Fair Trade Ficlet: A Smarter Tradition (by esteefee)
Title: A Smarter Tradition
Author: esteefee
Pairing: Sheppard/McKay
Rating: R for mention of boy shenanigans
Words: ~1,220
Categories: AU, ER, part of the Fair Trade series
Warnings: none
Summary: John gets cranky during Fleet Week. He has a stupid plan not to take it out on Rodney.
A/N: Written for mcsmooch while the Blue Angels pass overhead.
A Smarter Tradition
by esteefee
John liked to play dumb, but he really wasn't stupid. At least, not stupid enough to make the same really dumb mistake more than once. So when October rolled around and he knew he was going to be pretty bad company for a few days, he didn't want to make excuses that Rodney, being no dummy himself, wasn't going to fall for and would end up getting hurt by.
Instead, John just told him straight out.
"I'm gonna go back to my place and make myself scarce tomorrow, okay? It's this thing I have to do."
Rodney actually stopped typing for a second and looked up. "Thing? What thing?"
Fair Trade was quiet; the band had already packed up and left, and Ahs was out back doing that thing he did with the recycling where he sorted all the bottles and cans to the top so the less careful collectors didn't dig up the cardboard and leave it trashing the alleyway.
John really didn't want to go into too many details, but he had to give Rodney something. "It's Fleet Week," he mumbled. "I get in a bad mood. Don't want to take it out on you." John pulled out his cleaning rag and wiped an entirely invisible mark off the glossy surface of the table next to Rodney's laptop.
Rodney huffed. "Like you don't 'get in a mood' every time Kreutchfeld beats you at checkers."
"This is different," John said, trying not to blow his cool. "You don't want to be around me for this. I don't...I don't want you around me for this-for you," John interrupted himself hastily, adding when Rodney looked hurt, "I don't want you to see me like that."
The scowl smoothed out into something softer, and John had to look away.
"Like what?"
"Like an asshole," John muttered.
"You're saying this to the asshole who made little Dr. Kusanagi cry when I shredded her specifications for the coherent light exhibit?" Rodney's clear blue eyes held indulgent, self-deprecating humor. He just wasn't getting it.
"That's different."
"You keep saying that. But I've seen you at your worst, remember?" Rodney stood up and nudged John's bad hip with one palm. The instinct to flinch was still there, even though the hip was a hundred percent these days; had been, for months, now.
John leaned into Rodney's warmth and let his cheek rest against the fine hair at Rodney's temple. "You really don't get it." Putting his arms around Rodney, he held him so he couldn't get away. "I'm going to start drinking the hard stuff as soon as I wake up," John whispered roughly. "If I get drunk early enough, maybe I'll pass out before I start hearing the jets."
Rodney stiffened in his arms and tried to pull away to see him, but John held on tight. "You heard them doing flyovers today, didn't you? I had to fucking hide in the storeroom with my iPod on. Well, Sunday it will be worse, much worse. If I don't get drunk enough, I'll climb the stairs up to the roof to watch them, and start yelling and maybe even crying like a little baby. Then I'll start puking and pass out in the bathroom."
He pressed a kiss against Rodney's temple and released him. "Fun times. I think you should give it a pass."
Rodney frowned, then shook his head, making John's heart sink. "No, no-no-no. Bad plan. Very bad plan. For one thing-you'll be hungover all night, which means no sex for me, which will make my Monday suck."
John rocked back and opened his mouth, but Rodney snapped his fingers in John's face. "Talking now-shut up! Number two, as in Roman numeral two, were this a PowerPoint presentation, which, dear God, I have to give far too many of these days: I hate your apartment. Punk hates your apartment. You hate your apartment, and have been too damned stubborn to move into mine, for what reason I have failed to ascertain. It's filled with horrible memories, obviously. You need a change of scenery for this sad little tradition of yours. A change of scenery...to change it altogether."
"Change it..." John crossed his arms. "I like my tradition. It's a damned good tradition, McKay. It helps me deal."
Rodney lifted his chin. "I know a better way."
"The fuck you do." And shit. This was exactly what he hadn't wanted to do-get pissed at Rodney, take it all out on Rodney. "I'm sorry. Look. Let's just-"
Rodney grabbed his arm just as John was turning away. "Please."
Rodney never said 'please.' He said, 'gimme' and 'more' and 'yes, yes'; and sometimes, after a really good blow job, 'thank you, so much,' which cracked John up; but never, ever, 'please.'
"Rodney, I don't want to fight."
"Then please, just-" Rodney slipped his hand under John's T-shirt where it had pulled free from his apron, sliding his fingers onto the small of John's back. John shivered and his nipples immediately went hard in reaction.
"See, I have these ideas about a more excellent tradition," Rodney said softly, his damp breath tickling John's neck. He brushed a kiss there. "I know this thing you really, really like. It's your favorite thing, I think." His fingertips raked against John's skin. "You seem to love it, really."
John shuddered hard.
"I only just figured it out the other day, which is stupid of me, really; we've been together almost a year, you realize. Except, of course, you haven't exactly been advertising." Rodney leaned in closer, until his voice vibrated in John's ear. "Maybe you thought I wouldn't like it? But I love doing it, John." Rodney's fingers slipped lower, and John had to clench his hand around the washrag. It was either that or make pornographic noises that Ahs would hear out in the back.
"Rodney..."
"We could do that instead. You could lie down and put on your iPod and I could just do that to you. On and on and on. For an hour."
John whimpered.
Rodney stepped back and pulled his hand away. John suddenly felt cold, and there was a wet spot in the front of his jeans.
"Or, you know," Rodney said airily, "you could get really drunk alone and break your neck on the stairs. Choke on your own puke. That sounds like tremendous fun."
"No. No, I-think I changed my mind." John grabbed Rodney's arm, then kissed his smirking mouth, kissed it again until it softened under his lips and Rodney made that little happy groaning sound that always made John's chest tighten.
"Hafta tell you something," John said when he was done.
"What? What." Rodney's eyes were a little dazed.
"You're smarter than me," John whispered. "And-I need you. I need you to be like that, okay? I know I don't say it enough, but I do."
"Of course you do. Nincompoop." But Rodney smiled-not a smirk, but a full-blown, soft smile, and John had to kiss him again, just had to, and he was still kissing him hot and heavy when Ahs came banging in with an altogether fake, "Oh, excuse me, sir. So sorry. But if you would like to take your boyfriend shenanigans from this place of work?"
So John laughed, and they took their shenanigans home.
End.
Fleet Week in San Francisco. The Angels actually fly some on Saturday as well, but the real show is on Sunday and it goes on over an hour. Poor John. He'll be at Rodney's mercy for quite a while.
Author: esteefee
Pairing: Sheppard/McKay
Rating: R for mention of boy shenanigans
Words: ~1,220
Categories: AU, ER, part of the Fair Trade series
Warnings: none
Summary: John gets cranky during Fleet Week. He has a stupid plan not to take it out on Rodney.
A/N: Written for mcsmooch while the Blue Angels pass overhead.
A Smarter Tradition
by esteefee
John liked to play dumb, but he really wasn't stupid. At least, not stupid enough to make the same really dumb mistake more than once. So when October rolled around and he knew he was going to be pretty bad company for a few days, he didn't want to make excuses that Rodney, being no dummy himself, wasn't going to fall for and would end up getting hurt by.
Instead, John just told him straight out.
"I'm gonna go back to my place and make myself scarce tomorrow, okay? It's this thing I have to do."
Rodney actually stopped typing for a second and looked up. "Thing? What thing?"
Fair Trade was quiet; the band had already packed up and left, and Ahs was out back doing that thing he did with the recycling where he sorted all the bottles and cans to the top so the less careful collectors didn't dig up the cardboard and leave it trashing the alleyway.
John really didn't want to go into too many details, but he had to give Rodney something. "It's Fleet Week," he mumbled. "I get in a bad mood. Don't want to take it out on you." John pulled out his cleaning rag and wiped an entirely invisible mark off the glossy surface of the table next to Rodney's laptop.
Rodney huffed. "Like you don't 'get in a mood' every time Kreutchfeld beats you at checkers."
"This is different," John said, trying not to blow his cool. "You don't want to be around me for this. I don't...I don't want you around me for this-for you," John interrupted himself hastily, adding when Rodney looked hurt, "I don't want you to see me like that."
The scowl smoothed out into something softer, and John had to look away.
"Like what?"
"Like an asshole," John muttered.
"You're saying this to the asshole who made little Dr. Kusanagi cry when I shredded her specifications for the coherent light exhibit?" Rodney's clear blue eyes held indulgent, self-deprecating humor. He just wasn't getting it.
"That's different."
"You keep saying that. But I've seen you at your worst, remember?" Rodney stood up and nudged John's bad hip with one palm. The instinct to flinch was still there, even though the hip was a hundred percent these days; had been, for months, now.
John leaned into Rodney's warmth and let his cheek rest against the fine hair at Rodney's temple. "You really don't get it." Putting his arms around Rodney, he held him so he couldn't get away. "I'm going to start drinking the hard stuff as soon as I wake up," John whispered roughly. "If I get drunk early enough, maybe I'll pass out before I start hearing the jets."
Rodney stiffened in his arms and tried to pull away to see him, but John held on tight. "You heard them doing flyovers today, didn't you? I had to fucking hide in the storeroom with my iPod on. Well, Sunday it will be worse, much worse. If I don't get drunk enough, I'll climb the stairs up to the roof to watch them, and start yelling and maybe even crying like a little baby. Then I'll start puking and pass out in the bathroom."
He pressed a kiss against Rodney's temple and released him. "Fun times. I think you should give it a pass."
Rodney frowned, then shook his head, making John's heart sink. "No, no-no-no. Bad plan. Very bad plan. For one thing-you'll be hungover all night, which means no sex for me, which will make my Monday suck."
John rocked back and opened his mouth, but Rodney snapped his fingers in John's face. "Talking now-shut up! Number two, as in Roman numeral two, were this a PowerPoint presentation, which, dear God, I have to give far too many of these days: I hate your apartment. Punk hates your apartment. You hate your apartment, and have been too damned stubborn to move into mine, for what reason I have failed to ascertain. It's filled with horrible memories, obviously. You need a change of scenery for this sad little tradition of yours. A change of scenery...to change it altogether."
"Change it..." John crossed his arms. "I like my tradition. It's a damned good tradition, McKay. It helps me deal."
Rodney lifted his chin. "I know a better way."
"The fuck you do." And shit. This was exactly what he hadn't wanted to do-get pissed at Rodney, take it all out on Rodney. "I'm sorry. Look. Let's just-"
Rodney grabbed his arm just as John was turning away. "Please."
Rodney never said 'please.' He said, 'gimme' and 'more' and 'yes, yes'; and sometimes, after a really good blow job, 'thank you, so much,' which cracked John up; but never, ever, 'please.'
"Rodney, I don't want to fight."
"Then please, just-" Rodney slipped his hand under John's T-shirt where it had pulled free from his apron, sliding his fingers onto the small of John's back. John shivered and his nipples immediately went hard in reaction.
"See, I have these ideas about a more excellent tradition," Rodney said softly, his damp breath tickling John's neck. He brushed a kiss there. "I know this thing you really, really like. It's your favorite thing, I think." His fingertips raked against John's skin. "You seem to love it, really."
John shuddered hard.
"I only just figured it out the other day, which is stupid of me, really; we've been together almost a year, you realize. Except, of course, you haven't exactly been advertising." Rodney leaned in closer, until his voice vibrated in John's ear. "Maybe you thought I wouldn't like it? But I love doing it, John." Rodney's fingers slipped lower, and John had to clench his hand around the washrag. It was either that or make pornographic noises that Ahs would hear out in the back.
"Rodney..."
"We could do that instead. You could lie down and put on your iPod and I could just do that to you. On and on and on. For an hour."
John whimpered.
Rodney stepped back and pulled his hand away. John suddenly felt cold, and there was a wet spot in the front of his jeans.
"Or, you know," Rodney said airily, "you could get really drunk alone and break your neck on the stairs. Choke on your own puke. That sounds like tremendous fun."
"No. No, I-think I changed my mind." John grabbed Rodney's arm, then kissed his smirking mouth, kissed it again until it softened under his lips and Rodney made that little happy groaning sound that always made John's chest tighten.
"Hafta tell you something," John said when he was done.
"What? What." Rodney's eyes were a little dazed.
"You're smarter than me," John whispered. "And-I need you. I need you to be like that, okay? I know I don't say it enough, but I do."
"Of course you do. Nincompoop." But Rodney smiled-not a smirk, but a full-blown, soft smile, and John had to kiss him again, just had to, and he was still kissing him hot and heavy when Ahs came banging in with an altogether fake, "Oh, excuse me, sir. So sorry. But if you would like to take your boyfriend shenanigans from this place of work?"
So John laughed, and they took their shenanigans home.
End.
Fleet Week in San Francisco. The Angels actually fly some on Saturday as well, but the real show is on Sunday and it goes on over an hour. Poor John. He'll be at Rodney's mercy for quite a while.