Like Pavlov's Dogs (McShep, NC-17ish)
sethoz has agreed to marry me! *bounces happily* That has to be celebrated with fic! *dances around*
Title: Like Pavlov's Dogs
Word Count: ~3,400
Summary: John has some very special reactions to Canadians. Or is it just one Canadian in particular?
Notes: For philosophy_20's prompt #10 - Time. Because I like this kind of story. Huge thanks to Denis for invaluable research when I'm offline, and for being my personal weekend thesaurus. ;)
~~~
Like Pavlov's Dogs
He is ten when they move again. His father has accepted a post in Canada - Canada! It's practically behind enemy lines! - so John says goodbye to the few friends he's got, packs his stuff, and off they go. He's determined he won't like it there.
He kind of does, though, but grudgingly, and he'll never admit it. The kids at school treat him with curious distrust and talk with weird accents, and he's having trouble following the class, but his family is living at the outskirts of the city, and there are woods with the most exciting trees he's ever seen, tall and green and covered with moss, towering over thick underbrush - the perfect playground. John doesn't mind that he's playing alone, he's never cared all that much for others anyway. If you keep moving from place to place, the first thing you learn is not to get attached to anything. Or anyone.
But his mom says he should get some friends because he has to Learn Social Interacting, and so he lies, telling her that there are other kids as well, and so far he's managed to avoid inviting them back home. It probably won't work much longer, but as long as it does he'll crawl under fallen trees and climb onto rocks and shoot at imaginary soldiers with his imaginary gun, and at the end of the day, he's always dirty and always victorious.
He isn't prepared for the day when the enemy finally gets him, not at all.
They're clever about it, too, because John doesn't see the hole until he falls right into it, yelling in surprise, then pain as he feels his ankle twist when he lands on the ground. The hole isn't all that deep, no more than six feet wide, but it's moist and dirty and smells very strange, and his ankle hurts something fierce. Still, he thinks he can just climb out of it and limp home, except when he digs his fingers into the wall, the damp earth crumbles away. He tries another place, and another, but every time what seemed like solid wall becomes simple dirt, and by the time he realises that he won't get out of there on his own, he's very close to panic.
And then there is panic, and he doesn't know how long he has been shouting-yelling-screaming for help before his brain kicks in and tells him that he's alone, there's nobody around. From that moment, it's basically sitting on the cold earth, back against the wall and knees drawn to his chest, feeling the moisture seep into his clothes as he quietly cries, waiting for someone to find him.
It gets dark, though, and there are no shouts in the distance telling him that they're searching for him. No barking dogs, no blaring sirens, just the odd sounds of the forest at night. He desperately needs to pee now, and he tries to hold it in as long as possible, but then he can't, and he doesn't think he's ever noticed how much pee can stink before. Something rustles on the other side of his hole, and he holds his breath, visions of child-eating tree monsters drawn in by the scent of boy-urine dancing before his eyes. Then something brushes his hand, and he shrieks, yanking it away, heart pounding violently even as the mouse - a mouse! - squeaks and scurries away. John feels a little ashamed at that; his father would probably tell him not to act like a girl. But it's dark, and he's alone and hungry and miserable, so he figures that even the General's Only Son is allowed a little fear.
He curls up as tightly as he can, cheek resting on his arm, shivering a little, because while it's not exactly cold, it's clammy, and it takes him a while before exhaustion draws him into sleep. The sun is up when he awakes, and now they have to be looking for him, so he shouts again, his voice hoarse and raspy in his throat, making him cough. He's really hungry, but what's worse is the thirst he's feeling, like he could kill for a glass of water. Or rather something warm, and maybe Mom will make him a hot cocoa when he finally gets home.
The thought is enough to carry him over for a little while, but time passes, and even though John doesn't have a watch he can tell it's been hours since he woke up, and still all he can hear are leaves rustling, birds twittering, and little animals rustling through the underbrush. And then finally, after the sun has taken on the golden colour of late afternoon, there are voices, footsteps, and he jumps up, crying out from the forgotten pain in his ankle, shouting, begging for help in a voice that's not quite his, and there are more shouts from above, answering him, and then a boy about his age peers into the hole from above and shouts, "Hey, are you okay?"
It's about the stupidest question John's ever heard, and he nods and shakes his head and suddenly feels exhausted from relief, his knees buckling even as the boy tells him to "Hang on!" and orders, "Jeannie! Go get help!".
The boy keeps talking the whole time they wait for a rescue, strange Canadian accent washing over John, lulling him into sleep and following him into darkness.
~~~
John is seventeen and not doing too bad since his mum divorced his father. She's working very hard, but his grades are good and soon he'll be able support her. He doesn't like the military much, but he thinks flying would be cool, plus the Air Force pays good money. A few more years, and he'll earn enough so she will never have to work again, because what does a pilot spend his money on when he's stationed on the other side of the world? And that alone is more than enough reason to try for Air Force Academy once he's done here. Even without a very soldierly attitude, General Dad's name should get him in.
Right now though, he has a football game to win, and win it they do, with a lot of yelling and sweating and laughing and everything that makes this sport the best invention since peanut butter and chocolate. The girls are cheering, and judging by the group in husky t-shirts on the bender it seems that somebody has invited their brothers or sisters from the nearby Northeastern, who in turn have brought a few friends. It makes things all the more interesting, and he puts up as good a performance as he can, knowing that his chances of getting laid tonight have just risen dramatically.
It's a blonde he hooks up with, going by the unspectacular name of Tina, and he makes sure to sit beside her when they all go out to have a drink, charming her with his smile and that particular inflection in his voice he learned in California. It makes him almost exotic around here, and he can tell that she likes it, and yes, tonight promises to be very spectacular judging by the way her lips stretch around that beer bottle, but then the world tilts on its axis and Tina gets thrown off the surface.
Canadian. One of the students, a slim blond guy who hasn't said all that much since they've started drinking; he's talking now, fast-paced and doing strange things to his vowels, stringing his words together until they're almost indistinguishable. It's a comfort sound for John, has been for years, and he's aching for it when the guy stops talking. And yes, he might be staring a little, which in turn might go over entirely the wrong way, but then Canadian Student meets his gaze and all he sees in those blue eyes are amused curiosity and interest. It's stupid, John thinks, he isn't into stuff like that, except he discovers that he would do practically anything to get that guy talking again, and preferably never stop. It shocks him a little.
He manages to get them into an awkward conversation about football, which Rodney - "And it's just two syllables, you don't have to shorten anything." - isn't all that impressed with, but they were planning to go out in any case and it's never wrong to pick up some cheerleaders on the way. John wonders if he should point out that football is one of the cornerstones of Western civilisation, but then they both start happily dissing the Red Sox, and he decides to let it slide. Tina first pouts and then slips away, but by that time, John hardly notices her anymore. Rodney is studying applied physics and engineering, and he's really smart and witty and thrills John with an easy sarcasm that sounds mean but is really just kind of funny. And yes, he knows where this is heading, and he still plans on moving to Colorado Springs some time next year, which makes it even more stupid that he doesn't mind this as much as he should, and then it's too late and they're in Rodney's room back at the dorm, and oh.
It's not the way Rodney's pressing against him that turns John on, or the fact that holding another guy's cock in his hand isn't all that strange as much as it's hot. They are both naked and sweaty and panting and it's unfamiliar, scarily so, but Rodney is talking, babbling really, and that's what makes this okay, makes it comfortable and easy, so when they both start rubbing against each other and splash their come over their respective bellies, John doesn't freak, he just feels strangely at home. Tired and sated and okay, a little weirded out, so he asks Rodney what the hell is wrong with football, and falls asleep to a passionate lecture about the supremacy of intellectual pursuit over brute force, dreaming about trees and roots and the smell of damp leaves.
~~~
It's actually his thirty-seventh birthday when he flies some general out of McMurdo and almost gets killed by what looks like a brightly yellow SAM. He's been living in Antarctica for eleven months, so it's been a while since he's had to avoid anything like that. His skills are a bit rusty, but then reflex kicks in and he's flying his chopper without even thinking about it, ignoring the general's suggestions of left or right and just following his instincts. He's giddy with relief when they survive, and it carries him right to the point where he sits down in something that shouldn't react just to his presence but does, and then there's shouting and running and he's this close to snapping when, God… Canadian.
It's an automatic impulse to relax at the sound of that voice, even though he doesn't know the guy who's doing the talking from Adam, so instead of the blind panic he still feels pulling at him from the bottom of his gut, he betrays only a little trepidation when he asks, "Did I do that?"
He did, and he's doing a lot more over the next few days, stuck in a lab and turning things on with his mind under the brash guidance of Dr. McKay, who is rude and arrogant and far too smart for his own good, but also Canadian, and in John's book that's enough to like that guy. McKay likes to hear himself talking, too, and so John spends a week happily listening to snide remarks about other people's intelligence or rather the lack thereof and pretending he's just amused before he learns that the man's first name is Rodney.
"Rod?" he tries, suddenly suspicious, and sure enough: "What the hell is it with you Americans and having to supply everyone with a nickname? It's just two syllables, for God's sake!"
"It's you," John says incredulously, heart pounding in his chest through a strange mixture of anxiety and pleasure, because who would forget their one and only sexual encounter with someone of their own gender; and what a coincidence that they should meet like this, almost twenty years later.
"What's me?" McKay wants to know, staring at him with irritated impatience.
"You. Northeastern, some twenty years ago. You went to a football game to pick up a cheerleader and ended up in bed with a wide receiver."
He doesn't know what kind of a reaction he was expecting, but it sure as hell wasn't the one he gets. Rodney pales, nearly stumbling over his own feet as he backs out of his lab, leaving John with the sound of his footsteps and the question of what the hell he said.
He's scheduled to leave the next day, going home for a few weeks while the guys in Colorado Springs put their expedition together. Home these days is San Francisco, where his mother chose to be buried, and he spends his time running around the city and staring across the Bay, trying to map everything in his mind so he won't forget. He doesn't see Rodney again until his very last day of leave, when the other man appears at his door, fidgeting and nervous as hell, but with a determined set of his mouth.
"McKay," John says, leaning against the doorjamb. He doesn't quite see why he should make this easy.
"Yes, yes, hello Major, nice to see you, can I come in?" All those words mashed together in that fast-paced talk, and John almost goes soft just hearing it, but, "No."
He has to bite the insides of his cheeks to keep from grinning when Rodney huffs and offers, "Fine, be that way. Do you want to come out, then?"
They end up walking across a small fair, with Rodney eating almost everything in sight like it was his last day on Earth. Which, come to think about it, it pretty much was.
"About that day, back in the outpost - I'm sorry I freaked out on you like that. It's just, I never thought I'd be seeing you again, and you have to admit, suddenly remembering what a guy looks like naked can really-"
"Shut up, McKay," John hisses, hyperaware of the curious gazes from those around him, and he yanks Rodney over to a Ferris Wheel. He's never liked the stupid things, but they need the privacy, and damn it, he should just have invited Rodney in when the man had asked him to.
Rodney complains about his claustrophobia the whole way up and a significant part of the way down, until John shuts him up by asking what the hell he came to Frisco for.
"You do realise that this is a nickname the local population… okay, yes, see, I just wanted to say that, while I am flattered that you remembered me, it's not all that, um. I mean, you're military, and we're about to go to, uh, another galaxy, and who knows what will happen there, I mean-"
"Jesus, Rodney," John interrupts the babbling, ignoring how the sound of Rodney's voice alone has made him half hard. "I just said it was you, not that I wanted to jump your bones."
"Oh." It's a real satisfaction to see Rodney blush a little. "Well, um. I guess I was, uh, possibly assuming quite a bit there."
"Possibly." Although not really.
"So, um. To a good working relationship?"
Rodney's hand is warm and a little sweaty in his, and John notices how close they're really sitting together when the Ferris Wheel stops and their cabin jolts a little, throwing them together. John stays upright by supporting himself with his hand on Rodney's thigh, and wow, those eyes are really blue, and then they're kissing in a tiny gondola with a spectacular view over half of San Francisco, and maybe Ferris Wheels are not too bad after all.
~~~
John is thirty-nine when he finally catches a clue. There is a very good chance he's just lost Rodney to the Wraith, and the thought of never seeing him again is enough to make John queasy. This is entirely the wrong kind of scare, so he prays to every God he's never believed in, gets into an F-302 and after a bit of shooting and evading and just damn brilliant flying if he might say so himself, he's the only human on a Hive Ship turned against them, simply because you don't leave your people behind, especially not the ones that count. Besides, they've only ever gotten around to having something resembling sex twice, the most recent occasion almost two years in the past, and in hindsight, that hardly seems fair.
He finds Ronon and Rodney inside stringy, wet cocoons that appear strangely organic; both are looking very dead, and for a second, he is convinced that his heart has stopped. Then Ronon growls, "Sheppard," and Rodney snaps awake with a start, and all it takes is a quip about a damsel in distress to get that painfully grateful look out of Rodney's eyes. And if they're blinking an awful lot, it's just because the air inside the Hive Ship is so damn dry.
Rodney says he should just have stayed with the Canadian Space Agency when Davidson had offered him a job, and screw other governments paying the bigger bucks, but while he's still complaining they pull off their craziest mission ever, destroying two Hive Ships with three people and a whole lot of sheer dumb luck, and the best part: they're getting away with it. It's insane and very probably bringing Rodney even closer to an untimely demise by overexposure to adrenaline, but John laughs and Ronon grins and when they get home everyone's so damn happy to see them that they're having the biggest impromptu party ever.
Then it's late, they're buzzed but not drunk, and Rodney keeps staring at him, and John a) has never bought Rodney's speech about military rules anyway and b) really does want to jump his bones. He drags Rodney away and is fully prepared to convince him that life is just too short to waste their chances or something equally deep, but Rodney surprises him by locking his mouth to John's ear as soon as the door to John's quarter closes behind them, nibbling and sucking and whispering "oh God, your face, I thought we were going to die, and then you-", over and over again. It's a little disturbing, except there's a tongue and lips and teeth making their way down his neck and to his throat, so instead of the reassurances he should probably give all John finds is a wordless moan.
Sex with Rodney is even hotter than he remembered, especially when those crooked lips are sliding up and down his cock and that quick tongue is doing things to him that are probably forbidden in at least half a dozen countries back on Earth. It's quick and it's dirty, and after he comes he takes his time with Rodney, just because, teases him until he's begging, and then jerks him off fast and hard.
There's a little awkward moment when neither of them knows what to say, and then Rodney huffs in that insufferable way he has, tucks himself under John's blanket and regards him with a challenging look. Never one to back down, John slides in next to him, and of course the bed is too small for two grown men and they have to twist and turn and tangle their limbs together, and when they finally find a halfway comfortable position, they're both laughing so hard that every trace of embarrassment just disappears.
And yes, it's still late, and it's kind of been a busy day, so John snuggles up to Rodney in a completely unmanly way, totally unashamed, and yawns. They both really need to sleep, but there's something John needs to tell Rodney, has wanted to tell him for quite some time now.
"I lived in Canada once, when I was nine or ten or so," he says, playing it cool. It's not like he's revealing the source of a fetish or something.
"Yeah?" Rodney's voice sounds tired but interested, and John smiles a little as he answers.
"Yeah. I fell down a hole, and…"
~~~
End.
Title: Like Pavlov's Dogs
Word Count: ~3,400
Summary: John has some very special reactions to Canadians. Or is it just one Canadian in particular?
Notes: For philosophy_20's prompt #10 - Time. Because I like this kind of story. Huge thanks to Denis for invaluable research when I'm offline, and for being my personal weekend thesaurus. ;)
~~~
Like Pavlov's Dogs
He is ten when they move again. His father has accepted a post in Canada - Canada! It's practically behind enemy lines! - so John says goodbye to the few friends he's got, packs his stuff, and off they go. He's determined he won't like it there.
He kind of does, though, but grudgingly, and he'll never admit it. The kids at school treat him with curious distrust and talk with weird accents, and he's having trouble following the class, but his family is living at the outskirts of the city, and there are woods with the most exciting trees he's ever seen, tall and green and covered with moss, towering over thick underbrush - the perfect playground. John doesn't mind that he's playing alone, he's never cared all that much for others anyway. If you keep moving from place to place, the first thing you learn is not to get attached to anything. Or anyone.
But his mom says he should get some friends because he has to Learn Social Interacting, and so he lies, telling her that there are other kids as well, and so far he's managed to avoid inviting them back home. It probably won't work much longer, but as long as it does he'll crawl under fallen trees and climb onto rocks and shoot at imaginary soldiers with his imaginary gun, and at the end of the day, he's always dirty and always victorious.
He isn't prepared for the day when the enemy finally gets him, not at all.
They're clever about it, too, because John doesn't see the hole until he falls right into it, yelling in surprise, then pain as he feels his ankle twist when he lands on the ground. The hole isn't all that deep, no more than six feet wide, but it's moist and dirty and smells very strange, and his ankle hurts something fierce. Still, he thinks he can just climb out of it and limp home, except when he digs his fingers into the wall, the damp earth crumbles away. He tries another place, and another, but every time what seemed like solid wall becomes simple dirt, and by the time he realises that he won't get out of there on his own, he's very close to panic.
And then there is panic, and he doesn't know how long he has been shouting-yelling-screaming for help before his brain kicks in and tells him that he's alone, there's nobody around. From that moment, it's basically sitting on the cold earth, back against the wall and knees drawn to his chest, feeling the moisture seep into his clothes as he quietly cries, waiting for someone to find him.
It gets dark, though, and there are no shouts in the distance telling him that they're searching for him. No barking dogs, no blaring sirens, just the odd sounds of the forest at night. He desperately needs to pee now, and he tries to hold it in as long as possible, but then he can't, and he doesn't think he's ever noticed how much pee can stink before. Something rustles on the other side of his hole, and he holds his breath, visions of child-eating tree monsters drawn in by the scent of boy-urine dancing before his eyes. Then something brushes his hand, and he shrieks, yanking it away, heart pounding violently even as the mouse - a mouse! - squeaks and scurries away. John feels a little ashamed at that; his father would probably tell him not to act like a girl. But it's dark, and he's alone and hungry and miserable, so he figures that even the General's Only Son is allowed a little fear.
He curls up as tightly as he can, cheek resting on his arm, shivering a little, because while it's not exactly cold, it's clammy, and it takes him a while before exhaustion draws him into sleep. The sun is up when he awakes, and now they have to be looking for him, so he shouts again, his voice hoarse and raspy in his throat, making him cough. He's really hungry, but what's worse is the thirst he's feeling, like he could kill for a glass of water. Or rather something warm, and maybe Mom will make him a hot cocoa when he finally gets home.
The thought is enough to carry him over for a little while, but time passes, and even though John doesn't have a watch he can tell it's been hours since he woke up, and still all he can hear are leaves rustling, birds twittering, and little animals rustling through the underbrush. And then finally, after the sun has taken on the golden colour of late afternoon, there are voices, footsteps, and he jumps up, crying out from the forgotten pain in his ankle, shouting, begging for help in a voice that's not quite his, and there are more shouts from above, answering him, and then a boy about his age peers into the hole from above and shouts, "Hey, are you okay?"
It's about the stupidest question John's ever heard, and he nods and shakes his head and suddenly feels exhausted from relief, his knees buckling even as the boy tells him to "Hang on!" and orders, "Jeannie! Go get help!".
The boy keeps talking the whole time they wait for a rescue, strange Canadian accent washing over John, lulling him into sleep and following him into darkness.
~~~
John is seventeen and not doing too bad since his mum divorced his father. She's working very hard, but his grades are good and soon he'll be able support her. He doesn't like the military much, but he thinks flying would be cool, plus the Air Force pays good money. A few more years, and he'll earn enough so she will never have to work again, because what does a pilot spend his money on when he's stationed on the other side of the world? And that alone is more than enough reason to try for Air Force Academy once he's done here. Even without a very soldierly attitude, General Dad's name should get him in.
Right now though, he has a football game to win, and win it they do, with a lot of yelling and sweating and laughing and everything that makes this sport the best invention since peanut butter and chocolate. The girls are cheering, and judging by the group in husky t-shirts on the bender it seems that somebody has invited their brothers or sisters from the nearby Northeastern, who in turn have brought a few friends. It makes things all the more interesting, and he puts up as good a performance as he can, knowing that his chances of getting laid tonight have just risen dramatically.
It's a blonde he hooks up with, going by the unspectacular name of Tina, and he makes sure to sit beside her when they all go out to have a drink, charming her with his smile and that particular inflection in his voice he learned in California. It makes him almost exotic around here, and he can tell that she likes it, and yes, tonight promises to be very spectacular judging by the way her lips stretch around that beer bottle, but then the world tilts on its axis and Tina gets thrown off the surface.
Canadian. One of the students, a slim blond guy who hasn't said all that much since they've started drinking; he's talking now, fast-paced and doing strange things to his vowels, stringing his words together until they're almost indistinguishable. It's a comfort sound for John, has been for years, and he's aching for it when the guy stops talking. And yes, he might be staring a little, which in turn might go over entirely the wrong way, but then Canadian Student meets his gaze and all he sees in those blue eyes are amused curiosity and interest. It's stupid, John thinks, he isn't into stuff like that, except he discovers that he would do practically anything to get that guy talking again, and preferably never stop. It shocks him a little.
He manages to get them into an awkward conversation about football, which Rodney - "And it's just two syllables, you don't have to shorten anything." - isn't all that impressed with, but they were planning to go out in any case and it's never wrong to pick up some cheerleaders on the way. John wonders if he should point out that football is one of the cornerstones of Western civilisation, but then they both start happily dissing the Red Sox, and he decides to let it slide. Tina first pouts and then slips away, but by that time, John hardly notices her anymore. Rodney is studying applied physics and engineering, and he's really smart and witty and thrills John with an easy sarcasm that sounds mean but is really just kind of funny. And yes, he knows where this is heading, and he still plans on moving to Colorado Springs some time next year, which makes it even more stupid that he doesn't mind this as much as he should, and then it's too late and they're in Rodney's room back at the dorm, and oh.
It's not the way Rodney's pressing against him that turns John on, or the fact that holding another guy's cock in his hand isn't all that strange as much as it's hot. They are both naked and sweaty and panting and it's unfamiliar, scarily so, but Rodney is talking, babbling really, and that's what makes this okay, makes it comfortable and easy, so when they both start rubbing against each other and splash their come over their respective bellies, John doesn't freak, he just feels strangely at home. Tired and sated and okay, a little weirded out, so he asks Rodney what the hell is wrong with football, and falls asleep to a passionate lecture about the supremacy of intellectual pursuit over brute force, dreaming about trees and roots and the smell of damp leaves.
~~~
It's actually his thirty-seventh birthday when he flies some general out of McMurdo and almost gets killed by what looks like a brightly yellow SAM. He's been living in Antarctica for eleven months, so it's been a while since he's had to avoid anything like that. His skills are a bit rusty, but then reflex kicks in and he's flying his chopper without even thinking about it, ignoring the general's suggestions of left or right and just following his instincts. He's giddy with relief when they survive, and it carries him right to the point where he sits down in something that shouldn't react just to his presence but does, and then there's shouting and running and he's this close to snapping when, God… Canadian.
It's an automatic impulse to relax at the sound of that voice, even though he doesn't know the guy who's doing the talking from Adam, so instead of the blind panic he still feels pulling at him from the bottom of his gut, he betrays only a little trepidation when he asks, "Did I do that?"
He did, and he's doing a lot more over the next few days, stuck in a lab and turning things on with his mind under the brash guidance of Dr. McKay, who is rude and arrogant and far too smart for his own good, but also Canadian, and in John's book that's enough to like that guy. McKay likes to hear himself talking, too, and so John spends a week happily listening to snide remarks about other people's intelligence or rather the lack thereof and pretending he's just amused before he learns that the man's first name is Rodney.
"Rod?" he tries, suddenly suspicious, and sure enough: "What the hell is it with you Americans and having to supply everyone with a nickname? It's just two syllables, for God's sake!"
"It's you," John says incredulously, heart pounding in his chest through a strange mixture of anxiety and pleasure, because who would forget their one and only sexual encounter with someone of their own gender; and what a coincidence that they should meet like this, almost twenty years later.
"What's me?" McKay wants to know, staring at him with irritated impatience.
"You. Northeastern, some twenty years ago. You went to a football game to pick up a cheerleader and ended up in bed with a wide receiver."
He doesn't know what kind of a reaction he was expecting, but it sure as hell wasn't the one he gets. Rodney pales, nearly stumbling over his own feet as he backs out of his lab, leaving John with the sound of his footsteps and the question of what the hell he said.
He's scheduled to leave the next day, going home for a few weeks while the guys in Colorado Springs put their expedition together. Home these days is San Francisco, where his mother chose to be buried, and he spends his time running around the city and staring across the Bay, trying to map everything in his mind so he won't forget. He doesn't see Rodney again until his very last day of leave, when the other man appears at his door, fidgeting and nervous as hell, but with a determined set of his mouth.
"McKay," John says, leaning against the doorjamb. He doesn't quite see why he should make this easy.
"Yes, yes, hello Major, nice to see you, can I come in?" All those words mashed together in that fast-paced talk, and John almost goes soft just hearing it, but, "No."
He has to bite the insides of his cheeks to keep from grinning when Rodney huffs and offers, "Fine, be that way. Do you want to come out, then?"
They end up walking across a small fair, with Rodney eating almost everything in sight like it was his last day on Earth. Which, come to think about it, it pretty much was.
"About that day, back in the outpost - I'm sorry I freaked out on you like that. It's just, I never thought I'd be seeing you again, and you have to admit, suddenly remembering what a guy looks like naked can really-"
"Shut up, McKay," John hisses, hyperaware of the curious gazes from those around him, and he yanks Rodney over to a Ferris Wheel. He's never liked the stupid things, but they need the privacy, and damn it, he should just have invited Rodney in when the man had asked him to.
Rodney complains about his claustrophobia the whole way up and a significant part of the way down, until John shuts him up by asking what the hell he came to Frisco for.
"You do realise that this is a nickname the local population… okay, yes, see, I just wanted to say that, while I am flattered that you remembered me, it's not all that, um. I mean, you're military, and we're about to go to, uh, another galaxy, and who knows what will happen there, I mean-"
"Jesus, Rodney," John interrupts the babbling, ignoring how the sound of Rodney's voice alone has made him half hard. "I just said it was you, not that I wanted to jump your bones."
"Oh." It's a real satisfaction to see Rodney blush a little. "Well, um. I guess I was, uh, possibly assuming quite a bit there."
"Possibly." Although not really.
"So, um. To a good working relationship?"
Rodney's hand is warm and a little sweaty in his, and John notices how close they're really sitting together when the Ferris Wheel stops and their cabin jolts a little, throwing them together. John stays upright by supporting himself with his hand on Rodney's thigh, and wow, those eyes are really blue, and then they're kissing in a tiny gondola with a spectacular view over half of San Francisco, and maybe Ferris Wheels are not too bad after all.
~~~
John is thirty-nine when he finally catches a clue. There is a very good chance he's just lost Rodney to the Wraith, and the thought of never seeing him again is enough to make John queasy. This is entirely the wrong kind of scare, so he prays to every God he's never believed in, gets into an F-302 and after a bit of shooting and evading and just damn brilliant flying if he might say so himself, he's the only human on a Hive Ship turned against them, simply because you don't leave your people behind, especially not the ones that count. Besides, they've only ever gotten around to having something resembling sex twice, the most recent occasion almost two years in the past, and in hindsight, that hardly seems fair.
He finds Ronon and Rodney inside stringy, wet cocoons that appear strangely organic; both are looking very dead, and for a second, he is convinced that his heart has stopped. Then Ronon growls, "Sheppard," and Rodney snaps awake with a start, and all it takes is a quip about a damsel in distress to get that painfully grateful look out of Rodney's eyes. And if they're blinking an awful lot, it's just because the air inside the Hive Ship is so damn dry.
Rodney says he should just have stayed with the Canadian Space Agency when Davidson had offered him a job, and screw other governments paying the bigger bucks, but while he's still complaining they pull off their craziest mission ever, destroying two Hive Ships with three people and a whole lot of sheer dumb luck, and the best part: they're getting away with it. It's insane and very probably bringing Rodney even closer to an untimely demise by overexposure to adrenaline, but John laughs and Ronon grins and when they get home everyone's so damn happy to see them that they're having the biggest impromptu party ever.
Then it's late, they're buzzed but not drunk, and Rodney keeps staring at him, and John a) has never bought Rodney's speech about military rules anyway and b) really does want to jump his bones. He drags Rodney away and is fully prepared to convince him that life is just too short to waste their chances or something equally deep, but Rodney surprises him by locking his mouth to John's ear as soon as the door to John's quarter closes behind them, nibbling and sucking and whispering "oh God, your face, I thought we were going to die, and then you-", over and over again. It's a little disturbing, except there's a tongue and lips and teeth making their way down his neck and to his throat, so instead of the reassurances he should probably give all John finds is a wordless moan.
Sex with Rodney is even hotter than he remembered, especially when those crooked lips are sliding up and down his cock and that quick tongue is doing things to him that are probably forbidden in at least half a dozen countries back on Earth. It's quick and it's dirty, and after he comes he takes his time with Rodney, just because, teases him until he's begging, and then jerks him off fast and hard.
There's a little awkward moment when neither of them knows what to say, and then Rodney huffs in that insufferable way he has, tucks himself under John's blanket and regards him with a challenging look. Never one to back down, John slides in next to him, and of course the bed is too small for two grown men and they have to twist and turn and tangle their limbs together, and when they finally find a halfway comfortable position, they're both laughing so hard that every trace of embarrassment just disappears.
And yes, it's still late, and it's kind of been a busy day, so John snuggles up to Rodney in a completely unmanly way, totally unashamed, and yawns. They both really need to sleep, but there's something John needs to tell Rodney, has wanted to tell him for quite some time now.
"I lived in Canada once, when I was nine or ten or so," he says, playing it cool. It's not like he's revealing the source of a fetish or something.
"Yeah?" Rodney's voice sounds tired but interested, and John smiles a little as he answers.
"Yeah. I fell down a hole, and…"
~~~
End.