A Walk on the Slippery Rocks
PG-13, 732 words. Part of my Berkeley AU.
John is sitting out in front of Ronon's, sprawled out all over a chair like he just sort of melted onto it, engrossed in- and bending the absolute hell out of, as usual- a paperback. As Rodney starts to make his way over, John spots him and gives him a wave, probably in response to Rodney's tripping over a table leg and almost eating patio.
Rodney finally makes it over to John's table, somehow. "What are you reading?"
And John looks up at him, through the reading glasses that he insists on pretending aren't relentlessly hot, and says calmly, "Dude, you're a fag."
"I don't see what so homosexual about caring about literature," Rodney huffs, crossing his arms and settling in for a long rant. "You know, that's the kind of attitude that's led to a whole generation of male students who can't tell their Faulker from a-" He realizes then that John's too busy laughing at him to listen to anything he's saying. "What?!"
John flips his book shut and holds it up so that Rodney can see the front cover.
Rodney sighs. "You've been sitting here waiting for me to ask, haven't you?"
"You know how much I love to get a rise out of you," John says, giving him a wink.
He rolls his eyes. "You're such a child."
"Oh yeah?" John challenges. "What's that say about you?"
"Don't act like you don't know a metaphorical usage when you see one."
"Come here," John says, amused and exasperated all at once.
When he realizes what John wants, Rodney panics a little, because it suddenly occurs to him that he's never done it before. Sure, he's kissed John in tons of places- in every sense of the word- but never somewhere like this. And since he never kissed another man before John, it means that this will be the first time he ever kisses a man in public.
And yeah, he's a little terrified that his grandmother will, despite having been dead since 1983, suddenly pop out of the crepe place down the street and see the whole thing; but he just can't chicken out now, not when he's leaning halfway over and John's looking at him expectantly. If he does, John will give him that brittle smile that says he's disappointed but doesn't want to show it, like Rodney's a traitor to the cause, like it's just John's luck that he had to fall in love with such a closet case.
And for fuck's sake, it's Berkeley. If he can't do it here, he might as well go back to pretending to be straight.
John's mouth is warm and tastes like caramel, the afterimage of that candy-sweet swill that John has confused with coffee; but obviously Rodney's missing out, because it tastes delicious on John's tongue. He can't help delving deeper, searching it out- and he gets an unexpected double reward, because his enthusiasm draws a soft, intoxicating groan from John, which is so, so much better than caramel.
He has to talk himself into stopping after a couple of seconds; he could really just stand here and do this all day, uncomfortable position or not, but he's not really sure making out in public is a step he's ready to progress to just yet.
When he pulls away, John smiles up at him, warm and secretive, like he's proud. One of his hands has migrated to the small of Rodney's back, and he rubs soothing circles there, settling him.
"Get a room," Ronon calls from inside.
"No, get a camera," Ford- who Rodney hadn't even known was here- suggests.
Rodney's sure his face is bright red- if it's not it should be- but John stands up, grinning, and pecks him on the cheek. "Sit down. You want the usual?"
"You don't have to," Rodney protests, but John waves him off.
"I need more anyway," he says. "Be right back," he promises, giving Rodney's hand a squeeze, letting their fingers linger together until he's finally too far out of reach.
Rodney drops himself into a chair, just watching John walk away, and he thinks to himself, "I just did that," and at that moment, it feels like everything is okay.
Of course, then John walks up to the counter and loudly announces, "Try to keep it in your pants, guys, I already called dibs," but it's nice while it lasts.
John is sitting out in front of Ronon's, sprawled out all over a chair like he just sort of melted onto it, engrossed in- and bending the absolute hell out of, as usual- a paperback. As Rodney starts to make his way over, John spots him and gives him a wave, probably in response to Rodney's tripping over a table leg and almost eating patio.
Rodney finally makes it over to John's table, somehow. "What are you reading?"
And John looks up at him, through the reading glasses that he insists on pretending aren't relentlessly hot, and says calmly, "Dude, you're a fag."
"I don't see what so homosexual about caring about literature," Rodney huffs, crossing his arms and settling in for a long rant. "You know, that's the kind of attitude that's led to a whole generation of male students who can't tell their Faulker from a-" He realizes then that John's too busy laughing at him to listen to anything he's saying. "What?!"
John flips his book shut and holds it up so that Rodney can see the front cover.
Rodney sighs. "You've been sitting here waiting for me to ask, haven't you?"
"You know how much I love to get a rise out of you," John says, giving him a wink.
He rolls his eyes. "You're such a child."
"Oh yeah?" John challenges. "What's that say about you?"
"Don't act like you don't know a metaphorical usage when you see one."
"Come here," John says, amused and exasperated all at once.
When he realizes what John wants, Rodney panics a little, because it suddenly occurs to him that he's never done it before. Sure, he's kissed John in tons of places- in every sense of the word- but never somewhere like this. And since he never kissed another man before John, it means that this will be the first time he ever kisses a man in public.
And yeah, he's a little terrified that his grandmother will, despite having been dead since 1983, suddenly pop out of the crepe place down the street and see the whole thing; but he just can't chicken out now, not when he's leaning halfway over and John's looking at him expectantly. If he does, John will give him that brittle smile that says he's disappointed but doesn't want to show it, like Rodney's a traitor to the cause, like it's just John's luck that he had to fall in love with such a closet case.
And for fuck's sake, it's Berkeley. If he can't do it here, he might as well go back to pretending to be straight.
John's mouth is warm and tastes like caramel, the afterimage of that candy-sweet swill that John has confused with coffee; but obviously Rodney's missing out, because it tastes delicious on John's tongue. He can't help delving deeper, searching it out- and he gets an unexpected double reward, because his enthusiasm draws a soft, intoxicating groan from John, which is so, so much better than caramel.
He has to talk himself into stopping after a couple of seconds; he could really just stand here and do this all day, uncomfortable position or not, but he's not really sure making out in public is a step he's ready to progress to just yet.
When he pulls away, John smiles up at him, warm and secretive, like he's proud. One of his hands has migrated to the small of Rodney's back, and he rubs soothing circles there, settling him.
"Get a room," Ronon calls from inside.
"No, get a camera," Ford- who Rodney hadn't even known was here- suggests.
Rodney's sure his face is bright red- if it's not it should be- but John stands up, grinning, and pecks him on the cheek. "Sit down. You want the usual?"
"You don't have to," Rodney protests, but John waves him off.
"I need more anyway," he says. "Be right back," he promises, giving Rodney's hand a squeeze, letting their fingers linger together until he's finally too far out of reach.
Rodney drops himself into a chair, just watching John walk away, and he thinks to himself, "I just did that," and at that moment, it feels like everything is okay.
Of course, then John walks up to the counter and loudly announces, "Try to keep it in your pants, guys, I already called dibs," but it's nice while it lasts.