TEAM HOME: Red letter day, "See You When I Get There"
Title: See You When I Get There
Author: lilac_way
Team: Home
Prompt: Red letter day
Pairing(s): McKay/Sheppard
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: none given
Summary: Rodney McKay was in a pretty good mood. He'd been able to replace his ruined backpack, he had a new Prada jacket, and he'd gotten a seat on the El. If the AP physics class was less stupid than usual and he got a chance to talk to John, it'd be a red letter day.
Note: Beta thanks to smittywing and raisintorte.
Once you've read the story, please take a moment to vote in the poll below. Ratings go from 1 (low) to 9 (high), so all you need to do is enter a single number in that range into each text entry box. You'll be able to see the Prompt and Team (Genre) information in the header above.
More details about the voting procedure can be found here.
**
Thursday, June 16, 1988
Rodney hefted the strap of his backpack over one shoulder and pushed his way through the hordes of teenagers clogging the hallway of the Latin School. "Coming THROUGH!" he barked. He heard a chorus of voices apologizing and then a few sighs. He stiffened his spine and refused to look around. Granted, the summer school session he was teaching was at least AP Physics, but he didn't even like teaching undergrads - high school kids, no matter how smart, were nearly intolerable. He'd overheard a few of the girls talking about him in the hallway. They seemed to be enthralled by his eyelashes. He couldn't think of anything he needed LESS at this time than jailbait girls flocking to his office hours to drop pencils on his floor and ask inane questions.
Rodney cast an eye over his reflection in the trophy case before he rounded the corner. He looked... well, the same as he always did. He ran his fingers through his hair to smooth out the curls a bit and tried to adjust the backpack so it looked a little more suave. He put a hand in his front pocket in an effort to look relaxed and ambled into the lobby. The new security guard-slash- hall monitor, John Patricks, was brutally hot.
John pushed the log book over and handed him a pen. "Leaving your fan club, McKay?" he asked with a grin. John was about Rodney's age and seemed moderately intelligent, for a hall monitor. He had green eyes and a fall of dark hair over his forehead. Sometimes he fanned his hand through it, leaving Rodney short of breath. Rodney couldn't imagine he was anything but lamentably straight.
"Don't remind me." Rodney rolled his eyes. "It's painful to see that much sparkly lip gloss first thing in the morning. And the Aquanet fumes coming from the bathrooms will kill us all." He signed out and flipped the book back to John. "Besides, you have just as many groupies - girls and boys." He let the end of that sentence linger, watching John's reaction to see if there was even a chance he might be inclined.
"The gossip columns report that utilities mogul Patrick Sheppard is back in town with his two wayward sons, though no one has seen hide nor hair of the older one."
"I don't get that, Garry. If my family had that kind of money, I'd be flashing it all over the place."
John turned away and flicked the radio off.
"Hey. You got something against Steve Dahl?"
"Nah. I'm just ready to go. If you hang on a sec, I'll walk out with you."
"Sure." Rodney put his backpack down on the edge of John's security desk and rifled through some papers while John got his things together. He didn't really have anything he needed to look at, but he made himself look busy so he didn't stand there grinning stupidly at John.
John pushed his dark hair out of his eyes and put a pair of aviator sunglasses on. "Ready?"
They walked out onto Clark Street and stood in front of the school for a moment. "You live in the city?" John asked him.
"No. I'm up in Evanston. Most of my classes are up there."
"Northwestern, right?"
"Yeah. Post grad work in physics." Rodney looked at John curiously. "Are you done with school?"
"Graduated last year from Stanford," he said uncomfortably. Rodney felt a little thrill. John was smart! Hot AND smart!
John looked down at his watch and made a face. "Crap. I got to run." He smiled at Rodney. "See you tomorrow?"
"Sure. Bright and early." Rodney watched as John spun on his heel and headed south on Clark.
Rodney headed east. He should probably hop the El and go north to Evanston; see if he could make another stab at untangling his funding situation. He was sure the Bursar's office at Northwestern was sick of the sight of him. He'd been haunting the place since his funding got fouled up in May. Summer quarter started this week and he should be alone in his lab, blissfully free of students, dedicating all his time to glorious research. Instead, he was teaching high schoolers and suffering from unrequited lust of gorgeous hall-monitors.
He heard shouting coming from one of the windows above him and stopped to look up. From the tone, it sounded like one of those fights he used to have with his parents. The building was white stone and had windows with fancy little grilles covering their bottom halves. He wondered why people would have that much money and still be having the same fights as the rest of the world. Thinking about his parents bummed him out. The shouting over head got louder.
"No concept of money! To spend this much on a jacket!"
Rodney looked up at the open window again and shook his head. He'd just head back to his apartment and mope for a while. The shouting got closer.
"Why I'm stuck with you idiot boys, I don't know. Your brother is doing god knows what with his life, and you! You spend money like I'm printing it in the basement." There was a pause in the shouting.
"No, I'm NOT done yelling. You want your jacket? Go get it!"
Rodney heard a swooshing noise above him and looked up in time to have something heavy and leathery smelling land right on his face. He stumbled and fell to the sidewalk, backpack flying off his shoulder and into the street. He groped his way free of the jacket on his head just in time to see a UPS truck running over his bag and scattering papers everywhere. He darted out into the street and gathered everything up, crumpled papers, his calculator, a Little Debbie Nutty Bar. He stomped back to the sidewalk and looked up at the window with rage in his heart. Rodney stuck the jacket under his arm and headed for the front entrance of the building.
Rodney spluttered at the doorman for a moment, alternately shaking the leather jacket and the ruined backpack. The doorman looked at him in utter confusion. He took a deep breath to explain what happened when the elevator opened and spat out an anxious looking guy his own age and an older man. The young guy headed straight to Rodney and grabbed the jacket from him.
"Thanks for bringing this back! It's brand new."
Rodney looked at him incredulously. "Someone threw that thing on my head!" He brandished his ruined bag. "You may have the cash to throw leather out the window, but I don't. My backpack is toast."
The older guy butted in. "I'm sorry I hit you. I had hoped the jacket would end up under the UPS truck." He took the jacket out of the younger guy's hands. "I'm sure my son David would be happy to offer you his new Prada jacket to apologize."
"Not really," said David.
"Yeah, that's great. But what the hell am I going to do with a leather jacket in Chicago in June? I'm a grad student. I need a bag."
David's dad drew his wallet and pulled out some bills. He tucked them into the inside pocket of the jacket and handed the whole thing over to Rodney. "This should buy you whatever you need." He turned to his son "Right, David?"
"Yes." The kid looked like he was getting ready for a major sulk as the dad pushed him across the lobby and into the elevator.
Rodney stood there, clutching his new jacket and his old bag. He looked at the doorman, who'd been a silent witness to the whole weird scene. "What the hell was that?"
The doorman shrugged. "Rich people."
Friday, June 17, 1988
Rodney headed to the Latin School in a pretty good mood. He'd been able to replace his bag, he had a new Prada jacket, and he'd gotten a seat on the El. If the AP class was less stupid than usual and he got a chance to talk to John, it'd be a red letter day.
He swung through the doors of the school, ready to shove physics into the tiny part of adolescent brains not occupied by thoughts of sex and/or food. After he accomplished that, he'd head up to Northwestern and get his funding straightened out. He really was in one of his mountain-climbing, skyscraper-scaling moods today.
"Mr. McKay!" The school principal hurried out from his office.
Rodney stopped, a thin veneer of "polite" covering "vast impatience."
"You needn't bother to go to class. Your employment is terminated as of this morning" Dr. Kallas looked at him with ill-concealed dislike. "We can't have people with questionable morals teaching our young people."
"Excuse me?" Rodney narrowed his eyes. Had Dr. Kallas been dropped on his head? "What the hell are you talking about?"
Dr. Kallas pulled a folded copy of the Sun-Times from under his arm and opened to Kup's Column. He pointed to a grainy picture of that guy from yesterday handing a roll of bills to Rodney. The caption read "Utilities mogul gives money to boy-toy."
Rodney spluttered. "That's a gross misrepresentation! What actually happened was..."
"I don't care what you say happened. The Latin School has concerned parents to answer to, and this is not appropriate behavior for a Latin School teacher."
"So you're not even going to let me explain?"
Dr. Kallas looked Rodney up and down, taking in his blond hair and the small silver stud in his earlobe. "I don't think there's a need, no."
"Hey, Rodney. What's going on?" John sidled up next to him.
"I'm being fired for immorality." Rodney crossed his arms across his chest and glared at the principal.
John laughed, a truly awful sound. Rodney took a moment to wonder how someone so good looking could bray so horribly.
"You've got to be kidding me." John shut up as he caught sight of the newspaper. Rodney could see a muscle jumping in his jaw. "That's total garbage," he said, pointing at the picture. He looked up at Dr. Kallas. "You're an idiot if you believe that."
Dr. Kallas narrowed his eyes at John. "You may pack your things and leave with McKay."
Rodney had a bewildering few minutes of listening to John argue with Dr. Kallas, then he felt John leading him out of the school building by the elbow. They walked a block south on Clark Street in silence. Rodney stopped in the middle of the next block and turned to John. "What the hell just happened?"
"You were fired for being a boy-toy," John said matter-of-factly. "It must have been the eyelashes."
Rodney bristled and geared up for a good rant. Then he saw the smile lurking in the corner of John's mouth and deflated. "This is the stupidest thing that's ever happened. He's not even a real PhD."
"They don't offer advanced degrees in Principalship?" John hooked a friendly arm around Rodney's shoulders and started them walking again. "D'you want to get breakfast? We can go dutch, since we're both unemployed."
"My treat. I'll use my ill-gotten gains."
John stopped them again. "So the story's true?"
"Yeah, I make a habit of sleeping with random rich men when I'm not busy revolutionizing the study of physics." Rodney rolled his eyes at John. "I was walking down North Avenue and heard an argument coming out of a window. Next thing I knew, there was some Prada jacket on my head. I went to complain and the guy gave me the jacket and the money."
"Prada, huh?"
"That's what the guy said."
"Figures," John snorted.
"So, breakfast? Economic hardship makes me hungry."
"What do you think? Mitchell's, or the Original Pancake House?"
"Mitchell's. It's closer."
They turned back the way they came and headed for the coffee shop. John stopped to play with a dog leashed outside a drug store. Rodney looked on with horrified fascination. "You don't even know whose dog that IS and you're putting your hands all over it?"
John looked up through the fall of his hair and gave a grin that made Rodney's stomach lurch. "It's a dog, McKay, not an open wound." He gave the dog a final head rub and resumed walking. "Besides, in this neighborhood? The dog is probably worth more than either of us."
"I'll have you know that I will someday win the Nobel Prize." Rodney smiled at John. "I'll be worth way more than that dog."
The hostess at Mitchell's seated them and a busboy came and poured coffee. John waved his hands at Rodney. "I'll just go wash the dog diseases off my hands."
"You do that. Be sure to scrub your hands for the length of time it takes you to sing the alphabet song."
John grinned at him and headed for the men's room. As soon as he disappeared from view, an older man with pockmarked skin and slicked back hair slid silently into the booth opposite Rodney. "That seat's taken." Rodney said to the man.
"I'll only take a minute of your time, Rodney McKay. I'll be gone before your friend gets back." The man extended his hand across the table. "Acastus Kolya."
Rodney hesitated, then shook the proffered hand. "How do you know my name, and what do you want from me?" He felt his mouth thin out, as it did when he was irritated. "You're not from the CIA, are you? I told you guys I don't want to work for you."
Kolya laughed unpleasantly. "Definitely not the CIA, McKay." He folded his arms over his chest. "I see you had some trouble with Patrick Sheppard and his son."
"Well, if by trouble, you mean defamed and fired." Rodney shook his head "I don't know the man. He dropped a jacket on my head and now I'm a boy toy unfit to teach children."
"And your friend?" Kolya inclined his head in the direction of the restroom.
"John? He got canned for sticking up for me."
"John..." Kolya paused, waiting for Rodney to fill in with the last name.
"John Patricks." Rodney hesitated. "Why do you care about either of us?"
"Patricks, right." Kolya chuckled and shook his head. "I'm employed by a... utilities commission. We're investigating Mr. Sheppard's business dealings."
"And this involves me, how?"
"We'd like to ask you a few simple questions regarding your encounter with Mr. Sheppard." Kolya placed an envelope on the table. "In return, we'll put you up at a luxury hotel for the weekend, send you out to have some fun, and give you a little spending money." He pushed the white envelope toward Rodney. "Feel free to invite your friend. Though I must advise you this investigation is confidential." Kolya's eyes hardened. "I would take it badly if you were to share this conversation with anyone."
Rodney glanced nervously back to the restroom. John was weaving his way back through the crowded restaurant floor, dodging tables and busboys. He turned back to ask Kolya a question. The other side of the booth was empty. Rodney craned his head, but the creepy guy was nowhere in sight. He looked down at the table and found the envelope Kolya had displayed was under his hand. He rifled though it quickly and stuck the whole thing in his backpack. Mostly money, but there was a set of tickets for the 1:20 Cubs game at Wrigley.
John slid back into the booth. "You never know how long the alphabet song is until you're trying to soap your hands through the whole thing."
"Hey, that Sheppard guy gave me a wad of cash when he dropped the coat on me. Want to have some fun with it?"
"You got Dave's new jacket and cash?" John stretched an arm along the back of the booth, displaying tanned skin and muscles. Rodney was transfixed for a moment. "You sure you're not a gigolo?" John waggled his eyebrows.
Rodney snorted. "Please. Rich people don't give grad students the time of day." He opened his menu. "Let's eat. We've got things to do today. First up, baseball."
--
By 11:30, John was leading Rodney into the beer garden at Bernie's, on the corner of Clark and Waveland. He sat them at a table with an umbrella and gestured to a cute blonde waitress in a denim mini skirt and a tight white t-shirt. Rodney looked on with ill-concealed fury as the tanned, long-legged harpy sat down next to John and assaulted him with her fluttery lashes and glossy pink mouth. She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear in a move Rodney knew was designed to draw attention to the smooth expanse of her neck.
"Hey John," she all but cooed.
John slouched in his chair, which Rodney thought must be hard to do in any comfort, as they were white plastic lawn chairs. "Hey Kristi." He gestured at Rodney. "This is my friend Rodney. We both got fired this morning so we need some beers."
Kristi turned her head and looked at Rodney. Surprisingly, she gave him a hair tuck and a flutter of lashes. "Poor guys! I'll get you a couple of Buds on the house." She hopped up and headed for the bar.
"She seems to like you," Rodney said to John.
"I thought she was into YOU," John responded.
"You date her?" Rodney didn't really want to know, but some perverse imp pushed him to ask. Better to wallow in the disappointment when the beer was flowing.
"Kristi?" John looked at him in surprise. "Nah. She's really not my type." John pushed his hair off his slightly sweaty forehead. "I used to bounce at a bar on Sheffield and she waitressed there." He gave a snort of laughter. "I helped her tie a mattress to the top of her car once."
"You helped her move a mattress and then didn't get a thank you?" Rodney raised his eyebrows lasciviously.
"She and her boyfriend bought me pizza. It was all good."
Kristi returned with the beer foamy and overflowing the plastic cups. "Here you go," she said, setting them down. "Do you two want any lunch?"
John smirked at her. "How about a greasy pork chop sandwich in a dirty ash tray?"
Kristi glared at him and swiftly swatted him on the head with her order pad. John rubbed his head with a great wounded expression. "We're fine. We'll get hot dogs at the park."
Rodney took a sip of his beer and licked the foam off his lip. He looked up to see John eyeing him with a strange expression. "I didn't take you for a Weird Science fan."
"Kristi has some guy who orders that every time he comes in here. She says some day she'll bring the sandwich out in an ashtray and see what he says."
Rodney nodded, then decided to change the subject. "So you've been a bouncer and a hall monitor."
"Security officer," John corrected.
"Bouncer and hall monitor," Rodney continued. "Are these your real jobs, or what?"
John took a swallow of beer and set the cup down, tracing the ring of condensation where it had been before. "I'm kind of at a crossroads. My dad doesn't like what I want to do, so I'm deciding if I want to do what he wants, or strike out on my own."
"Huh." Rodney looked up at the blue and white striped awning over the bar. "My parents have had little or no interest in anything I've done for a while now. I can't even imagine having to take their feelings into account while making decisions."
"My mom died a few years ago, so it's just my dad." John took another swallow. "He's got my life all planned out for me and doesn't understand why I don't want it."
"Which do you think is worse? When they don't care at all, or care too much?" They both lapsed into a depressed silence, a mood completely unworthy of a June day and the prospect of a Cubs game.
Kristi came back (thankfully) breaking the mood. "Can I get you two anything else?"
Rodney smiled at her. "Just the check."
"On the house!" she chirped.
Rodney fished some money out of his stash and slipped a few bills into her apron. She tweaked the edge of one of his humidity-induced curls. "Thanks! Come back with John anytime."
John and Rodney strolled across the street to the ballpark. Rodney stopped and bought a bag of peanuts from a vendor. "Cheaper here than inside the park." They went to the gate and got their tickets torn, blinking as their eyes adjusted to the dimness of the concourse after the bright sun outside.
John looked at his ticket. "Whoa. Good seats!"
"Are they?" Rodney asked. I got them from a friend."
"Must be some friend. These seats are like second row from the field at the end of the home dugout." John scanned the signs. He put his hand under Rodney's elbow and steered him to one of the stairways. "I think we're over here."
Rodney gave himself a mental shake over the thrill of hope he felt when John's hand lingered on his arm. Had John let his fingers trail over Rodney's triceps, or was that the ultimate in wishful thinking? Rodney concentrated really hard on not tripping as he followed John's khaki-covered ass up the steps. They rose out of the cement stairway into the glorious sunlight shining on Wrigley Field. The grass of the outfield glowed like a jewel and the ivy on the back wall rustled in the slight breeze. John turned left and made his way through a sea of people in Cubby blue. He handed their tickets to an usher with grizzled hair. She studied them closely then cast a gimlet eye at the two boys. "Down there!" she barked with a jerk of her head.
Rodney settled into his seat and surveyed the field. "You weren't kidding. There are awesome seats!" He looked at the scoreboard. "Hey! They're playing the Montreal Expos! I'm a having a rooting dilemma!"
"Tell you what." John bumped shoulders with Rodney. "If the Cubs win, I pick where we go for dinner. If the Expos win, you pick."
"Deal." Rodney screwed up his courage and bumped back.
John waved over the beer vendor and got them two more Buds. Rodney hailed the hot dog vendor and got them each two dogs. Their seats were on the third base line so they were in the shade. They watched Rick Sutcliffe warm up and waited for the game to start.
A couple three beers later Harry Caray got them all standing for the 7th inning stretch. John and Rodney turned toward the announcer's booth and watched Harry hang out the window "Ah-ONE, Ah-TWO, Ah-THREE!" The crowd sang along with Harry. Rodney couldn't decide if John was standing so close to him on purpose, or if it was beer related. "It's root, root, root for the CUB-BIES!" John sang along in an endearing off-key voice.
The rest of the game passed in a blur of beer and peanut shells. Rodney didn't feel really drunk, just pleasantly loose and happy. He was suffused with love for the whole city, even Dr. Kallas. After all, if Kallas hadn't fired Rodney and John, Rodney's fingers wouldn't now be brushing John's as they both reached into the bag of peanuts balanced on John's thigh. The Cubs won and John gloated a bit over getting to choose where to go to dinner. The guys were borne on a sea of happy fans out of the park and into the carnival of post-game Addison Street.
Rodney took charge. "Let's get on the El and head downtown."
John looked at him, bemused. "Why downtown?"
"I've got a room at the Drake for the weekend."
John raised an eyebrow at him. "Are you sure you're not a gigolo? The Drake is expensive."
"Guilt money. It's a useful thing." Rodney pushed through the crowds and started up the stairs to the El platform.
"Shouldn't you be saving? Since you got fired and all?" John asked from behind him.
"Nah. I'll find something up in Evanston to tide me over until my funding problems are sorted out." They reached the platform just as the southbound train was pulling up. Rodney locked his fingers around John's wrist and dragged him onto the car. It was packed and they ended up standing by the doors. Rodney dropped John's wrist and stuck his hands nervously in his pocket. He noticed John touch the knobby bone where Rodney's hand had just rested, just a finger, circling the spot. Rodney looked shrewdly at John and was gratified when John ducked his head and a faint blush colored his cheeks. Ah, Rodney thought, ah.
The train rattled and rocked and didn't stop again until North and Clybourn. More people got on the already crowded train, pushing and shoving into the car. Rodney was pushed up against John. He stared at John's pointy ear, fascinated. John stared determinedly out the window. The train moved from the elevated tracks to underground, plunging them into darkness for just a moment until the lights flickered on. When they did, Rodney found John staring at him boldly, earlier shyness gone.
They got off a Chicago Avenue and climbed the stairs to street level. Rodney broke the silence. "So where are we going for dinner?"
"It's a surprise." John waggled his eyebrows at Rodney.
"You don't even have any ideas, do you?" Rodney scoffed at him.
"I know exactly where we're going. I just have to call and make a reservation." John slipped his hands in his pockets, smug.
Rodney looked at the two of them: khaki shorts and rumpled polo shirts. "Are we dressed for a place that needs a reservation?"
"Yeah, don't worry about it."
They reached Michigan Avenue and crossed the street with the throngs of tourists. Rodney felt like a tourist, on some kind of vacation from his real life. Or maybe he was starring in some surreal movie where he took time off and had fun. Whichever scenario it was, he liked it.
The lobby of the Drake Hotel was grand and imposing and red and flower-filled. Rodney knew he would stay in hotels like this someday, he just figured it would be a little further along in his career. He felt a sliver of worry about having to get interviewed by that Kolya guy about Patrick Sheppard, but pushed it to the back of his mind. They approached the front desk. The clerk smiled expectantly.
Rodney cleared his throat. "I have reservations. The name is McKay."
The clerk ticky-tacked on her keyboard then smiled brightly at them. "You're in the Lakeview Executive Suite." She motioned to a bellhop. "Edgar will show you to the room. Please call me or the concierge if you need anything at all."
John whistled under his breath at the bellhop led them to the elevator. Rodney gave him an elbow in the ribs -- he was whistling Madonna's "Material Girl". The bellhop led them to a room and opened the door. Rodney stepped cautiously inside and looked around. The drapes were open, showing the lake glittering in the late afternoon sun. The bed was piled high with pristine pillows, the color of the whitecaps on the waves.
"Hey" John said after the bellhop left them alone in the splendor. "I'm going to talk to the Concierge about dinner. Why don't you grab the first shower?"
Just as the door closed on John, the phone rang. Rodney picked it up and uttered a cautious "hello." Who the hell knew to call him here?
"McKay. Acastus Kolya. I hope you are enjoying the accommodations."
Rodney closed his eyes and took a breath. "They're great."
"Enjoy them. Someone will be by to talk to you in a day or so." The line clicked, leaving Rodney holding a silent phone. He had a really bad feeling about all of this stuff with Kolya, but not bad enough to make him tell John what was going on. How bad could things be, he argued with himself. It's not like he KNEW any confidential information about Patrick Sheppard. It would all work out fine. He just needed to keep telling himself that.
Rodney headed into the bathroom and gawked. It was bigger than his living room in Evanston. He turned on the shower and dropped his clothes on the marble floor. He got into the shower and just stood there, letting the water stream over his sweaty skin. He soaped himself leisurely, resolutely NOT thinking about John. He decided there was no way he was going to jerk off to thoughts of John while John could be standing in the next room. No, sir. His dick rose to half-mast the minute John's name entered his head. He glared down at it. "Not this time, friend. I'm in charge."
Rodney finished his shower and fixed his hair with some of the fancy gel he found next to the sink. He strolled out of the bathroom in just his red Snoopy boxers, feeling clean and mellow. He was gratified to see John was both a.) back in the room, and b.) checking Rodney out. Rodney flopped on the bed, face first into the sea of pillows. John stretched out next to him, propped up on an elbow with his head in his hand.
"We're going to dinner at 7, so there's time for a nap."
Rodney grunted. The bed was very comfortable.
"So I'm going to hop in the shower." Rodney turned his head out of the pillow and looked at John. He was very close -- close enough that Rodney could see the little flecks of gold in the green eyes.
"I'll be here. Feel free to not wake me up." Rodney felt John's weight shift off the bed and heard the shower start up. He slipped into sleep and was barely aware when John crawled into the bed, bringing a whiff of the scented soap and shampoo. Rodney's mouth turned up a bit in a smile. John smelled good...
Rodney woke to the sound of the radio. The drapes were still open, but the lake was a deeper blue, drawing color from the twilight sky. He rolled over and looked at John, still asleep on the other pillow. Greatly daring, he reached out and pushed the lock of dark hair from John's forehead. John's eyes opened and he smiled softly.
"Hey," he said, voice scratchy.
"Hey," Rodney said.
They stared at each other for another moment. Then John reached up and cupped the side of Rodney's face with his palm. Rodney turned his face into the hand, and John tugged him forward a bit. Their lips met clumsily, off center. Rodney leaned toward John and adjusted the angle. They shared soft, teasing kisses; their mouths and John's hand on Rodney's cheek the only places they were touching.
"So I take it I wasn't reading the signals wrong?" Rodney murmured.
"Not so much, no." John nipped Rodney's lower lip.
Rodney's stomach growled. Loudly. He could feel the wave of color washing his face.
John laughed. "We should get ready to go for dinner, anyway."
Rodney sighed. His stomach was a both a blessing and a curse.
John had sent their clothes to the valet to be pressed, so they ended up looking mostly respectable. (Rodney had a couple of greasy peanut fingerprints on his shorts and John had a dab of mustard on the hem of his shirt.) He hurried Rodney down the elevator and though the lobby to a waiting cab. When they got into the backseat John put both his hands over Rodney's ears when he told the driver where to go. The driver pulled the car out into the traffic on Michigan Avenue and sped north on Lake Shore Drive. Rodney watched the lake pass on his right. He felt John's hand rest lightly next to his on the backseat of the cab, and with a grin slid his hand over John's and linked their fingers.
The cab driver signaled and took the North Avenue exit. After a couple of blocks, he turned right on Clark Street. Rodney gave John a dry look. "If you're taking me to the Original Pancake House, I'm not impressed."
John rolled his eyes. "Give me some credit for originality." He looked out the window. "Almost there."
The cab pulled up to a place on Armitage. Rodney got out of the cab while John paid the driver. The sign on the restaurant said "Geja's Cafe." John joined him on the sidewalk. "This is the fondue place, right?"
"Yup. Nothing says fun like cooking your own food in boiling oil." John pulled him toward the door.
The restaurant was dim and candlelit. A guy sat on a stool on a small stage, playing flamenco music on his guitar. John gave his name to the hostess, and she led them to a curtain-framed booth. They settled in across the table from each other.
"Do you like shrimp?" John asked him.
"As long as it's not doused with lemon, sure."
When the waiter came back, John ordered the International dinner for two and a bottle of the house white.
"Have you been here before?" John seemed at ease in the restaurant.
"Yeah, with my family. One of the few thing we ever did where no one was fighting the whole evening." John smiled as the waiter set the cheese fondue and the platter of fruit and bread on the table.
"Would you like me to close the curtains?" the waiter asked them.
"Sure," John said. The waiter retreated and pulled the curtains across the booth's entrance.
Rodney speared a hunk of bread and lowered it into the cheese. "Cheese and bread. It's like my regular menu, except more expensive." He popped the piece in his mouth and savored the smooth cheese and the tang of the wine. They were quiet except for the sounds of eating and drinking for a few minutes. The waiter came back, removed the cheese pot and set out the sauces for the meat and vegetables.
"Do you know what these are?" Rodney asked, inspecting the sauces.
John looked at them. "That's curry mayonnaise, the next is tarragon, the red one is something spicy, and I forget what the last one is."
Rodney stuck a fingertip into the last one, then licked his finger. "Tastes like barbecue sauce? He stuck another finger into it and offered it to John. "What do you think?"
John's eyes got a little bigger and Rodney heard a sharp intake of breath. John took the proffered hand and licked the fingertip almost delicately. Rodney felt a tingle run from his finger all the way to his toes.
"Right. Barbecue sauce," John said in a hoarse kind of voice. Rodney was struck with indecision. Should he insist that they go back to the hotel immediately and get it on, or should they keep eating? Two great pleasures, sex and food circled Rodney's brain like a hamster on a wheel. If physics could somehow be worked into the evening, he'd stroke out and die. The waiter solved his dilemma by appearing with the pot of hot oil and the plates of raw meat and vegetables. The waiter gave them a talk about the dangers of eating the cooked meat right off the pointy fondue forks, then closed the curtains and left.
"If he hadn't shown up with the food, I was ready to drag you out of here." John popped a chunk of tenderloin into the oil with a sizzle.
Rodney speared a shrimp. "You and me both."
Boiling oil dampened their ardor and they enjoyed the rest of the meal and bottle of wine in great good humor. They were both slumped in their seats when the waiter returned to make sure they wanted dessert. Rodney felt full, but there was really no way he was going to pass up a pot of melted chocolate.
John dipped a strawberry into the pot and brought it to his lips, eyes on Rodney.
"Too bad we can't find some way to bring the chocolate back to the room," Rodney said conversationally, spearing a marshmallow. John choked on his strawberry and looked wounded. Rodney widened his eyes in his best "who, me?" expression.
John swirled a bit of pound cake in the pot and offered it to Rodney with his fingers. Rodney took it, and as he closed his mouth, John dabbed a bit of chocolate on his bottom lip. Rodney licked it off, managing to catch John's finger. By the time the waiter returned with the check, they were both flushed and glassy eyed. They had a brief tussle with the check, but John finally convinced Rodney to let him pay for half.
They stumbled out of the dimness of the restaurant into the lake breeze on the street. John hailed a cab and they climbed into the backseat.
The cabbie was listening to the news on AM 780.
"In local business news, there are rumors of a hostile takeover of Patrick Sheppard's North Shore Energy by the Genii Corp."
The driver flipped off the radio and pulled out into traffic.
"What do you want to do now?" John kept to his own side of the seat, but spread his legs so his knee was touching Rodney's. He bounced his leg, making the leg hair crinkle. Rodney wanted to take him savagely in the yellow taxi, except he knew Chicago cab drivers: they expected an extra twenty if you even looked like you might puke in the cab. How much would they want to clean up spunk?
"I was going to suggest getting drink at the Signature Lounge at the Hancock Building, but..." Rodney let his hand wander across the seat and rest against John's thigh.
"Yeah, I know." John put a hand on the back of the front seat and leaned forward to talk to the driver. "Just let us out by the Water Tower."
"That's south of the Drake," Rodney objected.
"We could use the walk," John said meaningfully.
The cabbie left them at the crowded corner of Michigan and Pearson. John and Rodney contemplated the Water Tower for moment and unanimously decided the king sized bed at the hotel was probably more interesting than views of the city. They walked at a fast clip up Michigan, contriving to bump shoulders on a regular basis. They crossed Chestnut and started past the garth of Fourth Presbyterian Church. John made a quick left and pulled Rodney behind one of the courtyard pillars. He pushed Rodney gently against the stone and looked at him.
"I've always wanted to kiss someone in this courtyard." John leaned in and kissed him gently, cupping Rodney's face with his hands.
"It's good to have goals," Rodney said when their lips parted.
John grabbed his wrist, as Rodney had done on the El, and towed him out into the street. They caught the walk light at Walton and hurried across Michigan to the Drake. Rodney took the lead in the hotel, striding across the lobby with John at his heels. They got an elevator to themselves and just managed to keep their hands off each other, though John hovered close to Rodney with a goofy grin on his face. Rodney fumbled with the keycard a bit because John was grinding his hips into Rodney's ass, but finally the door opened and they fell over the threshold together.
John took Rodney's face in his hands again and kissed him, not soft and teasing like he had done before, but desperately, hungrily. It was all Rodney could do to keep up with him. Rodney worked his hands between them and started to push John's shirt over his head. John backed away and stripped himself of shirt, shorts and boxers in a few economical movements, eyes never leaving Rodney's. Rodney took a deep breath and stripped, then drew John back to him. The shock of skin on skin, their hard chests pressing together made it difficult to breathe. He felt like he was drowning, but in a good way.
John maneuvered them to the foot of the bed, but before he could push Rodney down, Rodney turned them and pushed John. He savored the sight of John laid out, all tanned skin and dark hair against the white bedding, and reflected sadly for a moment that they hadn't found some way to smuggle the chocolate fondue out of Geja's.
"Stop thinking about the chocolate and get over here," John ordered. Rodney crawled up over John from the foot of the bed until he was kneeling over him.
"Hi."
"Hi yourself." John tugged on his elbow. "Get down here." Rodney dropped to the bed and they kissed, limbs winding around each other, dicks pushed together between their bellies. Rodney let his hands wander over the planes of John's back and down to his ass, resting his fingers on the crease between cheek and thigh. John let out a breathy moan and moved both hands to cover Rodney's ass.
Rodney broke their kiss. "What do you like?"
"Your ass. I've been staring at it all day." John squeezed the object in question for emphasis.
Rodney rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean." He nipped a string of biting kisses along John' jaw.
"I like most things." John hesitated. "I haven't been with that many guys."
"Me neither. I guess we'll just see where things go." Rodney raised his eyebrows nearly to his hairline when he said "things" and "go."
John cuffed him affectionately on the back of the head then started a string of slow kisses down Rodney's neck. Rodney shivered when John's mouth grazed the point where his neck and shoulder met, so John spent a little more time there. Rodney felt the goosebumps rise on his skin and he ground his dick helplessly against John's. John traveled south, taking a moment to suck on each nipple, hand traveling in slow circles over Rodney's hip. John reached his belly button and blew a raspberry in it, stopping Rodney's exclamation of annoyance by tracing the trail of hair leading from his belly with his tongue.
Rodney gulped air and tired not to search for John's mouth with his dick. "I will NOT last long."
John laid his head on Rodney's thigh and looked up the length of his body. "Well, it's not like we can only do this once." He leaned forward and licked a stripe from Rodney's balls to the tip of his dick, then swirled his tongue around the head.
"Oh my God. You have no idea what that feels like," he groaned.
John sucked the head of Rodney's dick into his mouth then let it go. "I'm hoping I'll get an idea, later."
"Anything. Just keep doing that."
John took Rodney back into his mouth and ran light fingers over his balls. He traced each one, then let the fingers travel backwards. Rodney concentrated on two things: not shoving his dick down John's throat and choking him, and not going completely insane with the sensations John was causing. He started reciting the times tables in his head. Normally he would have calculated something more advanced, but the lack of blood flow to his brain made anything more than simple multiplication too complex. John began to get going, sucking as much of Rodney's dick into his mouth as he could manage, using his hand on the rest. He got into a good rhythm and Rodney gave it up. John pulled off and finished him with a hand, letting the come fall on his stomach.
Rodney lay there and concentrated on breathing. In, out. In, out. "Your mouth," he said weakly. John's lips were red and puffy. John kissed him hotly, then wrapped his arms around Rodney and started to grind against him. "No, let me," Rodney said.
"Won't last that long," John choked out, then tensed against Rodney and came. Rodney rubbed his back and nibbled on an earlobe. John shivered.
They stayed wrapped up together for a moment, trading slow kisses, then Rodney slid out of bed to get a washcloth from the bathroom. He tossed a second cloth to John and stood at the foot of the bed, lazily rubbing at his stomach. He spied something near the window, and on closer inspection it roved to be a bottle of champagne on ice and two glasses. There was a small card, it read, "Have a nice evening. A.K." Rodney shivered, and not in a good way. This thing with Kolya was getting more and more creepy.
He turned back to John. "Want a glass of champagne?"
"Okay." He smirked. "You sure know how to show a guy a good time, McKay."
Rodney popped the cork without injuring anyone and poured two glasses. He climbed back into the giant bed and handed one to John. They snuggled into the nest of bedclothes. Neither of them had made is more than halfway through the glass when they both started yawning and turned out the lights. They faced each other on the pillow and Rodney reached out to touch John's cheek in the dim light. "In case I forget to tell you, this has been one of the best days of my life."
"Mine, too." He grabbed Rodney's hand and brought the palm to his mouth. "I wish we could just stay here, hang out and fool around."
"Obviously we can't stay here unless you have plans to rob a bank." Rodney hesitated. "But we can still see each other."
John was silent for a moment. "I don't know how much longer I'm going to be in town. I came here to work some things out with my dad."
Rodney hm-med supportively.
John continued. "We fought. He wants me to go into business, but I'm heading for the Air Force."
Rodney rolled away from John to his back, staring at the ceiling. It just figured. He meets someone hot and cute who wants to have sex with him, and the guy's in the military.
John put a hand on his shoulder. "Don't be pissed at me."
Rodney turned back to him and gave him a quick kiss. "Let's sleep now, have fun tomorrow, then deal with the crap the next day." They burrowed into the bedclothes, foreheads almost touching, and went to sleep.
Sometime in the night Rodney awoke to a warm mouth wrapped around his dick. He stretched luxuriously, arching his hips into the softness. John pushed a warning hand against his hip. Rodney reached down and ran a gentle hand though John's hair. "Up, here. Come," he said, muzzy with sleep and arousal.
John crawled up the length of Rodney's torso, skimming a line with his lips. "Hey," he said against Rodney's mouth.
"Hey." Rodney kissed him and reached a hand down to wrap around John's dick. "I think it's my turn to do what you were doing."
John pushed himself into Rodney's hand. "Be my guest."
Rodney wrapped the edge of the sheet around his head, and ducked under it with a wink. He decided to cut to the good stuff, swallowing John down at once. John choked out a surprised cry, and Rodney reflected that his wide mouth had definite practical applications. He paid dedicated attention to John's dick with his mouth and equal attention to his balls with a hand. John's breath came in harsh gasps.
"Rodney. I want you to fuck me."
Rodney spluttered on his mouthful. "What?"
"You heard me. I want you to." He stretched away from Rodney, reaching for the night table. "I got condoms and lube earlier."
Rodney laid his head on John's hip. "I would have loved to be there when you requested THOSE from the concierge."
"Ha. There's a Walgreen's down the street." John cupped Rodney's cheek with his hand. "What do you think? Do you want to?"
Rodney turned his head and pressed an open mouthed kiss to the soft skin of John's stomach. "I've never," he started. "I mean, I want to, But."
"It'll be fine. We'll go slow." John tugged on Rodney's ear. "C'mere."
Rodney went. John captured his mouth in a kiss, hands roaming over Rodney's back. "I trust you," he whispered. "It'll feel so great."
They kissed and touched and fumbled the lube. Rodney went a little fast with the fingers and they stopped to kiss some more. They tried to get Rodney into John, then stopped to place a pillow under John's ass. Finally, finally, Rodney was pushing into John. He closed his eyes against the sensations of tight, and heat, and FANTASTIC. He balanced above John. "You feel amazing," he whispered.
John braced his hands against Rodney's taut biceps. "God. You're in me. It feels." He broke off and pushed up against Rodney. "It feels."
Rodney ducked down and kissed John. "I know," he said into John's mouth. "I know."
It all dissolved into a blur of motion and sound. John whispered brokenly about how good it all felt. Rodney kissed the words away. Rodney thrust and ran his hand up and down John's thigh. John's hands grabbed at Rodney's arms and ass. Rodney moved his hand to John's dick and stroked in time with his thrusts. John gave it up with a heartfelt sigh and an ecstatic expression. Rodney tumbled abruptly after him. They rested together for a moment, cheek to cheek.
"Okay?" Rodney asked.
John nuzzled Rodney's cheek with his nose. "Better than. It was great."
Rodney pulled out slowly and went to the bathroom to clean up. He brought another washcloth back to bed for John, who was looking deliciously debauched on the crumpled sheets. He crawled back into the bed while John haphazardly wiped himself off, pushing John to his side and spooning behind him. Rodney draped and arm over John's waist and let his lips trace circles on the damp expanse of John's neck under his left ear. John "mmm'd" and wrapped Rodney's arm more securely around him, linking their fingers on his stomach.
"This is the most comfortable bed I've ever been in," Rodney mumbled as he drifted off. "You and this bed feel like home."
"Home," John echoed. "Let's stay here forever."
They slept.
Saturday morning, June 18, 1988
Rodney sat straight up in the bed, blinking in the morning light streaming in the windows. He rubbed his hands over his face, trying to decide what the hell woke him up, when the loud knocking came from the door again. He shook John by the shoulder. "Someone at the door." He pulled his boxers off the floor and threw John's to him, hitting him on the head. John blearily put them on under the covers as Rodney headed for the door.
Acastus Kolya was on the other side. He pushed his way into the room, surveying John in the wreck of the bed. "McKay," he said, turning to Rodney. "I hope I'm not interrupting?"
John sat up in the bed, eyeing the visitor with disfavor. "Kolya," he said flatly. "Why are you here?"
"Just a little investigating. Knowing what Patrick Sheppard's eldest son is up to could prove useful in my attempts to take over North Shore Utilities." He shook his head with mock concern. "I can't imagine your father would want your activities" he waved a hand at the bed, "to become common knowledge."
Rodney spun to face John. "Your FATHER? Patrick Sheppard?"
John raked a hand through his hair. "It's complicated."
"Oh, I'll bet it is," Rodney said sarcastically.
"Rodney," John pleaded.
"As touching as this scene is, I have business to conduct." Kolya turned to Rodney. "I trust you have enjoyed my hospitality?" He leered a bit as he said it.
John shot out of the bed. "YOU paid for this room?" He whirled on Rodney. "You're working for my father's business rival?" He looked back at the bed. "Was all of this..." He gestured at the bed, seeming at a loss for words.
"NO!" Rodney looked at him, horrified. "He told me he was from a utilities commission investigating Patrick Sheppard, and he wanted to interview me. That's it!"
That line of conversation was cut off when two more men burst into the room. Rodney groaned inwardly when he recognized John's father and brother. Things just couldn't get worse, could they?
"Dad, Dave," John said wearily, then sat down on the bed and pulled on a shirt.
Patrick Sheppard brandished a newspaper at John. "What the hell is the meaning of this?" John took it and rolled his eyes.
"I guess you've already met Rodney," he said, and passed over the paper.
Rodney looked at a picture of himself and John exiting Geja's Cafe last night in Kup's Column. The caption for the picture read Like father, like son?
Dave perched on the bed next to John. "You are in SO MUCH trouble," he said in a confidential tone of voice. "I thought Dad's eyes would pop out of his head when he saw that picture."
John pinched his leg, hard. "OW!" Dave exclaimed.
"Sorry to interrupt the family reunion," Kolya said with an unctuous smile, "but I believe we have some business to discuss." He looked at his watch. "I have a reporter coming in fifteen minutes."
Rodney stepped forward. "I have no idea what you're talking about. I spent the night here alone and John came to have breakfast with me."
Kolya looked at him. "Surely you won't lie for the boy who betrayed you? When I provided such a nice weekend for you?"
"I'll say you paid me to lie for you and I couldn't go through with it."
Patrick Sheppard turned red in the face. "You engineered this?" he shouted at Kolya. "You sonavabitch! Keep my family out of your dirty business dealings!" He turned back to the bed where his sons were sitting. "John, get dressed. We'll sort this mess out at home."
John gathered the rest of his clothes and headed for the bathroom. Kolya and Sheppard Sr. were still arguing, so Rodney took the opportunity to slip in the bathroom before John shut the door.
"Hey." Rodney said, watching John zip his shorts.
"Hey," John said warily. He turned to the sink and cupped his hand under the faucet. He drank a few palmsful of water, watching Rodney in the mirror.
Rodney moved to stand behind him, wrapping his arms around John's waist and resting his chin on John's shoulder. "This is kind of awkward."
John turned in his arms and linked his hands behind Rodney's neck. "You think?" He rested his forehead against Rodney's. "I'm going to have to go home with my dad and Dave to sort this out. I don't know if I'll be able to see you again." He kissed Rodney's temple. "Just. Last night meant something. Don't think I didn't mean it."
Rodney kissed John softly on the lips. "I know. Me too."
John's father pounded on the door. "John. We're leaving now."
John kissed Rodney once more. "Later," he said as he opened the door.
"Later," Rodney replied. John pulled the door closed behind him. Rodney stood alone in the bathroom for a few minutes, staring at the reflection of his kiss-puffy lips and the beard burn on his cheeks. He opened the door and went back into the room. It was empty. The Sheppards and Kolya had left him alone. He sat on the edge of the big bed and then fell backwards, staring at the ceiling. It stared back at him, bland and white. It was time to go home.
Rodney hopped on the El in a fog and made it back to Evanston. The car was empty, most people going south to enjoy downtown. Rodney got off the train at Main Street and walked to his crappy apartment building at Hinman and Kedzie. The building marquee proclaimed "The Presidential" and a row of bad copies of presidential portraits marched down the wall. The portraits stopped with Eisenhower right next to the elevator. Rodney rode it to the third floor, turned right, unlocked his door, and was home. For selected values of "home."
His answering machine light was blinking. He pressed the button. "Rodney McKay, this is Colonel Robert McLean of the US Air Force. We are very interested in your work and understand you are having some funding problems. Please call me at your earliest convenience. Perhaps we can work out a mutually beneficial arrangement."
He hit erase on the machine. The Air Force had caused him enough trauma in the last few days.
Rodney flopped down on his futon. He'd splurged and bought the mattress with extra loft. It had always seemed comfortable until now.
Three weeks later he received a card in the mail.
Rodney,
I'm heading overseas, don't know when I'll be back. I'm enclosing a Crate and Barrel gift card. Maybe you can use it to buy a really comfortable bed. Maybe some day I'll get to try it out with you.
John
July 16, 2004
Rodney looked at the guy in the lit-up control chair. "Major, think about where we are in the solar system." The space above the chair filled with a holographic representation of a star system.
Chair guy said, "Did I do that?"
O'Neill, Weir and Jackson walked away, arguing. Chair guy made the chair upright again and hopped out of it, backing away quickly. So quickly, in fact, he bumped right into Rodney. He turned to apologize and delighted recognition swept across his face. "McKay!"
Rodney took a good look at him. "John?" Older, shorter hair, but still brutally hot.
John nodded punched Rodney in the arm. "Great to see you, buddy."
Rodney's heart dropped just a bit. John was going to go the "buddy" route. It had been sixteen years, so Rodney figured he could fake the "old friend" persona. Maybe if he faked it enough, he'd come to believe it. The rest of the staff converged on John, sweeping him away on a tide of science. Rodney put his game face on and joined the fray. For the next few hours John would be an asset to the Atlantis Expedition, nothing more.
Rodney managed to avoid actual conversation with John for most of the afternoon, but John sought him out before he had to fly O'Neill out of there. John leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. He looked at a loss, just like Rodney felt. "So, Atlantis?" he said finally.
"Yes," Rodney replied. He struggled for words, something that didn't happen to him all that often anymore. "I see that Air Force thing worked out," he said, gesturing at John's flight suit. John nodded, then they were silent again.
"Did you." John hesitated, leaned a little closer to Rodney. The words tumbled from his mouth in a rush. "Did you ever buy that bed?"
Rodney looked at John. He had ducked his head and the tips of his ears were pink. As Rodney watched, John lifted his head to meet Rodney's gaze.
"Yes. Yes I did." Rodney smiled. "But it's never been as comfortable as it should be." He leaned against the wall next to John and bumped shoulders.
John grinned. "You don't say."
Within the hour, Rodney and Carson watched John and O'Neill fly away in the helicopter.
"My, it certainly was a great day when Major Sheppard sat down in that chair." Carson looked enormously relieved that his terrifying genetic duty seemed to be coming to an end.
Rodney smiled crookedly. "A red letter day."
**
Poll Vote for this story
Author: lilac_way
Team: Home
Prompt: Red letter day
Pairing(s): McKay/Sheppard
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: none given
Summary: Rodney McKay was in a pretty good mood. He'd been able to replace his ruined backpack, he had a new Prada jacket, and he'd gotten a seat on the El. If the AP physics class was less stupid than usual and he got a chance to talk to John, it'd be a red letter day.
Note: Beta thanks to smittywing and raisintorte.
Once you've read the story, please take a moment to vote in the poll below. Ratings go from 1 (low) to 9 (high), so all you need to do is enter a single number in that range into each text entry box. You'll be able to see the Prompt and Team (Genre) information in the header above.
More details about the voting procedure can be found here.
**
Thursday, June 16, 1988
Rodney hefted the strap of his backpack over one shoulder and pushed his way through the hordes of teenagers clogging the hallway of the Latin School. "Coming THROUGH!" he barked. He heard a chorus of voices apologizing and then a few sighs. He stiffened his spine and refused to look around. Granted, the summer school session he was teaching was at least AP Physics, but he didn't even like teaching undergrads - high school kids, no matter how smart, were nearly intolerable. He'd overheard a few of the girls talking about him in the hallway. They seemed to be enthralled by his eyelashes. He couldn't think of anything he needed LESS at this time than jailbait girls flocking to his office hours to drop pencils on his floor and ask inane questions.
Rodney cast an eye over his reflection in the trophy case before he rounded the corner. He looked... well, the same as he always did. He ran his fingers through his hair to smooth out the curls a bit and tried to adjust the backpack so it looked a little more suave. He put a hand in his front pocket in an effort to look relaxed and ambled into the lobby. The new security guard-slash- hall monitor, John Patricks, was brutally hot.
John pushed the log book over and handed him a pen. "Leaving your fan club, McKay?" he asked with a grin. John was about Rodney's age and seemed moderately intelligent, for a hall monitor. He had green eyes and a fall of dark hair over his forehead. Sometimes he fanned his hand through it, leaving Rodney short of breath. Rodney couldn't imagine he was anything but lamentably straight.
"Don't remind me." Rodney rolled his eyes. "It's painful to see that much sparkly lip gloss first thing in the morning. And the Aquanet fumes coming from the bathrooms will kill us all." He signed out and flipped the book back to John. "Besides, you have just as many groupies - girls and boys." He let the end of that sentence linger, watching John's reaction to see if there was even a chance he might be inclined.
"The gossip columns report that utilities mogul Patrick Sheppard is back in town with his two wayward sons, though no one has seen hide nor hair of the older one."
"I don't get that, Garry. If my family had that kind of money, I'd be flashing it all over the place."
John turned away and flicked the radio off.
"Hey. You got something against Steve Dahl?"
"Nah. I'm just ready to go. If you hang on a sec, I'll walk out with you."
"Sure." Rodney put his backpack down on the edge of John's security desk and rifled through some papers while John got his things together. He didn't really have anything he needed to look at, but he made himself look busy so he didn't stand there grinning stupidly at John.
John pushed his dark hair out of his eyes and put a pair of aviator sunglasses on. "Ready?"
They walked out onto Clark Street and stood in front of the school for a moment. "You live in the city?" John asked him.
"No. I'm up in Evanston. Most of my classes are up there."
"Northwestern, right?"
"Yeah. Post grad work in physics." Rodney looked at John curiously. "Are you done with school?"
"Graduated last year from Stanford," he said uncomfortably. Rodney felt a little thrill. John was smart! Hot AND smart!
John looked down at his watch and made a face. "Crap. I got to run." He smiled at Rodney. "See you tomorrow?"
"Sure. Bright and early." Rodney watched as John spun on his heel and headed south on Clark.
Rodney headed east. He should probably hop the El and go north to Evanston; see if he could make another stab at untangling his funding situation. He was sure the Bursar's office at Northwestern was sick of the sight of him. He'd been haunting the place since his funding got fouled up in May. Summer quarter started this week and he should be alone in his lab, blissfully free of students, dedicating all his time to glorious research. Instead, he was teaching high schoolers and suffering from unrequited lust of gorgeous hall-monitors.
He heard shouting coming from one of the windows above him and stopped to look up. From the tone, it sounded like one of those fights he used to have with his parents. The building was white stone and had windows with fancy little grilles covering their bottom halves. He wondered why people would have that much money and still be having the same fights as the rest of the world. Thinking about his parents bummed him out. The shouting over head got louder.
"No concept of money! To spend this much on a jacket!"
Rodney looked up at the open window again and shook his head. He'd just head back to his apartment and mope for a while. The shouting got closer.
"Why I'm stuck with you idiot boys, I don't know. Your brother is doing god knows what with his life, and you! You spend money like I'm printing it in the basement." There was a pause in the shouting.
"No, I'm NOT done yelling. You want your jacket? Go get it!"
Rodney heard a swooshing noise above him and looked up in time to have something heavy and leathery smelling land right on his face. He stumbled and fell to the sidewalk, backpack flying off his shoulder and into the street. He groped his way free of the jacket on his head just in time to see a UPS truck running over his bag and scattering papers everywhere. He darted out into the street and gathered everything up, crumpled papers, his calculator, a Little Debbie Nutty Bar. He stomped back to the sidewalk and looked up at the window with rage in his heart. Rodney stuck the jacket under his arm and headed for the front entrance of the building.
Rodney spluttered at the doorman for a moment, alternately shaking the leather jacket and the ruined backpack. The doorman looked at him in utter confusion. He took a deep breath to explain what happened when the elevator opened and spat out an anxious looking guy his own age and an older man. The young guy headed straight to Rodney and grabbed the jacket from him.
"Thanks for bringing this back! It's brand new."
Rodney looked at him incredulously. "Someone threw that thing on my head!" He brandished his ruined bag. "You may have the cash to throw leather out the window, but I don't. My backpack is toast."
The older guy butted in. "I'm sorry I hit you. I had hoped the jacket would end up under the UPS truck." He took the jacket out of the younger guy's hands. "I'm sure my son David would be happy to offer you his new Prada jacket to apologize."
"Not really," said David.
"Yeah, that's great. But what the hell am I going to do with a leather jacket in Chicago in June? I'm a grad student. I need a bag."
David's dad drew his wallet and pulled out some bills. He tucked them into the inside pocket of the jacket and handed the whole thing over to Rodney. "This should buy you whatever you need." He turned to his son "Right, David?"
"Yes." The kid looked like he was getting ready for a major sulk as the dad pushed him across the lobby and into the elevator.
Rodney stood there, clutching his new jacket and his old bag. He looked at the doorman, who'd been a silent witness to the whole weird scene. "What the hell was that?"
The doorman shrugged. "Rich people."
Friday, June 17, 1988
Rodney headed to the Latin School in a pretty good mood. He'd been able to replace his bag, he had a new Prada jacket, and he'd gotten a seat on the El. If the AP class was less stupid than usual and he got a chance to talk to John, it'd be a red letter day.
He swung through the doors of the school, ready to shove physics into the tiny part of adolescent brains not occupied by thoughts of sex and/or food. After he accomplished that, he'd head up to Northwestern and get his funding straightened out. He really was in one of his mountain-climbing, skyscraper-scaling moods today.
"Mr. McKay!" The school principal hurried out from his office.
Rodney stopped, a thin veneer of "polite" covering "vast impatience."
"You needn't bother to go to class. Your employment is terminated as of this morning" Dr. Kallas looked at him with ill-concealed dislike. "We can't have people with questionable morals teaching our young people."
"Excuse me?" Rodney narrowed his eyes. Had Dr. Kallas been dropped on his head? "What the hell are you talking about?"
Dr. Kallas pulled a folded copy of the Sun-Times from under his arm and opened to Kup's Column. He pointed to a grainy picture of that guy from yesterday handing a roll of bills to Rodney. The caption read "Utilities mogul gives money to boy-toy."
Rodney spluttered. "That's a gross misrepresentation! What actually happened was..."
"I don't care what you say happened. The Latin School has concerned parents to answer to, and this is not appropriate behavior for a Latin School teacher."
"So you're not even going to let me explain?"
Dr. Kallas looked Rodney up and down, taking in his blond hair and the small silver stud in his earlobe. "I don't think there's a need, no."
"Hey, Rodney. What's going on?" John sidled up next to him.
"I'm being fired for immorality." Rodney crossed his arms across his chest and glared at the principal.
John laughed, a truly awful sound. Rodney took a moment to wonder how someone so good looking could bray so horribly.
"You've got to be kidding me." John shut up as he caught sight of the newspaper. Rodney could see a muscle jumping in his jaw. "That's total garbage," he said, pointing at the picture. He looked up at Dr. Kallas. "You're an idiot if you believe that."
Dr. Kallas narrowed his eyes at John. "You may pack your things and leave with McKay."
Rodney had a bewildering few minutes of listening to John argue with Dr. Kallas, then he felt John leading him out of the school building by the elbow. They walked a block south on Clark Street in silence. Rodney stopped in the middle of the next block and turned to John. "What the hell just happened?"
"You were fired for being a boy-toy," John said matter-of-factly. "It must have been the eyelashes."
Rodney bristled and geared up for a good rant. Then he saw the smile lurking in the corner of John's mouth and deflated. "This is the stupidest thing that's ever happened. He's not even a real PhD."
"They don't offer advanced degrees in Principalship?" John hooked a friendly arm around Rodney's shoulders and started them walking again. "D'you want to get breakfast? We can go dutch, since we're both unemployed."
"My treat. I'll use my ill-gotten gains."
John stopped them again. "So the story's true?"
"Yeah, I make a habit of sleeping with random rich men when I'm not busy revolutionizing the study of physics." Rodney rolled his eyes at John. "I was walking down North Avenue and heard an argument coming out of a window. Next thing I knew, there was some Prada jacket on my head. I went to complain and the guy gave me the jacket and the money."
"Prada, huh?"
"That's what the guy said."
"Figures," John snorted.
"So, breakfast? Economic hardship makes me hungry."
"What do you think? Mitchell's, or the Original Pancake House?"
"Mitchell's. It's closer."
They turned back the way they came and headed for the coffee shop. John stopped to play with a dog leashed outside a drug store. Rodney looked on with horrified fascination. "You don't even know whose dog that IS and you're putting your hands all over it?"
John looked up through the fall of his hair and gave a grin that made Rodney's stomach lurch. "It's a dog, McKay, not an open wound." He gave the dog a final head rub and resumed walking. "Besides, in this neighborhood? The dog is probably worth more than either of us."
"I'll have you know that I will someday win the Nobel Prize." Rodney smiled at John. "I'll be worth way more than that dog."
The hostess at Mitchell's seated them and a busboy came and poured coffee. John waved his hands at Rodney. "I'll just go wash the dog diseases off my hands."
"You do that. Be sure to scrub your hands for the length of time it takes you to sing the alphabet song."
John grinned at him and headed for the men's room. As soon as he disappeared from view, an older man with pockmarked skin and slicked back hair slid silently into the booth opposite Rodney. "That seat's taken." Rodney said to the man.
"I'll only take a minute of your time, Rodney McKay. I'll be gone before your friend gets back." The man extended his hand across the table. "Acastus Kolya."
Rodney hesitated, then shook the proffered hand. "How do you know my name, and what do you want from me?" He felt his mouth thin out, as it did when he was irritated. "You're not from the CIA, are you? I told you guys I don't want to work for you."
Kolya laughed unpleasantly. "Definitely not the CIA, McKay." He folded his arms over his chest. "I see you had some trouble with Patrick Sheppard and his son."
"Well, if by trouble, you mean defamed and fired." Rodney shook his head "I don't know the man. He dropped a jacket on my head and now I'm a boy toy unfit to teach children."
"And your friend?" Kolya inclined his head in the direction of the restroom.
"John? He got canned for sticking up for me."
"John..." Kolya paused, waiting for Rodney to fill in with the last name.
"John Patricks." Rodney hesitated. "Why do you care about either of us?"
"Patricks, right." Kolya chuckled and shook his head. "I'm employed by a... utilities commission. We're investigating Mr. Sheppard's business dealings."
"And this involves me, how?"
"We'd like to ask you a few simple questions regarding your encounter with Mr. Sheppard." Kolya placed an envelope on the table. "In return, we'll put you up at a luxury hotel for the weekend, send you out to have some fun, and give you a little spending money." He pushed the white envelope toward Rodney. "Feel free to invite your friend. Though I must advise you this investigation is confidential." Kolya's eyes hardened. "I would take it badly if you were to share this conversation with anyone."
Rodney glanced nervously back to the restroom. John was weaving his way back through the crowded restaurant floor, dodging tables and busboys. He turned back to ask Kolya a question. The other side of the booth was empty. Rodney craned his head, but the creepy guy was nowhere in sight. He looked down at the table and found the envelope Kolya had displayed was under his hand. He rifled though it quickly and stuck the whole thing in his backpack. Mostly money, but there was a set of tickets for the 1:20 Cubs game at Wrigley.
John slid back into the booth. "You never know how long the alphabet song is until you're trying to soap your hands through the whole thing."
"Hey, that Sheppard guy gave me a wad of cash when he dropped the coat on me. Want to have some fun with it?"
"You got Dave's new jacket and cash?" John stretched an arm along the back of the booth, displaying tanned skin and muscles. Rodney was transfixed for a moment. "You sure you're not a gigolo?" John waggled his eyebrows.
Rodney snorted. "Please. Rich people don't give grad students the time of day." He opened his menu. "Let's eat. We've got things to do today. First up, baseball."
--
By 11:30, John was leading Rodney into the beer garden at Bernie's, on the corner of Clark and Waveland. He sat them at a table with an umbrella and gestured to a cute blonde waitress in a denim mini skirt and a tight white t-shirt. Rodney looked on with ill-concealed fury as the tanned, long-legged harpy sat down next to John and assaulted him with her fluttery lashes and glossy pink mouth. She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear in a move Rodney knew was designed to draw attention to the smooth expanse of her neck.
"Hey John," she all but cooed.
John slouched in his chair, which Rodney thought must be hard to do in any comfort, as they were white plastic lawn chairs. "Hey Kristi." He gestured at Rodney. "This is my friend Rodney. We both got fired this morning so we need some beers."
Kristi turned her head and looked at Rodney. Surprisingly, she gave him a hair tuck and a flutter of lashes. "Poor guys! I'll get you a couple of Buds on the house." She hopped up and headed for the bar.
"She seems to like you," Rodney said to John.
"I thought she was into YOU," John responded.
"You date her?" Rodney didn't really want to know, but some perverse imp pushed him to ask. Better to wallow in the disappointment when the beer was flowing.
"Kristi?" John looked at him in surprise. "Nah. She's really not my type." John pushed his hair off his slightly sweaty forehead. "I used to bounce at a bar on Sheffield and she waitressed there." He gave a snort of laughter. "I helped her tie a mattress to the top of her car once."
"You helped her move a mattress and then didn't get a thank you?" Rodney raised his eyebrows lasciviously.
"She and her boyfriend bought me pizza. It was all good."
Kristi returned with the beer foamy and overflowing the plastic cups. "Here you go," she said, setting them down. "Do you two want any lunch?"
John smirked at her. "How about a greasy pork chop sandwich in a dirty ash tray?"
Kristi glared at him and swiftly swatted him on the head with her order pad. John rubbed his head with a great wounded expression. "We're fine. We'll get hot dogs at the park."
Rodney took a sip of his beer and licked the foam off his lip. He looked up to see John eyeing him with a strange expression. "I didn't take you for a Weird Science fan."
"Kristi has some guy who orders that every time he comes in here. She says some day she'll bring the sandwich out in an ashtray and see what he says."
Rodney nodded, then decided to change the subject. "So you've been a bouncer and a hall monitor."
"Security officer," John corrected.
"Bouncer and hall monitor," Rodney continued. "Are these your real jobs, or what?"
John took a swallow of beer and set the cup down, tracing the ring of condensation where it had been before. "I'm kind of at a crossroads. My dad doesn't like what I want to do, so I'm deciding if I want to do what he wants, or strike out on my own."
"Huh." Rodney looked up at the blue and white striped awning over the bar. "My parents have had little or no interest in anything I've done for a while now. I can't even imagine having to take their feelings into account while making decisions."
"My mom died a few years ago, so it's just my dad." John took another swallow. "He's got my life all planned out for me and doesn't understand why I don't want it."
"Which do you think is worse? When they don't care at all, or care too much?" They both lapsed into a depressed silence, a mood completely unworthy of a June day and the prospect of a Cubs game.
Kristi came back (thankfully) breaking the mood. "Can I get you two anything else?"
Rodney smiled at her. "Just the check."
"On the house!" she chirped.
Rodney fished some money out of his stash and slipped a few bills into her apron. She tweaked the edge of one of his humidity-induced curls. "Thanks! Come back with John anytime."
John and Rodney strolled across the street to the ballpark. Rodney stopped and bought a bag of peanuts from a vendor. "Cheaper here than inside the park." They went to the gate and got their tickets torn, blinking as their eyes adjusted to the dimness of the concourse after the bright sun outside.
John looked at his ticket. "Whoa. Good seats!"
"Are they?" Rodney asked. I got them from a friend."
"Must be some friend. These seats are like second row from the field at the end of the home dugout." John scanned the signs. He put his hand under Rodney's elbow and steered him to one of the stairways. "I think we're over here."
Rodney gave himself a mental shake over the thrill of hope he felt when John's hand lingered on his arm. Had John let his fingers trail over Rodney's triceps, or was that the ultimate in wishful thinking? Rodney concentrated really hard on not tripping as he followed John's khaki-covered ass up the steps. They rose out of the cement stairway into the glorious sunlight shining on Wrigley Field. The grass of the outfield glowed like a jewel and the ivy on the back wall rustled in the slight breeze. John turned left and made his way through a sea of people in Cubby blue. He handed their tickets to an usher with grizzled hair. She studied them closely then cast a gimlet eye at the two boys. "Down there!" she barked with a jerk of her head.
Rodney settled into his seat and surveyed the field. "You weren't kidding. There are awesome seats!" He looked at the scoreboard. "Hey! They're playing the Montreal Expos! I'm a having a rooting dilemma!"
"Tell you what." John bumped shoulders with Rodney. "If the Cubs win, I pick where we go for dinner. If the Expos win, you pick."
"Deal." Rodney screwed up his courage and bumped back.
John waved over the beer vendor and got them two more Buds. Rodney hailed the hot dog vendor and got them each two dogs. Their seats were on the third base line so they were in the shade. They watched Rick Sutcliffe warm up and waited for the game to start.
A couple three beers later Harry Caray got them all standing for the 7th inning stretch. John and Rodney turned toward the announcer's booth and watched Harry hang out the window "Ah-ONE, Ah-TWO, Ah-THREE!" The crowd sang along with Harry. Rodney couldn't decide if John was standing so close to him on purpose, or if it was beer related. "It's root, root, root for the CUB-BIES!" John sang along in an endearing off-key voice.
The rest of the game passed in a blur of beer and peanut shells. Rodney didn't feel really drunk, just pleasantly loose and happy. He was suffused with love for the whole city, even Dr. Kallas. After all, if Kallas hadn't fired Rodney and John, Rodney's fingers wouldn't now be brushing John's as they both reached into the bag of peanuts balanced on John's thigh. The Cubs won and John gloated a bit over getting to choose where to go to dinner. The guys were borne on a sea of happy fans out of the park and into the carnival of post-game Addison Street.
Rodney took charge. "Let's get on the El and head downtown."
John looked at him, bemused. "Why downtown?"
"I've got a room at the Drake for the weekend."
John raised an eyebrow at him. "Are you sure you're not a gigolo? The Drake is expensive."
"Guilt money. It's a useful thing." Rodney pushed through the crowds and started up the stairs to the El platform.
"Shouldn't you be saving? Since you got fired and all?" John asked from behind him.
"Nah. I'll find something up in Evanston to tide me over until my funding problems are sorted out." They reached the platform just as the southbound train was pulling up. Rodney locked his fingers around John's wrist and dragged him onto the car. It was packed and they ended up standing by the doors. Rodney dropped John's wrist and stuck his hands nervously in his pocket. He noticed John touch the knobby bone where Rodney's hand had just rested, just a finger, circling the spot. Rodney looked shrewdly at John and was gratified when John ducked his head and a faint blush colored his cheeks. Ah, Rodney thought, ah.
The train rattled and rocked and didn't stop again until North and Clybourn. More people got on the already crowded train, pushing and shoving into the car. Rodney was pushed up against John. He stared at John's pointy ear, fascinated. John stared determinedly out the window. The train moved from the elevated tracks to underground, plunging them into darkness for just a moment until the lights flickered on. When they did, Rodney found John staring at him boldly, earlier shyness gone.
They got off a Chicago Avenue and climbed the stairs to street level. Rodney broke the silence. "So where are we going for dinner?"
"It's a surprise." John waggled his eyebrows at Rodney.
"You don't even have any ideas, do you?" Rodney scoffed at him.
"I know exactly where we're going. I just have to call and make a reservation." John slipped his hands in his pockets, smug.
Rodney looked at the two of them: khaki shorts and rumpled polo shirts. "Are we dressed for a place that needs a reservation?"
"Yeah, don't worry about it."
They reached Michigan Avenue and crossed the street with the throngs of tourists. Rodney felt like a tourist, on some kind of vacation from his real life. Or maybe he was starring in some surreal movie where he took time off and had fun. Whichever scenario it was, he liked it.
The lobby of the Drake Hotel was grand and imposing and red and flower-filled. Rodney knew he would stay in hotels like this someday, he just figured it would be a little further along in his career. He felt a sliver of worry about having to get interviewed by that Kolya guy about Patrick Sheppard, but pushed it to the back of his mind. They approached the front desk. The clerk smiled expectantly.
Rodney cleared his throat. "I have reservations. The name is McKay."
The clerk ticky-tacked on her keyboard then smiled brightly at them. "You're in the Lakeview Executive Suite." She motioned to a bellhop. "Edgar will show you to the room. Please call me or the concierge if you need anything at all."
John whistled under his breath at the bellhop led them to the elevator. Rodney gave him an elbow in the ribs -- he was whistling Madonna's "Material Girl". The bellhop led them to a room and opened the door. Rodney stepped cautiously inside and looked around. The drapes were open, showing the lake glittering in the late afternoon sun. The bed was piled high with pristine pillows, the color of the whitecaps on the waves.
"Hey" John said after the bellhop left them alone in the splendor. "I'm going to talk to the Concierge about dinner. Why don't you grab the first shower?"
Just as the door closed on John, the phone rang. Rodney picked it up and uttered a cautious "hello." Who the hell knew to call him here?
"McKay. Acastus Kolya. I hope you are enjoying the accommodations."
Rodney closed his eyes and took a breath. "They're great."
"Enjoy them. Someone will be by to talk to you in a day or so." The line clicked, leaving Rodney holding a silent phone. He had a really bad feeling about all of this stuff with Kolya, but not bad enough to make him tell John what was going on. How bad could things be, he argued with himself. It's not like he KNEW any confidential information about Patrick Sheppard. It would all work out fine. He just needed to keep telling himself that.
Rodney headed into the bathroom and gawked. It was bigger than his living room in Evanston. He turned on the shower and dropped his clothes on the marble floor. He got into the shower and just stood there, letting the water stream over his sweaty skin. He soaped himself leisurely, resolutely NOT thinking about John. He decided there was no way he was going to jerk off to thoughts of John while John could be standing in the next room. No, sir. His dick rose to half-mast the minute John's name entered his head. He glared down at it. "Not this time, friend. I'm in charge."
Rodney finished his shower and fixed his hair with some of the fancy gel he found next to the sink. He strolled out of the bathroom in just his red Snoopy boxers, feeling clean and mellow. He was gratified to see John was both a.) back in the room, and b.) checking Rodney out. Rodney flopped on the bed, face first into the sea of pillows. John stretched out next to him, propped up on an elbow with his head in his hand.
"We're going to dinner at 7, so there's time for a nap."
Rodney grunted. The bed was very comfortable.
"So I'm going to hop in the shower." Rodney turned his head out of the pillow and looked at John. He was very close -- close enough that Rodney could see the little flecks of gold in the green eyes.
"I'll be here. Feel free to not wake me up." Rodney felt John's weight shift off the bed and heard the shower start up. He slipped into sleep and was barely aware when John crawled into the bed, bringing a whiff of the scented soap and shampoo. Rodney's mouth turned up a bit in a smile. John smelled good...
Rodney woke to the sound of the radio. The drapes were still open, but the lake was a deeper blue, drawing color from the twilight sky. He rolled over and looked at John, still asleep on the other pillow. Greatly daring, he reached out and pushed the lock of dark hair from John's forehead. John's eyes opened and he smiled softly.
"Hey," he said, voice scratchy.
"Hey," Rodney said.
They stared at each other for another moment. Then John reached up and cupped the side of Rodney's face with his palm. Rodney turned his face into the hand, and John tugged him forward a bit. Their lips met clumsily, off center. Rodney leaned toward John and adjusted the angle. They shared soft, teasing kisses; their mouths and John's hand on Rodney's cheek the only places they were touching.
"So I take it I wasn't reading the signals wrong?" Rodney murmured.
"Not so much, no." John nipped Rodney's lower lip.
Rodney's stomach growled. Loudly. He could feel the wave of color washing his face.
John laughed. "We should get ready to go for dinner, anyway."
Rodney sighed. His stomach was a both a blessing and a curse.
John had sent their clothes to the valet to be pressed, so they ended up looking mostly respectable. (Rodney had a couple of greasy peanut fingerprints on his shorts and John had a dab of mustard on the hem of his shirt.) He hurried Rodney down the elevator and though the lobby to a waiting cab. When they got into the backseat John put both his hands over Rodney's ears when he told the driver where to go. The driver pulled the car out into the traffic on Michigan Avenue and sped north on Lake Shore Drive. Rodney watched the lake pass on his right. He felt John's hand rest lightly next to his on the backseat of the cab, and with a grin slid his hand over John's and linked their fingers.
The cab driver signaled and took the North Avenue exit. After a couple of blocks, he turned right on Clark Street. Rodney gave John a dry look. "If you're taking me to the Original Pancake House, I'm not impressed."
John rolled his eyes. "Give me some credit for originality." He looked out the window. "Almost there."
The cab pulled up to a place on Armitage. Rodney got out of the cab while John paid the driver. The sign on the restaurant said "Geja's Cafe." John joined him on the sidewalk. "This is the fondue place, right?"
"Yup. Nothing says fun like cooking your own food in boiling oil." John pulled him toward the door.
The restaurant was dim and candlelit. A guy sat on a stool on a small stage, playing flamenco music on his guitar. John gave his name to the hostess, and she led them to a curtain-framed booth. They settled in across the table from each other.
"Do you like shrimp?" John asked him.
"As long as it's not doused with lemon, sure."
When the waiter came back, John ordered the International dinner for two and a bottle of the house white.
"Have you been here before?" John seemed at ease in the restaurant.
"Yeah, with my family. One of the few thing we ever did where no one was fighting the whole evening." John smiled as the waiter set the cheese fondue and the platter of fruit and bread on the table.
"Would you like me to close the curtains?" the waiter asked them.
"Sure," John said. The waiter retreated and pulled the curtains across the booth's entrance.
Rodney speared a hunk of bread and lowered it into the cheese. "Cheese and bread. It's like my regular menu, except more expensive." He popped the piece in his mouth and savored the smooth cheese and the tang of the wine. They were quiet except for the sounds of eating and drinking for a few minutes. The waiter came back, removed the cheese pot and set out the sauces for the meat and vegetables.
"Do you know what these are?" Rodney asked, inspecting the sauces.
John looked at them. "That's curry mayonnaise, the next is tarragon, the red one is something spicy, and I forget what the last one is."
Rodney stuck a fingertip into the last one, then licked his finger. "Tastes like barbecue sauce? He stuck another finger into it and offered it to John. "What do you think?"
John's eyes got a little bigger and Rodney heard a sharp intake of breath. John took the proffered hand and licked the fingertip almost delicately. Rodney felt a tingle run from his finger all the way to his toes.
"Right. Barbecue sauce," John said in a hoarse kind of voice. Rodney was struck with indecision. Should he insist that they go back to the hotel immediately and get it on, or should they keep eating? Two great pleasures, sex and food circled Rodney's brain like a hamster on a wheel. If physics could somehow be worked into the evening, he'd stroke out and die. The waiter solved his dilemma by appearing with the pot of hot oil and the plates of raw meat and vegetables. The waiter gave them a talk about the dangers of eating the cooked meat right off the pointy fondue forks, then closed the curtains and left.
"If he hadn't shown up with the food, I was ready to drag you out of here." John popped a chunk of tenderloin into the oil with a sizzle.
Rodney speared a shrimp. "You and me both."
Boiling oil dampened their ardor and they enjoyed the rest of the meal and bottle of wine in great good humor. They were both slumped in their seats when the waiter returned to make sure they wanted dessert. Rodney felt full, but there was really no way he was going to pass up a pot of melted chocolate.
John dipped a strawberry into the pot and brought it to his lips, eyes on Rodney.
"Too bad we can't find some way to bring the chocolate back to the room," Rodney said conversationally, spearing a marshmallow. John choked on his strawberry and looked wounded. Rodney widened his eyes in his best "who, me?" expression.
John swirled a bit of pound cake in the pot and offered it to Rodney with his fingers. Rodney took it, and as he closed his mouth, John dabbed a bit of chocolate on his bottom lip. Rodney licked it off, managing to catch John's finger. By the time the waiter returned with the check, they were both flushed and glassy eyed. They had a brief tussle with the check, but John finally convinced Rodney to let him pay for half.
They stumbled out of the dimness of the restaurant into the lake breeze on the street. John hailed a cab and they climbed into the backseat.
The cabbie was listening to the news on AM 780.
"In local business news, there are rumors of a hostile takeover of Patrick Sheppard's North Shore Energy by the Genii Corp."
The driver flipped off the radio and pulled out into traffic.
"What do you want to do now?" John kept to his own side of the seat, but spread his legs so his knee was touching Rodney's. He bounced his leg, making the leg hair crinkle. Rodney wanted to take him savagely in the yellow taxi, except he knew Chicago cab drivers: they expected an extra twenty if you even looked like you might puke in the cab. How much would they want to clean up spunk?
"I was going to suggest getting drink at the Signature Lounge at the Hancock Building, but..." Rodney let his hand wander across the seat and rest against John's thigh.
"Yeah, I know." John put a hand on the back of the front seat and leaned forward to talk to the driver. "Just let us out by the Water Tower."
"That's south of the Drake," Rodney objected.
"We could use the walk," John said meaningfully.
The cabbie left them at the crowded corner of Michigan and Pearson. John and Rodney contemplated the Water Tower for moment and unanimously decided the king sized bed at the hotel was probably more interesting than views of the city. They walked at a fast clip up Michigan, contriving to bump shoulders on a regular basis. They crossed Chestnut and started past the garth of Fourth Presbyterian Church. John made a quick left and pulled Rodney behind one of the courtyard pillars. He pushed Rodney gently against the stone and looked at him.
"I've always wanted to kiss someone in this courtyard." John leaned in and kissed him gently, cupping Rodney's face with his hands.
"It's good to have goals," Rodney said when their lips parted.
John grabbed his wrist, as Rodney had done on the El, and towed him out into the street. They caught the walk light at Walton and hurried across Michigan to the Drake. Rodney took the lead in the hotel, striding across the lobby with John at his heels. They got an elevator to themselves and just managed to keep their hands off each other, though John hovered close to Rodney with a goofy grin on his face. Rodney fumbled with the keycard a bit because John was grinding his hips into Rodney's ass, but finally the door opened and they fell over the threshold together.
John took Rodney's face in his hands again and kissed him, not soft and teasing like he had done before, but desperately, hungrily. It was all Rodney could do to keep up with him. Rodney worked his hands between them and started to push John's shirt over his head. John backed away and stripped himself of shirt, shorts and boxers in a few economical movements, eyes never leaving Rodney's. Rodney took a deep breath and stripped, then drew John back to him. The shock of skin on skin, their hard chests pressing together made it difficult to breathe. He felt like he was drowning, but in a good way.
John maneuvered them to the foot of the bed, but before he could push Rodney down, Rodney turned them and pushed John. He savored the sight of John laid out, all tanned skin and dark hair against the white bedding, and reflected sadly for a moment that they hadn't found some way to smuggle the chocolate fondue out of Geja's.
"Stop thinking about the chocolate and get over here," John ordered. Rodney crawled up over John from the foot of the bed until he was kneeling over him.
"Hi."
"Hi yourself." John tugged on his elbow. "Get down here." Rodney dropped to the bed and they kissed, limbs winding around each other, dicks pushed together between their bellies. Rodney let his hands wander over the planes of John's back and down to his ass, resting his fingers on the crease between cheek and thigh. John let out a breathy moan and moved both hands to cover Rodney's ass.
Rodney broke their kiss. "What do you like?"
"Your ass. I've been staring at it all day." John squeezed the object in question for emphasis.
Rodney rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean." He nipped a string of biting kisses along John' jaw.
"I like most things." John hesitated. "I haven't been with that many guys."
"Me neither. I guess we'll just see where things go." Rodney raised his eyebrows nearly to his hairline when he said "things" and "go."
John cuffed him affectionately on the back of the head then started a string of slow kisses down Rodney's neck. Rodney shivered when John's mouth grazed the point where his neck and shoulder met, so John spent a little more time there. Rodney felt the goosebumps rise on his skin and he ground his dick helplessly against John's. John traveled south, taking a moment to suck on each nipple, hand traveling in slow circles over Rodney's hip. John reached his belly button and blew a raspberry in it, stopping Rodney's exclamation of annoyance by tracing the trail of hair leading from his belly with his tongue.
Rodney gulped air and tired not to search for John's mouth with his dick. "I will NOT last long."
John laid his head on Rodney's thigh and looked up the length of his body. "Well, it's not like we can only do this once." He leaned forward and licked a stripe from Rodney's balls to the tip of his dick, then swirled his tongue around the head.
"Oh my God. You have no idea what that feels like," he groaned.
John sucked the head of Rodney's dick into his mouth then let it go. "I'm hoping I'll get an idea, later."
"Anything. Just keep doing that."
John took Rodney back into his mouth and ran light fingers over his balls. He traced each one, then let the fingers travel backwards. Rodney concentrated on two things: not shoving his dick down John's throat and choking him, and not going completely insane with the sensations John was causing. He started reciting the times tables in his head. Normally he would have calculated something more advanced, but the lack of blood flow to his brain made anything more than simple multiplication too complex. John began to get going, sucking as much of Rodney's dick into his mouth as he could manage, using his hand on the rest. He got into a good rhythm and Rodney gave it up. John pulled off and finished him with a hand, letting the come fall on his stomach.
Rodney lay there and concentrated on breathing. In, out. In, out. "Your mouth," he said weakly. John's lips were red and puffy. John kissed him hotly, then wrapped his arms around Rodney and started to grind against him. "No, let me," Rodney said.
"Won't last that long," John choked out, then tensed against Rodney and came. Rodney rubbed his back and nibbled on an earlobe. John shivered.
They stayed wrapped up together for a moment, trading slow kisses, then Rodney slid out of bed to get a washcloth from the bathroom. He tossed a second cloth to John and stood at the foot of the bed, lazily rubbing at his stomach. He spied something near the window, and on closer inspection it roved to be a bottle of champagne on ice and two glasses. There was a small card, it read, "Have a nice evening. A.K." Rodney shivered, and not in a good way. This thing with Kolya was getting more and more creepy.
He turned back to John. "Want a glass of champagne?"
"Okay." He smirked. "You sure know how to show a guy a good time, McKay."
Rodney popped the cork without injuring anyone and poured two glasses. He climbed back into the giant bed and handed one to John. They snuggled into the nest of bedclothes. Neither of them had made is more than halfway through the glass when they both started yawning and turned out the lights. They faced each other on the pillow and Rodney reached out to touch John's cheek in the dim light. "In case I forget to tell you, this has been one of the best days of my life."
"Mine, too." He grabbed Rodney's hand and brought the palm to his mouth. "I wish we could just stay here, hang out and fool around."
"Obviously we can't stay here unless you have plans to rob a bank." Rodney hesitated. "But we can still see each other."
John was silent for a moment. "I don't know how much longer I'm going to be in town. I came here to work some things out with my dad."
Rodney hm-med supportively.
John continued. "We fought. He wants me to go into business, but I'm heading for the Air Force."
Rodney rolled away from John to his back, staring at the ceiling. It just figured. He meets someone hot and cute who wants to have sex with him, and the guy's in the military.
John put a hand on his shoulder. "Don't be pissed at me."
Rodney turned back to him and gave him a quick kiss. "Let's sleep now, have fun tomorrow, then deal with the crap the next day." They burrowed into the bedclothes, foreheads almost touching, and went to sleep.
Sometime in the night Rodney awoke to a warm mouth wrapped around his dick. He stretched luxuriously, arching his hips into the softness. John pushed a warning hand against his hip. Rodney reached down and ran a gentle hand though John's hair. "Up, here. Come," he said, muzzy with sleep and arousal.
John crawled up the length of Rodney's torso, skimming a line with his lips. "Hey," he said against Rodney's mouth.
"Hey." Rodney kissed him and reached a hand down to wrap around John's dick. "I think it's my turn to do what you were doing."
John pushed himself into Rodney's hand. "Be my guest."
Rodney wrapped the edge of the sheet around his head, and ducked under it with a wink. He decided to cut to the good stuff, swallowing John down at once. John choked out a surprised cry, and Rodney reflected that his wide mouth had definite practical applications. He paid dedicated attention to John's dick with his mouth and equal attention to his balls with a hand. John's breath came in harsh gasps.
"Rodney. I want you to fuck me."
Rodney spluttered on his mouthful. "What?"
"You heard me. I want you to." He stretched away from Rodney, reaching for the night table. "I got condoms and lube earlier."
Rodney laid his head on John's hip. "I would have loved to be there when you requested THOSE from the concierge."
"Ha. There's a Walgreen's down the street." John cupped Rodney's cheek with his hand. "What do you think? Do you want to?"
Rodney turned his head and pressed an open mouthed kiss to the soft skin of John's stomach. "I've never," he started. "I mean, I want to, But."
"It'll be fine. We'll go slow." John tugged on Rodney's ear. "C'mere."
Rodney went. John captured his mouth in a kiss, hands roaming over Rodney's back. "I trust you," he whispered. "It'll feel so great."
They kissed and touched and fumbled the lube. Rodney went a little fast with the fingers and they stopped to kiss some more. They tried to get Rodney into John, then stopped to place a pillow under John's ass. Finally, finally, Rodney was pushing into John. He closed his eyes against the sensations of tight, and heat, and FANTASTIC. He balanced above John. "You feel amazing," he whispered.
John braced his hands against Rodney's taut biceps. "God. You're in me. It feels." He broke off and pushed up against Rodney. "It feels."
Rodney ducked down and kissed John. "I know," he said into John's mouth. "I know."
It all dissolved into a blur of motion and sound. John whispered brokenly about how good it all felt. Rodney kissed the words away. Rodney thrust and ran his hand up and down John's thigh. John's hands grabbed at Rodney's arms and ass. Rodney moved his hand to John's dick and stroked in time with his thrusts. John gave it up with a heartfelt sigh and an ecstatic expression. Rodney tumbled abruptly after him. They rested together for a moment, cheek to cheek.
"Okay?" Rodney asked.
John nuzzled Rodney's cheek with his nose. "Better than. It was great."
Rodney pulled out slowly and went to the bathroom to clean up. He brought another washcloth back to bed for John, who was looking deliciously debauched on the crumpled sheets. He crawled back into the bed while John haphazardly wiped himself off, pushing John to his side and spooning behind him. Rodney draped and arm over John's waist and let his lips trace circles on the damp expanse of John's neck under his left ear. John "mmm'd" and wrapped Rodney's arm more securely around him, linking their fingers on his stomach.
"This is the most comfortable bed I've ever been in," Rodney mumbled as he drifted off. "You and this bed feel like home."
"Home," John echoed. "Let's stay here forever."
They slept.
Saturday morning, June 18, 1988
Rodney sat straight up in the bed, blinking in the morning light streaming in the windows. He rubbed his hands over his face, trying to decide what the hell woke him up, when the loud knocking came from the door again. He shook John by the shoulder. "Someone at the door." He pulled his boxers off the floor and threw John's to him, hitting him on the head. John blearily put them on under the covers as Rodney headed for the door.
Acastus Kolya was on the other side. He pushed his way into the room, surveying John in the wreck of the bed. "McKay," he said, turning to Rodney. "I hope I'm not interrupting?"
John sat up in the bed, eyeing the visitor with disfavor. "Kolya," he said flatly. "Why are you here?"
"Just a little investigating. Knowing what Patrick Sheppard's eldest son is up to could prove useful in my attempts to take over North Shore Utilities." He shook his head with mock concern. "I can't imagine your father would want your activities" he waved a hand at the bed, "to become common knowledge."
Rodney spun to face John. "Your FATHER? Patrick Sheppard?"
John raked a hand through his hair. "It's complicated."
"Oh, I'll bet it is," Rodney said sarcastically.
"Rodney," John pleaded.
"As touching as this scene is, I have business to conduct." Kolya turned to Rodney. "I trust you have enjoyed my hospitality?" He leered a bit as he said it.
John shot out of the bed. "YOU paid for this room?" He whirled on Rodney. "You're working for my father's business rival?" He looked back at the bed. "Was all of this..." He gestured at the bed, seeming at a loss for words.
"NO!" Rodney looked at him, horrified. "He told me he was from a utilities commission investigating Patrick Sheppard, and he wanted to interview me. That's it!"
That line of conversation was cut off when two more men burst into the room. Rodney groaned inwardly when he recognized John's father and brother. Things just couldn't get worse, could they?
"Dad, Dave," John said wearily, then sat down on the bed and pulled on a shirt.
Patrick Sheppard brandished a newspaper at John. "What the hell is the meaning of this?" John took it and rolled his eyes.
"I guess you've already met Rodney," he said, and passed over the paper.
Rodney looked at a picture of himself and John exiting Geja's Cafe last night in Kup's Column. The caption for the picture read Like father, like son?
Dave perched on the bed next to John. "You are in SO MUCH trouble," he said in a confidential tone of voice. "I thought Dad's eyes would pop out of his head when he saw that picture."
John pinched his leg, hard. "OW!" Dave exclaimed.
"Sorry to interrupt the family reunion," Kolya said with an unctuous smile, "but I believe we have some business to discuss." He looked at his watch. "I have a reporter coming in fifteen minutes."
Rodney stepped forward. "I have no idea what you're talking about. I spent the night here alone and John came to have breakfast with me."
Kolya looked at him. "Surely you won't lie for the boy who betrayed you? When I provided such a nice weekend for you?"
"I'll say you paid me to lie for you and I couldn't go through with it."
Patrick Sheppard turned red in the face. "You engineered this?" he shouted at Kolya. "You sonavabitch! Keep my family out of your dirty business dealings!" He turned back to the bed where his sons were sitting. "John, get dressed. We'll sort this mess out at home."
John gathered the rest of his clothes and headed for the bathroom. Kolya and Sheppard Sr. were still arguing, so Rodney took the opportunity to slip in the bathroom before John shut the door.
"Hey." Rodney said, watching John zip his shorts.
"Hey," John said warily. He turned to the sink and cupped his hand under the faucet. He drank a few palmsful of water, watching Rodney in the mirror.
Rodney moved to stand behind him, wrapping his arms around John's waist and resting his chin on John's shoulder. "This is kind of awkward."
John turned in his arms and linked his hands behind Rodney's neck. "You think?" He rested his forehead against Rodney's. "I'm going to have to go home with my dad and Dave to sort this out. I don't know if I'll be able to see you again." He kissed Rodney's temple. "Just. Last night meant something. Don't think I didn't mean it."
Rodney kissed John softly on the lips. "I know. Me too."
John's father pounded on the door. "John. We're leaving now."
John kissed Rodney once more. "Later," he said as he opened the door.
"Later," Rodney replied. John pulled the door closed behind him. Rodney stood alone in the bathroom for a few minutes, staring at the reflection of his kiss-puffy lips and the beard burn on his cheeks. He opened the door and went back into the room. It was empty. The Sheppards and Kolya had left him alone. He sat on the edge of the big bed and then fell backwards, staring at the ceiling. It stared back at him, bland and white. It was time to go home.
Rodney hopped on the El in a fog and made it back to Evanston. The car was empty, most people going south to enjoy downtown. Rodney got off the train at Main Street and walked to his crappy apartment building at Hinman and Kedzie. The building marquee proclaimed "The Presidential" and a row of bad copies of presidential portraits marched down the wall. The portraits stopped with Eisenhower right next to the elevator. Rodney rode it to the third floor, turned right, unlocked his door, and was home. For selected values of "home."
His answering machine light was blinking. He pressed the button. "Rodney McKay, this is Colonel Robert McLean of the US Air Force. We are very interested in your work and understand you are having some funding problems. Please call me at your earliest convenience. Perhaps we can work out a mutually beneficial arrangement."
He hit erase on the machine. The Air Force had caused him enough trauma in the last few days.
Rodney flopped down on his futon. He'd splurged and bought the mattress with extra loft. It had always seemed comfortable until now.
Three weeks later he received a card in the mail.
Rodney,
I'm heading overseas, don't know when I'll be back. I'm enclosing a Crate and Barrel gift card. Maybe you can use it to buy a really comfortable bed. Maybe some day I'll get to try it out with you.
John
July 16, 2004
Rodney looked at the guy in the lit-up control chair. "Major, think about where we are in the solar system." The space above the chair filled with a holographic representation of a star system.
Chair guy said, "Did I do that?"
O'Neill, Weir and Jackson walked away, arguing. Chair guy made the chair upright again and hopped out of it, backing away quickly. So quickly, in fact, he bumped right into Rodney. He turned to apologize and delighted recognition swept across his face. "McKay!"
Rodney took a good look at him. "John?" Older, shorter hair, but still brutally hot.
John nodded punched Rodney in the arm. "Great to see you, buddy."
Rodney's heart dropped just a bit. John was going to go the "buddy" route. It had been sixteen years, so Rodney figured he could fake the "old friend" persona. Maybe if he faked it enough, he'd come to believe it. The rest of the staff converged on John, sweeping him away on a tide of science. Rodney put his game face on and joined the fray. For the next few hours John would be an asset to the Atlantis Expedition, nothing more.
Rodney managed to avoid actual conversation with John for most of the afternoon, but John sought him out before he had to fly O'Neill out of there. John leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. He looked at a loss, just like Rodney felt. "So, Atlantis?" he said finally.
"Yes," Rodney replied. He struggled for words, something that didn't happen to him all that often anymore. "I see that Air Force thing worked out," he said, gesturing at John's flight suit. John nodded, then they were silent again.
"Did you." John hesitated, leaned a little closer to Rodney. The words tumbled from his mouth in a rush. "Did you ever buy that bed?"
Rodney looked at John. He had ducked his head and the tips of his ears were pink. As Rodney watched, John lifted his head to meet Rodney's gaze.
"Yes. Yes I did." Rodney smiled. "But it's never been as comfortable as it should be." He leaned against the wall next to John and bumped shoulders.
John grinned. "You don't say."
Within the hour, Rodney and Carson watched John and O'Neill fly away in the helicopter.
"My, it certainly was a great day when Major Sheppard sat down in that chair." Carson looked enormously relieved that his terrifying genetic duty seemed to be coming to an end.
Rodney smiled crookedly. "A red letter day."
**
Poll Vote for this story