean the espresso machine.
"Really. She's awesome."
"Oh, I know-she did our logo, you know. I just didn't know you guys knew each other."
"John. Seriously? We've all been hanging out in your café for two years now-everybody knows everybody."
"Oh."
"Yeah." Monica grinned. "We all know each other's secrets, too, so..."
John laughed uneasily. "Hey, don't look at me-I don't have any."
"Sure," she said, drawing it out. "Right." She snapped her guitar case closed and stood up. "Thanks again for the good space."
"Thanks for the music," John said, meaning it.
Ahsarvat and Sandi converged on the front door just as Monica was leaving, so he followed them out and locked up behind them.
"Solitary Man" was still running through his head as he rode home.
:::
He couldn't shake his mood, even after a night's sleep. He didn't know what was wrong-or maybe he did, a little. What Monica said about secrets, well, John had a doozy. He'd been keeping it since before the Air Force, and only let that side of him out to play every so often.
And he was itching for it now for some reason. Not just sex, but sex with a man. One guy in particular, actually-as abrasive and cantankerous as Rodney was, John liked him. Maybe even because of that. And he liked the way Rodney's hands moved when he talked, urgent and expressive. John could imagine Rodney doing amazing things to him with those hands.
But Rodney hadn't shown up. Not that he was obligated to stop by every day, but John had gotten used to it in such a short time, and that was a kick in the head, really. He didn't even know where Rodney lived or what his phone number was. Hell, he didn't even have Rodney's email address, so he couldn't do the ultimately casual thing and drop him a note.
John popped open his laptop.
To: blackhawk@sbcglobal.net
From: doubledoc@mathpuzzler.net
Subject: cf. Excuse me, but Batman smells. And Robin laid an egg.
(Not that I ascribe to childish nursery rhymes, but proof is proof, I suppose.)
So, you claim you're not a stripper. Nor a late night caped crusader? And yet, I haven't heard any more from you today. Of course, I'm sure you have a very busy social schedule, what with the Mensa coffee klatches and your Puzzlers Anonymous meetings.
Actually, I find I want to know more about you than what I've gleaned from your postings. I want to know why you never told us you were in the hospital when you first joined the group. For how long? Why were you really in there?
Quid pro quo, if you're interested.
Today I spent the entire day trapped in boring meetings where useless people argued around and around on decisions they had no business making. So, please, give me something to get this awful taste out of my mouth.
~DD
John felt the strain of wanting to tell, but knowing how he'd feel afterwards-like he'd lost something, or given it away, making it cheap. But he made himself hit reply anyway, and started typing.
I didn't tell you guys because I didn't want a bunch of fake sympathy.
They had me in there for 2.5 months. Some not-so-friendlies hit the road in front of us with an RPG, and I rolled the jeep.
It's okay--it was stolen, anyway.
My buddy got thrown free, but I got trapped underneath. Some of our guys came zooming in and dug me out, but I took some damage.
I guess that's all I want to say about that, except I think your puzzles saved my sanity when I was in the hospital. I never said thanks for that. So, thanks.
QPQ: why's a smarty-pants like you diddling around with a puzzle group? You're way too smart to be wasting time with us.
Blackhawk
(I think I need a .sig.)
John hit send without letting himself think about it. Digging the fuzzy mouse out from behind the cushions, he threw it for Punk in a low arc just over her head. She jumped up and batted it down, then savaged it by shaking her head before trotting back over and dropping it on the couch next to John's leg.
John picked it up by the tail and swung it in the air a couple of times, trying to fake her out, but she waited to start running until he released it, and then knocked it around the carpet for a little while before bringing it back.
He'd just tossed it again when his computer binged. That meant Doubledoc had to be online.
To: blackhawk@sbcglobal.net
From: doubledoc@mathpuzzler.net
Subject: you're a dunce
That sounds like a nightmare. I hate hospitals. For one thing, they're usually filled with sick people, notorious vectors for all kinds of hideous diseases. I'm amazed you didn't die of cholera your second day there.
And by the way, the others don't have to know you to feel badly for you, Hawkeye. Yes, yes, that isn't your name. But since Blackhawk isn't either, let me have my fun. Anyway, you might've told me. At least I could've made you some extra puzzles to keep you from going stir-crazy.
Are you all better now?
Re: my QPQ--ouch. You really know where to stick the knife. And I can't tell you the whole thing, because believe me, the people with interest are probably still paying attention. But suffice to say yes, I am brilliant. I'm so brilliant I made something I shouldn't have. For all the right reasons, I promise you--I was trying to solve this little problem we call global warming. But it went bad, and we barely managed to shut the prototype down in time, and I was booted from the scientific community with extreme prejudice.
That's why I use a pseudonym. No one would take me seriously as a scientist anymore. I'm not sure I don't agree with them.
QPQ: straight, gay, or bi?
Oh, man. Doubledoc didn't miss a trick. John responded quickly.
Bi. At least, as far as I can remember. It's been a while.
QPQ: gay or bi? (see how I'm not accepting straight for an answer.)
And, Jesus, DD, what's this about a prototype that, from the sound of it, could have blown up in your face?
You realize if you had died you wouldn't have been around to drag my head out of my ass when I was in Landstuhl? Pretty selfish of you, buddy.
It doesn't matter what those yahoos think, anyway. You're still the smartest guy I know.
>Are you all better now?
Not really. My hip is in bad shape. Doc says I could get better if I went back in for more surgery. But I don't know what I'd do about my business (I own a coffee roastery. Best beans this side of the Pacific.) I'd be out of commission for six weeks, at least, and I can't afford the extra help.
Speaking of which, I'm going to have to cut this short. Have to be up early tomorrow since my morning guy is taking the day off.
TTYL.
Blackhawk
"Flying is learning how to throw yourself at the ground and miss." <--like my new .sig?
John put his computer to sleep with the uneasy feeling he'd revealed too much. It always felt like that when he really connected with someone. Maybe that was why he was so pissed at Rodney for not showing up today. They'd had a good thing going, and him not showing up felt like he was throwing it all in John's face.
Which was stupid. The guy probably had to work, or maybe his cat got sick-he'd told John he had an annoying cat with a hairball fetish.
John washed up and crawled into bed, but his body was buzzing a little, so he reached into his boxers and palmed his dick. Yeah, definitely something going on there. He gripped himself and started stroking, shuffling through his fantasies for a good one. Like the one where his first D.I., Peterson, was hazing him when he was just a nugget, but instead of making John drop and give him fifty, he'd make John drop his pants and bend over his chute pack.
John thought of Peterson spreading his cheeks and fingering his asshole. Yeah, that's good, airman. That's a nice, tight little ass. And maybe he'd work his finger in on a some spit and loosen John up so he could fuck him.
God, he really needed to be fucked. Needed to feel wanted like that, like he was the hottest thing going. And John would open right up, take those fingers, take that heavy cock even if it was a tough fit. Feel it stroking inside his ass, rubbing up against his sweet spot-
John groaned and cupped his hand over the head of his cock to catch it as he shot. Christ, that feels good. He didn't know why he didn't jack off more often, except that afterward it always felt the same. Like he'd never have that again.
Grabbing a tissue from his nightstand, he wiped off and then set his alarm before going to sleep.
:::
John woke up at six with Punk's ass in his face. Not a great start, which he followed with almost slipping in the shower, giving his hip a nice wrench when he caught himself.
He was careful in the kitchen getting his cereal, and eased himself down on the couch to eat while he checked his mail. A couple of new messages were waiting from Doubledoc, which made John smile until he opened the first one.
To: blackhawk@sbcglobal.net
From: doubledoc@mathpuzzler.net
Subject: ?????
Where do you live????
No quid pro quo, no response to John's screed, just that one question. A sinking feeling hit John in the gut before he fully realized what it meant. What it had to mean. He opened the second message, sent not a minute later.
To: blackhawk@sbcglobal.net
From: doubledoc@mathpuzzler.net
Subject:
John? Is that you?
Because John was an idiot, wasn't he? Not nearly as smart as Doubledoc. Not as smart as Rodney. Both of them scientists, brilliant and perpetually annoyed and hilarious and interesting. Both of them the kind of guy he was always attracted to.
Doubledoc was Rodney. Rodney was Doubledoc.
John was twice as screwed. Because now he wanted Rodney twice as bad, but John had told more to Doubledoc because it was safer, and then Doubledoc flirted with him anyway so what the hell did that mean about his chances with Rodney?
He had to know.
:::
John was out the door before he remembered to feed Punk, and then had to walk halfway up again, his heart hammering in his chest. He beat his personal best climbing the hill, though, the adrenaline enough to make the trip almost painless. On his way down he had to focus on using the brakes, on watching the street surface, thinking impossible thoughts about corny Hollywood movies where the hero is killed in a horrible accident on the way home to seeing his sweetheart.
Maybe Rodney could be that for him. Maybe he wanted to be. On the other hand, maybe Rodney didn't want a boyfriend who couldn't walk very well. He hadn't given John any real signs.
John guessed he'd find out.
Fair Trade was all locked up, of course, because he was opening today. Except he was an hour early, and besides, Rodney never rolled in until nine at the earliest.
The thought calmed John down a little bit, and he went through the motions of flicking on lights, powering up the espresso machine and setting down all the chairs. Probably a couple of people would drift in, even though it was early, so he started some coffee brewing and opened the register.
The bell above the door rang, and Rodney walked in.
For a second John just stared at him, completely helpless to do anything, to say anything. It was like all the words in the universe had been sucked into a black hole.
"I-I was waiting. Over at-at the newsstand," Rodney stammered, his cheeks flushed pink. Then he frowned, his hands rising to make an outraged gesture. "Of course it's you. Of course. Because you are the most singularly annoying man, except there were two of you, equally annoying-"
"Oh, I'm annoying-?"
"Yes, very. Which is why I didn't think-but of course, because you are brilliant at chess, which is a dead giveaway, and the Douglas Adams thing, which we have discussed in the past, as I recall, and you probably still hold to the ridiculous notion that So Long, and Thanks for All the Fish is the best book in the series-"
"So? I like dolphins!"
Rodney's mouth snapped shut suddenly, and then he started to smile, really wide, wider than John had ever seen him smile. Maybe John should have known after all, because he'd always been the only one who could reduce Doubledoc to babbling in outrage, and the same thing was true of Rodney.
"I really like you," Rodney said. "And I realize you haven't evinced any interest in my-well, my corporeal form-"
"Oh, shut up and get over here." John eased around the counter and stood waiting with his heart climbing his throat. Rodney didn't disappoint him; he hurried closer, and then he was there, so solid, right in front of John.
That was good, because John was going to kiss him now.
"I'm gonna-" he started to say, but Rodney was already kissing him. Soft, warm kisses, not nasty, but with the potential definitely there in the curl of Rodney's tongue against his, and the way his mouth was slick and pushy and everything John wanted. John's dick jumped to immediate attention, but he told himself to back off, because he hadn't even asked Rodney what his thoughts were on guys who weren't normal. Who couldn't maybe do the things Rodney might want to do.
"Wait," John said, pulling back, and that's when the bell rang again and some customers walked in.
"Shit," Rodney said under his breath.
John couldn't help grinning-kind of goofily, probably, but he didn't care.
"May I help you?" he said to Rodney, stepping back behind the counter.
Rodney chimed in with, "Yes, please. Do you have any coffee?"
"Why, certainly, sir. It's a coffee shop."
"You didn't just quote Monty Python at me," Rodney whispered furiously. "Now I really, really want to f-"
"Your coffee, sir," John said loudly, hoping to drown Rodney out. Rodney took his cup and offered John some cash, but John just frowned at him.
"Very well," Rodney said, putting the money back in his pocket, "but you realize you're setting a very poor precedent."
"I'm sure I'll regret it," John said agreeable. "Now let me take care of these nice people."
The customers were familiar, a couple that came by the shop on the weekends. "Hi," John said, wishing he was better at remembering names. "Latte, extra foam, dash of chocolate?"
"Yes, thanks," the taller one said. Anton, that was his name.
"And just black for you, right?"
The other guy nodded, "Both to go, thanks."
John handed over the regular coffee and got to work on the latte, conscious the whole time of Rodney leaning against the pillar by the bathroom, watching his every move.
John almost burned himself with the steamer.
"Here you go. That'll be three seventy-five."
"You're not usually open this early," Anton said as he paid. "It was nice to see the lights on." He flicked a glance over to Rodney and then smiled innocently at John.
John felt his face heat. "Yeah, special occasion," he said, and then almost bit off his own tongue.
"Congratulations," Anton said, the teasing note gone, and his partner added seriously, "Mazel tov."
"Thanks." They were very nice, but John really wanted them to leave already.
Rodney seemed to be of the same mind, because he followed them to the door to lock it behind them, and then flipped the OPEN sign back over.
"Rodney," John protested half-heartedly.
"What? It's only," Rodney peered at his watch, "seven-ten. You guys don't open until eight. Besides," he continued, looking a little uncertain, "I want you to show me the roasting room."
"Yeah?"
"Yes. I've heard it's really very nice. And private." Rodney waggled his eyebrows ridiculously.
"Well. Most of the equipment is old. Worn out," John said cautiously. "In fact, some of it doesn't even...work right."
Rodney's eyes softened. John didn't even know Rodney could look like that.
"That's okay," Rodney said gently. Then he rolled his eyes. "I can't believe we're talking about your 'equipment.'"
"We're not!" John said, his voice almost breaking into a squeak. "I mean, not that equipment. Jesus!"
"So, you're saying Batman's stuff still explodes?" Rodney said slyly.
"Oh, for the love of-"
"Come on. Show me," Rodney said, and John couldn't think of any reason not to, so he led the way back toward the roaster room, taking a small side-trip into the store room and flicking on the light.
"Here," he said gruffly, handing Rodney the bag. "Made this for you."
Rodney looked at the sticky note then pulled it off, smiling when he saw what was written underneath. "'Rodney's Blend?'"
"Well, yeah," John said, the heat in his ears almost painful. "Except now I think I'll call it 'Doubledoc.' Has a better ring to it."
"Now, of course, I'm going to have to blow you."
"Yeah?" John said weakly.
"You named coffee after me." And then Rodney put the bag down and pushed John deeper into the storeroom before pulling the door closed. "Sit," he said, sounding a little breathless.
John sat on a stack of beans, spreading his legs as best he could so Rodney could stand between them. Rodney leaned down and kissed him, his tongue pushing into John's mouth, and John tilted his head back and let him in, giving up breathing in favor of kissing back the best he could. God, Rodney tasted amazing, and it wasn't just because he'd been drinking John's coffee.
"Okay." Rodney pulled back. "Now comes the part where I blow you for naming a coffee after me. Seriously, that's practically a Nobel Prize," he said as he got down on his knees and started tugging at John's belt. John helped him get his pants open, and then Rodney was pushing down his boxers far enough to take John's cock in his hand.
"Oh, God," John said before he could stop himself. Rodney just grinned, his blue eyes gleaming, and bent to tilt John's cock into his mouth.
John's hands flew back to brace himself against the sensation as Rodney started sucking him.
"Yeah, Rodney," John moaned and tried to thrust up, but his hip immediately complained, making him hiss.
Rodney raised his head. "That wasn't a good sound. I know my good sounds and that wasn't one."
"Sorry," John gritted. "Remember I warned you about the broken equipment."
"So? This seems to be working fine," Rodney said, giving John's cock a quick stroke. "Why don't you let me handle the hard part?"
John groaned at the pun, and then groaned even louder when Rodney sucked him back in, his tongue working hard against the underside of John's cock. The instinct to thrust hit him again, but he made himself relax, and Rodney made a happy, approving sound as he sucked and licked, fingering John's balls at the same time.
"Jesus God that's good," John mumbled, "Use your hand. Use your hand, Rodney, I'm so close-"
Rodney hummed in agreement and started jacking John's cock with his hand while he sucked and slurped over the head, and John felt his nuts draw up right before the pleasure hit him and he started to come. He moaned and jerked a little when he felt Rodney swallowing, his teeth brushing a little against the shaft and making John peak again.
"Christ," John said when he was done, and he passed shaking fingers over Rodney's thinning hair. "Thank you. Thanks."
"No, thank you," Rodney said, and pushed himself to his feet with a little groan.
"Knees bad?"
"No. I think I bent my dick in half," Rodney said ruefully. John grabbed him and pulled him down for a kiss, then reached for Rodney's fly.
"Think I can fix that," John said. "Kiss it better or something."
"Oh, do. By all means," Rodney said, sounding like he was laughing, but there was more to it. He sounded blissed out, almost giddy.
John knew how he felt. He got a nice whiff of Rodney's scent, the smell of male arousal, and it made him eager to get Rodney's cock in his mouth, make him feel even a little of what John had felt looking down at Rodney's head moving over his cock.
"Come closer," John complained, tugging at him, and then pushed Rodney's pants and boxers down.
Rodney's cock was a thing of beauty, a deep pink flushing the puffy head. He had a foreskin snugged like a wrapper at the base of the crown, and John rubbed it curiously. He'd never sucked a guy with a foreskin before.
"Mmmm," Rodney said. "Yes, please. Like that."
"How the hell does this thing work?" John said, partially under his breath, making Rodney bark out a laugh.
"Spider-man's stuff is slightly different," he explained, and John thwapped him on the hip just to make him yelp.
Well, there was only one way to figure it out, and that was to do it. John pulled Rodney forward by the hips and ran his tongue over the crown of Rodney's cock, dipping lightly into the slit before slipping down under the foreskin.
Rodney made an unholy sound and set his hand on John's hair, lightly, but pushing a little as if he wanted John to take him deeper. John obliged, and sucked Rodney deeper into his mouth, then put his hand over Rodney's to show him. Yeah, like this. Fuck my mouth.
And Rodney did-started fucking John's mouth, slowly at first, and then really pulling John down onto his cock, over and over, those same sweet sounds spilling from Rodney's lips and making John wish he could get hard all over again.
Come in my mouth. I want to taste you, John thought. I bet you taste good.
He did, John discovered when Rodney sighed and started to come, his cock twitching in John's mouth. Rodney tasted like green grass after a hard rain. He tasted like bitter grounds and winter snow. John swallowed as much as he could before he had to pull back and take over with his hand. It had been a long time and maybe he was out of practice, or maybe Rodney always came like this, because he was still groaning and his cock jerked again, spitting come on John's T-shirt.
"Oh," Rodney said, his eyes closed, the same expression on his face that he'd had when he took that first sip of Moloka'i.
John's dick gave a half-hearted twitch, like it wanted to go another round but couldn't predict the outcome.
Rodney leaned over him and gave him a hot kiss. John could taste himself there, his come in Rodney's mouth. They kissed until Rodney complained of neck pain and straightened up.
"You're going to have to change shirts," Rodney said, not looking guilty at all.
John looked down at the spatter of come drying on his chest, and sighed before pulling his shirt off. "It's okay, I've got a spare set of clothes I keep in the office."
"For just this occasion?" Rodney asked, but he sounded a little remote, and John looked up hastily.
Rodney was staring at John's crotch; or maybe at the scar noodling its angry way from his hip to under his jeans. The scars got worse under there, and he was a little glad he hadn't dropped his pants all the way.
"Not so pretty, huh?" John said, dropping his T-shirt onto his lap. "Ronon-he's my orthopedic surgeon-wants to make a couple more cuts to finish the job."
Rodney dropped down to his knees again, and John could no longer avoid his eyes.
"You told me," Rodney said quietly, his hands on John's thighs. "Remember?"
"Right...I told Doubledoc," John said, distracted again by how odd that was.
"Are you planning to go through with it?"
"Not-I'm not sure. I don't know. I told you, there's no one to-I can't just-" The words tangled in a traffic jam, an accident waiting to happen, and he bit his tongue before it could do anymore damage.
Rodney gave him a narrow look, but didn't say anything.
John bent his head and started fixing himself up. "I should get ready," he said. "Opening up soon, and all that."
"Yes, of course," Rodney said, weirdly formal, but when John started to try to get up, Rodney's hand was there on offer, and John took it and let Rodney haul him to his feet.
"Thanks." John leaned forward and kissed him, just because he could, and Rodney's mouth curved in a smile even as he kissed back.
"This was nice."
"Real nice," John agreed, and couldn't resist kissing Rodney's slanted mouth one more time. Unfortunately, the delivery bell rang a second later, and John pulled away with a rueful grin. "Back to work."
"Back to work. Hopefully later you can show me the rest of the room. I want my promised tour. Oh! And my coffee," Rodney said and bent to retrieve it, giving John an excellent rear view.
Soon, John thought as he snagged his spare shirt from the office and then walked over to the delivery door. He had to struggle to get his arms in the holes, he was so dazed by the surprise sex, and the surprise of Rodney, and the idea of "soon." And now John had someone-well, he was pretty sure he did, anyway, and for the first time in a long time he had something to look forward to.
He took the morning pastry delivery and cradled the big pink boxes in his arms to carry them into the front. Rodney had served himself coffee and was lounging with a newspaper on his bench. John could tell he'd be hard at work keeping Rodney in coffee, and the idea made him grin while he worked.
He'd just finished filling the display case when Sandi buzzed in, her pink hair a little wild and her eyeliner smudged.
"Rough night?" he asked mockingly, and she smirked at him.
"It depends on what you mean by 'rough.'"
John rubbed the back of his neck and hid a smirk of his own. He looked over at their corner, and Rodney raised his head. His face brightened into a brilliant smile, and John couldn't help smiling back.
Sandi followed his gaze and said, "You seem like you're in a good mood."
"Yeah, well, it's been a good week," John said.
"I'm glad, boss."
John's face heated, but he returned her smile.
"A really good week," he repeated softly to himself, and sauntered over to where Rodney was waiting.
:::
Teyla showed up soon after with Ronon in tow, and Sandi squealed and went charging over.
John got it when Ronon caught her and gave her a kiss.
"Hi, guys," John said. He looked across at Rodney, who was watching him intently. "Uh, this is Rodney McKay. Rodney, this is Dr. Teyla Emmagan and Dr. Ronon Dex."
"I've seen you here before, I believe," Teyla said, walking over to offer her hand. "Please, call me Teyla."
"Hi, Teyla," Rodney said. He turned back to John and mouthed, wow.
"And I'm Ronon." Ronon nodded at Rodney and gave John a wolfish smile.
"Teyla likes to do the crossword," John said hurriedly, then added under his breath, "And embarrass me whenever possible."
"I'm sure I don't know what you mean, John. But may we join you?"
So that's how they all ended up in John's corner working on the Sunday crossword together while Sandi buzzed around them plying them with coffee and pastries.
It was kind of nice, John had to admit once he'd stopped flushing. It felt friendly. Eventually, though, he had to leave them all alone together to check on the roasts, and when he came back it was painfully obvious they'd been talking about him.
One thing was for damned sure: Rodney couldn't do 'innocent' even with the help of ten vestal virgins and a pound of stage makeup.
"So," John said darkly. Ronon coughed
After an awkward moment, Rodney looked down and crowed "Smew! On eleven across," and everything felt all right again.
:::
John made Rodney come home with him after closing, since Punk was waiting for her dinner. To hear Rodney complain about it, the hill to John's house was practically Kilimanjaro.
"Tell me, seriously," Rodney said, huffing between words, "you like doing this?"
"Keeps me in shape," John said. He was in granny gear, biking slowly next to Rodney because it was way easier than walking.
"Yes, I can tell. The way you barely fill out your jeans-"
"You saying my ass is substandard?"
"What? No. Of course not! You have a very nice ass," he said primly, "-for a beanpole," he added, and John resisted the temptation to whack him on the head. Not out of politeness, but because John didn't want to risk losing his balance.
They crested the hill and started down the other side. John pointed out the organic grocery, and Rodney wanted to stop inside. John noticed him filling his cart with breakfast-type items, and wondered what that meant-whether Rodney planned on spending the night with him.
He'd like that. He'd like to have Rodney stretched out on his big bed, to undress him and have the opportunity to explore him head to toe.
John adjusted himself in his jeans and waited for Rodney to check out.
"I'm just up here," John said as they approached his building. "I have to warn you, there's no elevator."
"Unbelievable," Rodney muttered. John couldn't tell if he was going slow for John's sake, or if he really was that out of shape, but Rodney only stopped complaining about halfway up to cock his head and say, "What's that sound?"
"That is my weird cat. Her name is Punk."
"You have a cat? I have a cat, too. Her name is Ada, after Ada Lovelace."
"You mentioned you had one. Ada Lovelace was the first computer programmer, right? A good mathematician, too," John said, and caught Rodney's surprised smile.
"I keep forgetting," he said as John unlocked the door.
"What?"
"That you're him. That you're Blackhawk."
"Yeah, me, too," John said, his voice a little husky. "I always wondered where you got your login."
"Oh, that. I have two doctorates," Rodney said off-handedly, as if it were no big deal.
"Two?" John raised an eyebrow.
"Yes, what? Oh. Well-" Rodney grimaced, "-not like they're doing me much good anymore."
"I know what you mean," John said quietly. He turned and opened Punk's food bag to scoop some into her bowl. "Thousands of hours of flight time, and all I have to show for it is a bum hip." John leaned on the counter.
Rodney set down the bag of groceries and put his hand on John's side. He hesitated, then brushed a kiss over John's mouth. "Can I see?"
"You've already-"
"No, I mean-can I see?"
John nodded, swallowing hard, and led Rodney to the bedroom.
They undressed almost silently, like it was some weird rite. John could practically still feel Rodney's mouth around him in the storeroom, the smell of coffee rising as the beans shifted under him. He wanted Rodney's mouth again, but he also wanted skin-Rodney's skin, which it turned out was pale and smooth. He had pink nipples, and a sprinkling of hair on his chest. He was definitely John's type, solidly built with a little roundness to his belly, and John felt a little self-conscious taking off his shirt, his jeans opened loosely. Rodney came over to him, wearing just his boxers now, and put his hand right over John's scar.
"Come on," Rodney said, pushing John's pants down and giving him something to hold onto while he kicked them off his feet.
John nudged Rodney onto the bed, not wanting to have to explain that he couldn't support Rodney's weight on him. He knelt between Rodney's legs and lowered himself down, biting his lip against the rush of feeling all that warm skin under his, Rodney's body like the perfect cushion.
"God, you feel good," John said helplessly. "And you smell good." He leaned down and sniffed along Rodney's collarbone before laying kisses there, following the ridge to the hollow of Rodney's throat. "So good."
"I smell like coffee," Rodney said, and John snickered.
"Must be why." He tilted his head back and looked into Rodney's amused eyes.
Rodney's expression changed suddenly when John reached down and took his cock in hand. John worked the foreskin up and down over the head, still a little fascinated. Rodney moaned in his ear, and John shivered, then bent down and licked across Rodney's nipple before sucking it into his mouth.
"Oh!"
He likes that, John thought, adding it to his mental notes, along with how a slight nibble made Rodney suck in his breath, his cock jerking in John's hand. He liked gentle bites on his neck, too, and when John nuzzled under his jaw, Rodney tilted his head all the way back and made a blissful sound.
John started stroking him, focusing on the feel of Rodney's cock gliding in his palm, the way rubbing a thumb right where the foreskin made a frill had Rodney's hips jerking almost frantically. Speeding up the tempo, John leaned down again and this time bit down a little harder on Rodney's hot pink nipple, and Rodney clutched at John's head and came, his jizz leaking between John's fingers and onto the back of his hand.
Rodney sighed, and then twitched a little in warning, so John eased his grip and then raised his sticky fingers up to his mouth to clean them off with his tongue. He thought maybe Rodney had caught him doing it, because he closed his eyes and licked his own lips.
"You are so hot," John whispered helplessly. "I can't believe you're in my bed."
"You're a fruitcake," Rodney responded, and gave him a weak thwap. "Obviously, your vision was damaged at some point in a freak roasting accident."
"Still 20/20, McKay. Five-by-five."
"Oh, God, with the military talk." Rodney pushed him over suddenly, making John hold his breath, anticipating the jolt. But his hip was doing okay, maybe because right now he was high on Rodney and the way this was making him feel. Rodney's hands rubbed over his chest, teasing his nipples, and then Rodney hitched himself downward. John bit his lip, eager for Rodney to suck him, but instead Rodney veered east and kissed his hip.
John shifted, a little uncomfortable with the direction, but Rodney persisted, his hand clasping John's when John tried to nudge him away. Then Rodney's soft lips traced a slow line of worship that freed something in John's chest, making him feel hot and liquid, like he was mainlining the very best drug.
"Rodney," John sighed.
"Mmm," Rodney replied, lifting his head. John was expected it, but still jumped at the sensation of Rodney's mouth on his cock, hand curling around him and lifting him into deep, wet suction.
"Jesus Christ," John muttered. It was just like this morning, but even better, because he could spread his thighs and urge Rodney's hand between his legs, feel the pads of Rodney's fingers pressing up behind his balls.
It didn't take much, just some soft, hot pressure, and that wicked tongue-it had been so pushy in his mouth, and was even pushier on his cock, rubbing hard under the crown until John groaned and shot toward the edge. He felt Rodney rhythmically pressing a palm behind his balls, and he made a helpless sound and started to come, dizzy with the pleasure of it.
"What the hell was that?" John groaned, feeling completely wasted.
"Just a little trick I picked up in a Nevada brothel."
John shot him a look.
"Kidding. Kidding."
"Come here. Now." John tugged on Rodney's shoulder, not that he could do much without leverage, but Rodney came easily to lay himself along John's left side, whether by chance or intent, John didn't know. He set a kiss on Rodney's jaw, on the soft rise of his cheek, and brushed his lips over Rodney's arching eyebrow, feeling a little ridiculous as he did it, but helpless to stop himself. All he knew was it was good like this-he was feeling no pain at all for the first time in weeks.
"Definitely seven today," John said, almost mumbling.
"What? That better not be out of ten!" Rodney's outrage was only halfway believable, considering he was playing with John's hair, running his fingers into it and fluffing it up again.
John shook his head slightly, not wanting to explain. "Tell you later sometime. It's about...it's about my hip."
"Later?" Suddenly Rodney's face was right there hanging in front of his, and John smiled what he was sure was the goofiest smile in existence.
"Later," he said. "I will."
"Okay, then." Rodney harrumphed as he settled back down, and John let his fingers run over the soft skin of his shoulder. "About that, though..."
John waited.
"Not that I have any right to say anything, but then again that's hardly stopped me in the past, and though I realize it's a jump to be making...plans per se, but then again, if you're talking about 'later,' then maybe it is appropriate to, well-"
"Rodney-"
"The thing is, if you needed someone to help out-just temporarily, and I'm only extrapolating on your email and your earlier incoherency about not having the resources to take care of the problem. And you need to. So-well. If you did?"
"If I did?" John said, frowning a little.
"I just wanted to point out that I'm offering. To help."
John turned his head, pulling his hair away from Rodney's fingers. "I couldn't pay you," John said flatly.
"Excuse me?" Rodney huffed. "Did I ask to be paid?"
"I wouldn't take it in charity, either," John said, starting to get angry.
"Of course not. But how about in trade?"
John felt his mouth drop open about the same time Rodney laughed-more of a snort, really.
"Ha! You should see your face. No, not as my sex slave; appealing as the idea is, I'm pretty sure you'd volunteer without me having to bribe you."
"Oh." John's brain whipsawed between what the fuck? and hello, hard-on. "What?"
"I meant you could trade me in coffee. I can easily drink my weight in a single day, but at retail prices, my labor would be well worth it. Also, I'd like to learn how to do it."
There was a secret hidden in Rodney's voice, but John was too relieved to try to puzzle it out. All he knew was this could work. But when he didn't answer right away, Rodney started talking even faster.
"I'm not the only one who wants to help out, you know. The others feel the same way. And, anyway, you seem to have a lot of down time between tending the machines; I could work on my own projects then. So, you see, it's really not that much of a burden."
"Wow," John said when Rodney finally ran out of steam.
"That's all you have to say?"
"That, and...yeah, you're right, that would be-that might work." John swallowed thickly. "Thanks. Just...thanks."
Rodney made a pleased grunt. "Of course I'm right," he said, and unselfconsciously arranged his head on John's pillow while John squeezed his eyes shut, his brain reeling with the sudden possibilities.
He could have this. Have Rodney, and maybe get his life back. Not the flying, but everything else he'd given up, including the possibility of energetic sex with his brand-new, coffee-loving boyfriend.
It was a little too much to take in, and John had to curl around Rodney and brush his lips over Rodney's shoulder to make sure he was real.
Just then Punk batted at John's toes and then jumped up onto the bed, making Rodney yelp. She delicately navigated her way over their tangled limbs and dropped her spit-soaked mouse right under Rodney's chin.
"Um, thank you?" Rodney said.
"Back at you," John murmured, meaning it.
Because as Rodney's breathing slowed to a deep purr beside him, it occurred to John he'd gotten a pretty sweet deal.
End.
The sequel to this story is Möbius, or view the series.
A/N: Punk is named after runpunkrun, in thanks for creating the Doctor Rodney's Science Corner universe and letting crysothemis play in it, leading to me getting hopped up on the idea of Rodney designing science experiments for kids.
Base of cover image created by Grape Frogg.
To quote the Wikipedia entry, "Fair trade is an organized social movement and market-based approach to empowering developing country producers and promoting sustainability." That means, among other things, if you buy coffees or other agricultural products with the Fair Trade seal you know you are paying the workers a fair wage for their efforts, without them suffering the effects of working crippling hours or with dangerous pesticides, the focus being on sustainability of the business and the environments people live and work in. To have a coffee shop devoted to selling only Fair Trade coffees would mean John would have to struggle a little more as an owner but, considering the neighborhood I put him in, it wouldn't be impossible to have a viable concern under those conditions. And I think he would do it, if only because he's such a stubborn cuss.
Mario's Bohemian Cigar Store Café. You have to show up by 10am or you are SOL for getting one of Mario's famous apple turnovers.
The Museum of Science and Industry in Exposition Park used to have a Möebius strip exhibit with a little arrow that ran on a track.
Warnings: John is mildly disabled due to injury; we do hope it isn't permanent.