FIC: "Theories of Relativity" Spencer/Lassiter, McKay/Sheppard
Title: Theories of Relativity
Author: PookaSeraph
Rating: PG
Pairings: McKay/Sheppard and Shawn/Carlton
Summary: Atlantians on vacation in Santa Barbara
McKay was growing more irritated by the minute as sweat began to drip down his neck and pool at the base of his spine. The weather was hot and far too sunny, making him uncomfortable, making him wish he was back on Atlantis where at least the position in the middle of the ocean meant the air stayed cool. At least the salt smell was a bit of a comfort, although Rodney was not looking forward to the sand.
Sheppard on the other hand, was loaded down with a surf board. He was also carrying the cooler, a beach umbrella, sunglasses and that damn smirk. But even overloaded as he was various men and women were still taking the time to check out the Colonel.
Rodney suppressed the urge to make a sign proclaiming Sheppard was his, so hands off, but was growing more and more irritated by the minute.
"Colonel, what I don't understand is that we live surrounded by water, and yet when you have a chance to go anywhere in the world for two weeks vacation you insist on heading to the ocean!" Santa Barbara even. All attempts to figure out why Sheppard had decided he just had to come here had been met with smirky silence. Rodney continued to rail at the Colonel as they continued down the street, looking for the perfect place to set up
"Frankly I don't think my skin can take this much UV radiation. And cracking your head open and drowning would be an incredibly undignified end to an other wise ... 'Pysch'?" Bold, blue letters painted across the beach front shop proclaimed a Psychic Detective Agency, and Rodney's already low opinion of the city went through the floor.
Sheppard stopped, taking in the sign himself. "Yeah, you know, Rodney, 'gottcha'?"
"Who names a Psychic Detective Agency 'Psych'?!" Rodney really hadn't expected much from the beach town, but the fact that a psychic detective agency with the name of 'Psych' was successful enough to have such prime real estate really made him wonder why he tried so hard at the SGC to rescue his home planet from horrible oppression.
"Someone with a better sense of humor than you, McKay," Sheppard had actually stopped his trek down the street in order to take in the terrifying glory of the blue lettered sign. "Besides, I'd think you'd be more open to psychic phenomena after all we've been through."
"That was scientific!" Sheppard only responded with a snort. "Fine, but this is probably just over-hyped palm reading!"
While Rodney considered his options for best option to continue railing at psychics, or get Sheppard to give up his surfing quest, someone walked out of the agency office, sipping some sort of iced beverage.
He was shorter than Rodney, wearing a red, collared shirt, jeans that were illegally tight, and sneakers. Something about the hair and eyes vaguely reminded Rodney of Sheppard but he was otherwise indistinguishable than every other beach bum Rodney had been exposed to in the last few hours. He took a large, obnoxiously loud slurp from his drink.
"Dude! John? What an entirely unexpected surprise. I need to get my psychic aura re-calibrated. Pineapple smoothie?"
Rodney thought he might have heard the Twilight Zone theme song start up in his head or maybe he was having an aneurism. God he hoped he was having an aneurism.
"Who is this!? Of course you know this person, he looks like an ad for hair gel!" The pineapple-smoothie-man didn't even have the decency to look shocked or abashed by Rodney's blatant attempt at abusing him.
"Hey, I'll have you know it's more like an ad for foot powder, or casual menswear," He took a quick sweeping glance over Sheppard and Rodney and then leaned casually against the storefront. "Also, hello! Don't you know it's a key tanning month, why are you wearing that hat?"
McKay closed his eyes and prayed for some sort of Go'uld invasion.
"Because skin cancer is not 'wicked cool', dude!" McKay snapped back.
A quick glance to Sheppard saw the Colonel grinning from ear to ear like some sort of crazy person, obviously highly amused by the display before him.
"Shawn, this is Dr. Rodney McKay, we work together. Rodney, this is Shawn Spencer, my cousin," Sheppard seemed to feel that whatever contribution he was supposed to make to the conversation was officially at it's end and also leaned against the storefront, taking in the view of the ocean.
"God, is that hair thing genetic?" The slouch, the hair, it was uncanny. Rodney was pretty sure you couldn't pass 'dude' on genetically, but he was beginning to doubt that anything was impossible in the realm of crazy-DNA-voodoo.
"Hair ... thing?" Pineapple Smoothie -- Shawn ran fingers through his hair obviously over-concerned with whatever might have been wrong with his precious 'do.
"That rakish, spiky, hair gel, aqua velva, surfer charm ... thing!" Shawn relaxed after a casual check seemed to confirm there was nothing wrong with his hair and he returned to his previous slouching.
"Oh! You mean my fantastic good looks. Yes." Wow, at least Sheppard seemed to have gotten a couple modest genes from somewhere. Or maybe not, Rodney was pretty sure he'd read a smirk of Sheppard's that had said exactly what Shawn had.
"Are you really related to him, because he seems ... vacant," Sheppard actually perked up a little at the question, possibly was even considering answering. Instead Shawn turned to Sheppard and grinned.
"I sense he's fantastic in bed, you couldn't possibly put up with him otherwise," Sheppard actually looked vaguely concerned by the pronouncement, and Rodney tried to figure out what exactly had given them away. Shawn coughed and then framed the word 'Psychic' from the sign in his hands in a vaguely 'Vanna White-ish' gesture. Rodney's brain helpfully responded 'oh hell no!' but decided not to call Shawn on the ridiculous 'psychic' thing.
"Hello!" Rodney hissed, "What part of 'don't ask, don't tell' do you not understand?"
Shawn just shrugged, and smirked wider.
After that, Shawn invited the two wayward Atlantians into his office and slouched into a chair. Rodney took a moment to be thankful that Sheppard had voluntarily left his quest for catching waves in order to come into air conditioned bliss.
Sheppard offered up beers from the cooler to Shawn and Rodney and slouched in a chair.
"So, John, when did you get in, how long are you here for?" Shawn seemed quite excited by his cousin's sudden appearance at his doorstep.
"Wait, shouldn't you know that, if you're actually a psychic?" McKay found himself still smarting from that fact that Shawn had figured out he and Sheppard were a couple.
"Well, Rodney, I probably could, but that would take all of the fun and excitement out of an otherwise harrowing and intense round of conversations."
"We're in for two weeks, got in yesterday. I was going to do some surfing, Rodney had made some noises about visiting a local university to yell at a professor. Good times will be had by all. And then we're back overseas," Sheppard gave a casual ease to the lie, and Rodney was impressed. As far as he knew, Sheppard didn't have a ton of experience outright lying about his posting.
"Awesome, although I have to admit it's more like you drop off the face of the earth. Mom's been harassing your dad to actually locate you, bring you over for holidays, that sort of thing. You probably tell your coworkers you were hatched from an egg," McKay had to admit the kid did have several points there. "But that's not the point. You have to come over for dinner, don't even bother to argue. I can sense it. It'll be awesome!"
"As long as you don't make tofurkey," McKay conceded. He supposed he could bank on the fact that people don't usually invite over guests if they are horrible cooks. John's excited nod seemed to confirm that.
"Oooo! I can make lemon meringue pie! That'd be sweet!" Shawn gave an excited grin.
"Oh god, you used your hair for some sort of signal transmission all the way to California so you can kill me while I'm vulnerable," A few moments of panic subsided when Rodney realized it wasn't that odd a offer from someone who actually knew that Sheppard liked to eat.
"Rodney, no one's trying to kill you. Sorry, Shawn, Rodney's allergic to lemon, no can do," McKay actually slightly preened at the fact that Sheppard would voluntarily pass up lemon meringue for him.
"He doesn't have to eat it," Shawn whined slightly. Sheppard actually coughed and shared a quick glance with Shawn. "Oooh! Fair enough ... pineapple tartlets?" He seemed to think about that for a second and then backpedaled. "No, shoot, I can't make pineapple tartlets, Lassy's allergic."
"Your dog is allergic to pineapple?" McKay asked, incredulously. Shawn actually gave a glare to that. "Never mind, I don't even want to know."
"Lassy, Lassiter, Carlton, my man. Carlton Lassiter," Shawn's eyes swept the floor, giving the impression of being just a little embarrassed. "I call him 'Lassy'."
McKay decided that on the scale of one to calling his own 'boyfriend' 'Sheppard' and 'Colonel', naming your boyfriend after a dog ranked higher than that.
"Bananas!" Shawn exclaimed. Snapping McKay out of his introspection.
"Yes, you are coming across as particularly crazy," McKay conceded.
"Can you eat bananas?" After Rodney didn't respond for a few moments, Shawn gave a victorious fist pump. "Delicious pudding! Or a banana cream pie, sweet!"
McKay decided he would have to be nicer to anyone who was that excited about cooking him banana cream pie.
The rest of the day passed uneventfully and McKay was able to avoid sunburn and displaced sand while Sheppard enjoys the waves and Rodney worked on a few non-classified calculations on one of the laptops that he had brought to the beach. Sheppard had complained lightly that McKay should have been doing something more fun, but McKay had easily made the case that this was fun for him.
When evening rolled around, Sheppard and McKay climbed into the convertible they had rented for the vacation and followed the directions Shawn had given them to his house. Sheppard had insisted they stop at a liquor store and pick up a few beers, and McKay had to agree. Sheppard had vouched for Shawn's culinary skills so McKay was actually a bit excited.
Shawn answered the door on the first ring, apron slung over his outfit from earlier in the day.
"Dude, welcome to casa de Lassi-Spencer! I'll be your host, come on in." McKay took in the house it was quite well decorated for all it was a little small. The downstairs consisted only of the kitchen, dinning room, and spacious living room. Spencer returned to the kitchen and continued to work on whatever was cooking there.
Sheppard took the beers to the fridge grabbing one for himself and McKay.
Plasma TV, comfortable couch, large, plush armchair. Every table was littered with gun magazines, fishing magazines, golf magazines, who's-making-out-with-who magazines, a koosh-ball thing, two baseballs, a gyroscope, as many as three jacks, a model car, and some sort of carved doll thing. It had a sort of 'organized mess' to it that reminded McKay of Sheppard's quarters back on atlantis covered with Johnny Cash posters, surfboard, keyboard, etc.
Sheppard picked up one of the golf magazines and opened it to the middle obviously at least pretending to be engaged.
McKay was taking a minute to try to remember how to have small talk with people who don't have top secret security clearances and genius level intelligence when the door opened and in strode a man who, McKay assumed, was Carlton Lassiter.
McKay was glad for the interruption. The man took in McKay and Sheppard sitting together on the couch with a sort of look that meant he was expecting the company.
McKay stood up and offered a hand to shake, not reason not to be civil. "So you must be 'Lassy'," ok maybe he could have been more politic than that. Lassiter stiffened.
"Spencer!" The name rolled off his lips in a way that indicated that he was often yelling after the man.
"You call him by his last name? That's kinda --" McKay trailed off from the glare from Lassiter. "The Colonel and I ---"
"Spencer, why did I let you talk me into this?" the man looked like he was working on a migraine.
"Cheer up, Carlton, I made sushi!" McKay caught a hint of a smile as well as a sigh of exasperated fondness. Man, Carlton was whipped. He took off his jacket, hanging it up in the closet next to the door. McKay was slightly taken aback when he caught sight of the figure eight holster and gun under the left arm.
Sheppard picked up on McKay's uneasiness and followed his gaze. McKay relaxed after he figured anyone who wore a gun home like that probably had some good reason for it.
"Catch any bad guys?" instead of answering, Carlton stalked into the kitchen, pressing Shawn up against the wall, out of sight. McKay could only assume they shared some sort of physical intimacy he was glad not to be privy to.
Carlton returned a few moments later, beer in hand, and slouched down into the armchair and kicked up his feet.
"You must be Rodney," Lassiter inclined his head. "And I prefer 'Carlton' . And that means you're John," Sheppard nodded his head and sent a flirty half smile and a wave towards Carlton. McKay tried not to let his irritation get the better of him. Sheppard was almost certainly not flirting but it didn't make it less obnoxious.
McKay sighed and glared at Sheppard as he continued to flip through his magazine. "So what do you do, Carlton?"
"Head Detective, Santa Barbara Police Department," McKay was actually secretly impressed, cops usually struck him as pretty homophobic. He seemed slightly pained for a moment and then returned the formality. "You?"
"Astrophysics. Deep space radar telemetry for the government," He actually heard Shawn give a half-laugh from the kitchen.
"That's such a weak cover story, you probably fight fuzzy green aliens. Gus would totally die if I told him that," McKay was starting to wonder about that whole 'psychic' thing it was really bothering him. Carlton just gave a small snort and shook his head. Sheppard also headed into the kitchen, maybe to lend a hand.
"It's the hair, isn't it, you fell for the hair. It's really not fair in the grand scheme of things, how can any intelligent man hope to stand against it," Carlton's face broke out in a huge grin in response to that.
"No, Rodney, I can honestly say it wasn't the hair," Carlton took a swig of beer around a smile.
"What then?" Spencer took that moment to burst out of the kitchen carrying a tray in each hand. McKay wasn't entirely sure what words could be used to describe exactly what Spencer was doing. It looked like some sort of leg spam, hip wiggle, skating across the floor, there might have also been some butt shaking involved. Rodney was entirely mesmerized. As quick glance at Carlton confirmed he was similarly mesmerized. "Never mind."
"Yeah ..." McKay was entirely certain Shawn made Carlton a very happy man.
He caught Sheppard laughing from the kitchen. "You know it's not fair when you do that."
"You learned how to fly, I learned how to 'shake my money maker'. That doesn't mean you can call foul when I make your boyfriend catatonic," Shawn answered back.
McKay pulled himself together after a few moments. "You know the Colonel is right, that should be illegal."
"Not if I have anything to say about it," Carlton sniped from the couch, raising and heading towards the dinning room table.
"Dude, seriously, you call him 'Colonel'?" Shawn gaped from where he stood near the table.
"It is his title!"
Shawn smirked eyebrows raised. After a few moments he seemed to knock himself back against one of the pillars between the rooms, throwing a hand over his eyes.
"Oh, oh, oh God, Detective, oh!" Spencer moaned, making noises that were nothing short of pornographic. Carlton only slightly blushed.
"Spencer, cut that out!"
Author: PookaSeraph
Rating: PG
Pairings: McKay/Sheppard and Shawn/Carlton
Summary: Atlantians on vacation in Santa Barbara
McKay was growing more irritated by the minute as sweat began to drip down his neck and pool at the base of his spine. The weather was hot and far too sunny, making him uncomfortable, making him wish he was back on Atlantis where at least the position in the middle of the ocean meant the air stayed cool. At least the salt smell was a bit of a comfort, although Rodney was not looking forward to the sand.
Sheppard on the other hand, was loaded down with a surf board. He was also carrying the cooler, a beach umbrella, sunglasses and that damn smirk. But even overloaded as he was various men and women were still taking the time to check out the Colonel.
Rodney suppressed the urge to make a sign proclaiming Sheppard was his, so hands off, but was growing more and more irritated by the minute.
"Colonel, what I don't understand is that we live surrounded by water, and yet when you have a chance to go anywhere in the world for two weeks vacation you insist on heading to the ocean!" Santa Barbara even. All attempts to figure out why Sheppard had decided he just had to come here had been met with smirky silence. Rodney continued to rail at the Colonel as they continued down the street, looking for the perfect place to set up
"Frankly I don't think my skin can take this much UV radiation. And cracking your head open and drowning would be an incredibly undignified end to an other wise ... 'Pysch'?" Bold, blue letters painted across the beach front shop proclaimed a Psychic Detective Agency, and Rodney's already low opinion of the city went through the floor.
Sheppard stopped, taking in the sign himself. "Yeah, you know, Rodney, 'gottcha'?"
"Who names a Psychic Detective Agency 'Psych'?!" Rodney really hadn't expected much from the beach town, but the fact that a psychic detective agency with the name of 'Psych' was successful enough to have such prime real estate really made him wonder why he tried so hard at the SGC to rescue his home planet from horrible oppression.
"Someone with a better sense of humor than you, McKay," Sheppard had actually stopped his trek down the street in order to take in the terrifying glory of the blue lettered sign. "Besides, I'd think you'd be more open to psychic phenomena after all we've been through."
"That was scientific!" Sheppard only responded with a snort. "Fine, but this is probably just over-hyped palm reading!"
While Rodney considered his options for best option to continue railing at psychics, or get Sheppard to give up his surfing quest, someone walked out of the agency office, sipping some sort of iced beverage.
He was shorter than Rodney, wearing a red, collared shirt, jeans that were illegally tight, and sneakers. Something about the hair and eyes vaguely reminded Rodney of Sheppard but he was otherwise indistinguishable than every other beach bum Rodney had been exposed to in the last few hours. He took a large, obnoxiously loud slurp from his drink.
"Dude! John? What an entirely unexpected surprise. I need to get my psychic aura re-calibrated. Pineapple smoothie?"
Rodney thought he might have heard the Twilight Zone theme song start up in his head or maybe he was having an aneurism. God he hoped he was having an aneurism.
"Who is this!? Of course you know this person, he looks like an ad for hair gel!" The pineapple-smoothie-man didn't even have the decency to look shocked or abashed by Rodney's blatant attempt at abusing him.
"Hey, I'll have you know it's more like an ad for foot powder, or casual menswear," He took a quick sweeping glance over Sheppard and Rodney and then leaned casually against the storefront. "Also, hello! Don't you know it's a key tanning month, why are you wearing that hat?"
McKay closed his eyes and prayed for some sort of Go'uld invasion.
"Because skin cancer is not 'wicked cool', dude!" McKay snapped back.
A quick glance to Sheppard saw the Colonel grinning from ear to ear like some sort of crazy person, obviously highly amused by the display before him.
"Shawn, this is Dr. Rodney McKay, we work together. Rodney, this is Shawn Spencer, my cousin," Sheppard seemed to feel that whatever contribution he was supposed to make to the conversation was officially at it's end and also leaned against the storefront, taking in the view of the ocean.
"God, is that hair thing genetic?" The slouch, the hair, it was uncanny. Rodney was pretty sure you couldn't pass 'dude' on genetically, but he was beginning to doubt that anything was impossible in the realm of crazy-DNA-voodoo.
"Hair ... thing?" Pineapple Smoothie -- Shawn ran fingers through his hair obviously over-concerned with whatever might have been wrong with his precious 'do.
"That rakish, spiky, hair gel, aqua velva, surfer charm ... thing!" Shawn relaxed after a casual check seemed to confirm there was nothing wrong with his hair and he returned to his previous slouching.
"Oh! You mean my fantastic good looks. Yes." Wow, at least Sheppard seemed to have gotten a couple modest genes from somewhere. Or maybe not, Rodney was pretty sure he'd read a smirk of Sheppard's that had said exactly what Shawn had.
"Are you really related to him, because he seems ... vacant," Sheppard actually perked up a little at the question, possibly was even considering answering. Instead Shawn turned to Sheppard and grinned.
"I sense he's fantastic in bed, you couldn't possibly put up with him otherwise," Sheppard actually looked vaguely concerned by the pronouncement, and Rodney tried to figure out what exactly had given them away. Shawn coughed and then framed the word 'Psychic' from the sign in his hands in a vaguely 'Vanna White-ish' gesture. Rodney's brain helpfully responded 'oh hell no!' but decided not to call Shawn on the ridiculous 'psychic' thing.
"Hello!" Rodney hissed, "What part of 'don't ask, don't tell' do you not understand?"
Shawn just shrugged, and smirked wider.
After that, Shawn invited the two wayward Atlantians into his office and slouched into a chair. Rodney took a moment to be thankful that Sheppard had voluntarily left his quest for catching waves in order to come into air conditioned bliss.
Sheppard offered up beers from the cooler to Shawn and Rodney and slouched in a chair.
"So, John, when did you get in, how long are you here for?" Shawn seemed quite excited by his cousin's sudden appearance at his doorstep.
"Wait, shouldn't you know that, if you're actually a psychic?" McKay found himself still smarting from that fact that Shawn had figured out he and Sheppard were a couple.
"Well, Rodney, I probably could, but that would take all of the fun and excitement out of an otherwise harrowing and intense round of conversations."
"We're in for two weeks, got in yesterday. I was going to do some surfing, Rodney had made some noises about visiting a local university to yell at a professor. Good times will be had by all. And then we're back overseas," Sheppard gave a casual ease to the lie, and Rodney was impressed. As far as he knew, Sheppard didn't have a ton of experience outright lying about his posting.
"Awesome, although I have to admit it's more like you drop off the face of the earth. Mom's been harassing your dad to actually locate you, bring you over for holidays, that sort of thing. You probably tell your coworkers you were hatched from an egg," McKay had to admit the kid did have several points there. "But that's not the point. You have to come over for dinner, don't even bother to argue. I can sense it. It'll be awesome!"
"As long as you don't make tofurkey," McKay conceded. He supposed he could bank on the fact that people don't usually invite over guests if they are horrible cooks. John's excited nod seemed to confirm that.
"Oooo! I can make lemon meringue pie! That'd be sweet!" Shawn gave an excited grin.
"Oh god, you used your hair for some sort of signal transmission all the way to California so you can kill me while I'm vulnerable," A few moments of panic subsided when Rodney realized it wasn't that odd a offer from someone who actually knew that Sheppard liked to eat.
"Rodney, no one's trying to kill you. Sorry, Shawn, Rodney's allergic to lemon, no can do," McKay actually slightly preened at the fact that Sheppard would voluntarily pass up lemon meringue for him.
"He doesn't have to eat it," Shawn whined slightly. Sheppard actually coughed and shared a quick glance with Shawn. "Oooh! Fair enough ... pineapple tartlets?" He seemed to think about that for a second and then backpedaled. "No, shoot, I can't make pineapple tartlets, Lassy's allergic."
"Your dog is allergic to pineapple?" McKay asked, incredulously. Shawn actually gave a glare to that. "Never mind, I don't even want to know."
"Lassy, Lassiter, Carlton, my man. Carlton Lassiter," Shawn's eyes swept the floor, giving the impression of being just a little embarrassed. "I call him 'Lassy'."
McKay decided that on the scale of one to calling his own 'boyfriend' 'Sheppard' and 'Colonel', naming your boyfriend after a dog ranked higher than that.
"Bananas!" Shawn exclaimed. Snapping McKay out of his introspection.
"Yes, you are coming across as particularly crazy," McKay conceded.
"Can you eat bananas?" After Rodney didn't respond for a few moments, Shawn gave a victorious fist pump. "Delicious pudding! Or a banana cream pie, sweet!"
McKay decided he would have to be nicer to anyone who was that excited about cooking him banana cream pie.
The rest of the day passed uneventfully and McKay was able to avoid sunburn and displaced sand while Sheppard enjoys the waves and Rodney worked on a few non-classified calculations on one of the laptops that he had brought to the beach. Sheppard had complained lightly that McKay should have been doing something more fun, but McKay had easily made the case that this was fun for him.
When evening rolled around, Sheppard and McKay climbed into the convertible they had rented for the vacation and followed the directions Shawn had given them to his house. Sheppard had insisted they stop at a liquor store and pick up a few beers, and McKay had to agree. Sheppard had vouched for Shawn's culinary skills so McKay was actually a bit excited.
Shawn answered the door on the first ring, apron slung over his outfit from earlier in the day.
"Dude, welcome to casa de Lassi-Spencer! I'll be your host, come on in." McKay took in the house it was quite well decorated for all it was a little small. The downstairs consisted only of the kitchen, dinning room, and spacious living room. Spencer returned to the kitchen and continued to work on whatever was cooking there.
Sheppard took the beers to the fridge grabbing one for himself and McKay.
Plasma TV, comfortable couch, large, plush armchair. Every table was littered with gun magazines, fishing magazines, golf magazines, who's-making-out-with-who magazines, a koosh-ball thing, two baseballs, a gyroscope, as many as three jacks, a model car, and some sort of carved doll thing. It had a sort of 'organized mess' to it that reminded McKay of Sheppard's quarters back on atlantis covered with Johnny Cash posters, surfboard, keyboard, etc.
Sheppard picked up one of the golf magazines and opened it to the middle obviously at least pretending to be engaged.
McKay was taking a minute to try to remember how to have small talk with people who don't have top secret security clearances and genius level intelligence when the door opened and in strode a man who, McKay assumed, was Carlton Lassiter.
McKay was glad for the interruption. The man took in McKay and Sheppard sitting together on the couch with a sort of look that meant he was expecting the company.
McKay stood up and offered a hand to shake, not reason not to be civil. "So you must be 'Lassy'," ok maybe he could have been more politic than that. Lassiter stiffened.
"Spencer!" The name rolled off his lips in a way that indicated that he was often yelling after the man.
"You call him by his last name? That's kinda --" McKay trailed off from the glare from Lassiter. "The Colonel and I ---"
"Spencer, why did I let you talk me into this?" the man looked like he was working on a migraine.
"Cheer up, Carlton, I made sushi!" McKay caught a hint of a smile as well as a sigh of exasperated fondness. Man, Carlton was whipped. He took off his jacket, hanging it up in the closet next to the door. McKay was slightly taken aback when he caught sight of the figure eight holster and gun under the left arm.
Sheppard picked up on McKay's uneasiness and followed his gaze. McKay relaxed after he figured anyone who wore a gun home like that probably had some good reason for it.
"Catch any bad guys?" instead of answering, Carlton stalked into the kitchen, pressing Shawn up against the wall, out of sight. McKay could only assume they shared some sort of physical intimacy he was glad not to be privy to.
Carlton returned a few moments later, beer in hand, and slouched down into the armchair and kicked up his feet.
"You must be Rodney," Lassiter inclined his head. "And I prefer 'Carlton' . And that means you're John," Sheppard nodded his head and sent a flirty half smile and a wave towards Carlton. McKay tried not to let his irritation get the better of him. Sheppard was almost certainly not flirting but it didn't make it less obnoxious.
McKay sighed and glared at Sheppard as he continued to flip through his magazine. "So what do you do, Carlton?"
"Head Detective, Santa Barbara Police Department," McKay was actually secretly impressed, cops usually struck him as pretty homophobic. He seemed slightly pained for a moment and then returned the formality. "You?"
"Astrophysics. Deep space radar telemetry for the government," He actually heard Shawn give a half-laugh from the kitchen.
"That's such a weak cover story, you probably fight fuzzy green aliens. Gus would totally die if I told him that," McKay was starting to wonder about that whole 'psychic' thing it was really bothering him. Carlton just gave a small snort and shook his head. Sheppard also headed into the kitchen, maybe to lend a hand.
"It's the hair, isn't it, you fell for the hair. It's really not fair in the grand scheme of things, how can any intelligent man hope to stand against it," Carlton's face broke out in a huge grin in response to that.
"No, Rodney, I can honestly say it wasn't the hair," Carlton took a swig of beer around a smile.
"What then?" Spencer took that moment to burst out of the kitchen carrying a tray in each hand. McKay wasn't entirely sure what words could be used to describe exactly what Spencer was doing. It looked like some sort of leg spam, hip wiggle, skating across the floor, there might have also been some butt shaking involved. Rodney was entirely mesmerized. As quick glance at Carlton confirmed he was similarly mesmerized. "Never mind."
"Yeah ..." McKay was entirely certain Shawn made Carlton a very happy man.
He caught Sheppard laughing from the kitchen. "You know it's not fair when you do that."
"You learned how to fly, I learned how to 'shake my money maker'. That doesn't mean you can call foul when I make your boyfriend catatonic," Shawn answered back.
McKay pulled himself together after a few moments. "You know the Colonel is right, that should be illegal."
"Not if I have anything to say about it," Carlton sniped from the couch, raising and heading towards the dinning room table.
"Dude, seriously, you call him 'Colonel'?" Shawn gaped from where he stood near the table.
"It is his title!"
Shawn smirked eyebrows raised. After a few moments he seemed to knock himself back against one of the pillars between the rooms, throwing a hand over his eyes.
"Oh, oh, oh God, Detective, oh!" Spencer moaned, making noises that were nothing short of pornographic. Carlton only slightly blushed.
"Spencer, cut that out!"