Flight of the Phoenix: Intercession
Title: Intercession
Fandom: Flight of the Phoenix
Rating: Adult
Words: 8100+
Characters: Rodney Alex/John Davis
Summary: Rodney thinks it'll be a cold day in hell before he lets John wander off in the night again.
Disclaimer: Not mine, not mine, all lies.
Author's Note: This story owes its existence to a number of people: jyuu_chan for her FotP ficlets that indulged my obsession for the guys and her gracious betawork, whosjeebus for the Soap Opera Cliche challenge (no one ever really dies!) , and tsuki_no_bara for her tireless *cough* cheerleading :D My thanks to you all!
AN2: For your reference, this is John and Rodney on the plane at the beginning of the movie, and Jeremy and Rodney later with a nice shot of tattoo.
AN3: If you're uncomfortable posting crit in a comment, please do email me: wrenlet at livejournal dot com.
They don't find a body after the sand storm, not in the time they give him to search and Rodney refuses to let the others put up a marker.
--
Some say time is relative, that it races and crawls depending on your point of view and right now, Rodney has to agree with them. Time practically slows to a standstill when he sees the gun, shoves A.J. out of the way, and it comes to a complete fucking stop when he hears the yell.
"Rod, no!"
It's not possible. Not remotely possible but as the bandit turns -- missing his shot and knocking Rodney to the ground -- there he is, scrambling out of the yurt and across the sand through a hail of bullets with, what the hell, hobbles on his ankles? John Davis, big as fucking Texas and twice as alive.
Rodney's wind is gone, knocked out of him when he fell but somebody's still shooting and he waves an arm at John, hoping he'll stay the hell down before he gets dead again. John's there in no time, everything's fast now, and Rodney chokes on air he doesn't have while John's hands, those huge hands, move over him like John doesn't believe his eyes.
"Oh my God, man, where the hell did you guys come from? Did you leave the plane? Are we... I don't even know where we are."
John's jacket is missing, he's down to just a t-shirt and he's sun-burnt almost worse than Rodney. Rodney touches his fingertips to John's cheek and just like that it's over, silent but for the camels and maybe a dying bandit or two. John looks like hell. Rodney hopes they die slowly.
"Davis?! Holy shit, it's really you!"
Liddle slaps John on the back, and it sets off a blurring round of questions and answers that Rodney only half hears over the voice in his head, 'Alive, he's alive.'
We thought you were dead--
In that storm? Yeah, me too.
Who are these guys, where do they come from?
Hell if I know, mean bastards, though.
Why did they--
Don't know, man, I don't know.
It's Towns who asks about the shackles on his legs.
"I think they're for camels or some shit. Shoot 'em off if you have to."
He sits back down in the dirt, stretches his legs out and just waits, a flat look on his face that Rodney doesn't like at all. Towns squats down with him to get a better look and shakes his head.
"If I felt like shooting your foot off, maybe. Let's just get you back to camp for now and figure something out there."
John sets his jaw and lets Rodney help him to his feet. He ducks back into the yurt, coming out with an armful of waterskins and one wicked-looking sword.
"There's ammo in those boxes, there, y'all might wanna carry some of it back. In case." He turns and hands the sword to Rodney. "At least take care of the rope for me? I can't get a good swing at this angle."
Rodney takes the sword from him and John sits with his feet spread wide as they'll go. Which isn't exactly far enough for Rodney's comfort, but they'll take what they're given and he makes sure his blow is clean, centered, and hard enough to split the coarse rope in two.
John grins up at him when he's done, and it's the best thing Rodney's seen in days.
They salvage what they can, water and ammunition and God bless, hard flat rounds of bread and lumps of something John says is cheese. They smell sour, but it's neither hearts of palm nor peaches and Ian cradles the bag like it's pure gold.
John shoulders up a load of supplies that would stagger a horse like it's nothing, like it's pipe, like he's done this forever. A.J. steps up to slide a pack off his arm and John just looks at him, a long blink before the embarrassed grin creeps up and he lets the others take their share.
Rodney almost wishes the actual horses hadn't run off, only they can't spare the water so he supposes the beasts are better off fending for themselves.
The gunfire has drawn the rest of them -- aside from Elliott, that is -- away from the Phoenix, and halfway back there's a second round of amazement and questions. Jeremy thumps John on the back and congratulates him on not being dead, the funny fucker. Kelly hangs on his neck and sobs relief, and John flushes uncomfortably and thumbs the tears off her cheeks, like she shouldn't be wasting them.
Rodney keeps within arm's-length of him, unable to shake the feeling John could still vanish at any moment.
When they come up over the last dune John stops in his tracks, and damn it all Rodney had actually forgotten he didn't know.
"You built a new plane."
Ian puffs up like this was his idea, one of his pet projects. "Still building, actually, but yes. She's a bit rough around the edges but she'll get us as far as Langhu."
"Holy shit, you're serious."
Elliott is standing next to the tail section, watching as they skid down the lee side of the dune with their packs and their news. John's eyes are wide, he can't stop looking at the plane and Rodney can't stop looking at him.
"You're... we're really getting out of here."
"Yeah." Rodney rests his hand on John's shoulder and follows him down. "Yes, we are."
--
The ties on John's legs prove to be loops of viciously-knotted rope, and it takes a good twenty minutes of cursing and Kelly's sharpest knife for Rodney to saw them loose.
"What the bloody hell did they do this for, anyway? They were afraid you'd walk down to the corner store and not come back?"
John laughs weakly. "Afraid I'd take a horse or something, I guess. Or water. Something else they'd miss."
Rodney twists the knife and yanks, and one foot is loose. John pulls his leg up and offers the other.
"You know how to ride?"
"Some. My uncle had a place when I was a kid, couple of ponies he didn't mind us saddling."
Rodney tries to picture all six-foot-whatever of John folded up and perched on a pony, and the image makes him chuckle. The second rope comes free and John lets out a long breath, leaning forward onto his knees.
"Damn, that's better."
"I'll bet. Is your leg alright, there?"
"Yeah, 'm fine."
Rodney fingers the cut strands and John heaves to his feet. The rest of the camp is in motion around them, always, Rady and Sammi with their heads bent together over the supplies and Kelly explaining something to Towns with sweeping motions of her hands.
He thinks it'll be a cold day in hell before he lets John wander off in the night again.
Elliott puts John right to work on the plane, naturally, and spends the next two days circling the site and muttering under his breath. John takes to it handily enough, head down and doing as he's told, which come to think of it isn't really like him. The quiet is unsettling. It would be downright unnerving except that John's fallen into rhythm with the rest of the crew and it's as if Rodney had been walking with half a leg all this time and hadn't noticed.
Still, something just isn't right.
With the extra they hauled back from the bandits' camp, they're about breaking even on the water. The bread and cheese are a hell of a mood lifter but when Sammi mentions it to John he ducks his head, turns his face away like he can't take the thanks.
Sammi crosses himself when John's back is turned, and Rodney frowns and knows he owes some thanks of his own but he isn't sure John will hear him.
--
It's all going so well, relatively speaking, that Rodney realizes he should have expected the other boot to fall. John is under the starboard wing with Jeremy when Elliott approaches Towns, and the two of them vanish behind what's left of the fuselage. Nobody pays it much mind even when their voices begin to rise, but when Towns yells loud enough to be heard even over the noise of construction, everything stutters to a halt.
"We are all flying out of here, Elliott, so you just change whatever the hell has to change to make that happen!"
John's head comes up and a sick knot curls in the pit of Rodney's stomach. Of all the things Rodney would expect to read on John's face at that moment, resignation... defeat aren't even on the list.
Jeremy is already in motion, five yards out and adding his voice when John drops his shoulders and sets his tools aside. Rodney falls into step beside him and they're all moving toward the commotion, drawn into a knot of anger and disbelief.
Towns is looming over Elliott, in his space like he expects the other man to back down but he should know, even Rodney knows that won't happen.
"It doesn't work that way, Towns, the tolerances--"
"I don't give a goddamn about the tolerances, you're the hotshot experimental plane designer, you figure it out!"
"What the hell is going on, Frank?" A.J. steps up to flank Towns, just behind his left shoulder.
Liddle waves his arms. "We've been working on this thing for weeks and now he's saying he fucked it up?"
"I did no such thing, my design is flawless. But now there is too much additional weight." Elliott's jaw is lifted, as if he intends to stare down the lot of them, and there's a long breath of stunned silence until his meaning sinks in.
Then they all just yell, Rodney included, because God damn if they're going to come this far and work this hard--
John walks right into the middle of it, shoulders back and head pulled up to his full height like he almost never does, and says, "I'll stay."
"The hell you will!"
Rodney's protest is the first and likely the loudest but not the only, and he's less surprised by that than he'd have been even a month ago. Towns cuts John's offer off with the flat of his hand but damn it, damn it to hell, John sets his jaw and steps forward again.
"I mean it. You can, y'know, leave some water and stuff, come back for me. If that's how it's gotta be."
"Bullshit, Davis, we ain't leavin' you behind!" Jeremy shrugs off Ian's hand on his arm and looks like he wants to hit something. Rodney understands the urge, his own hands have balled into fists but he isn't certain whether it's Elliott he'd rather smack, or John for being so... bullheaded.
"Nobody is getting left behind, period!" Towns and Elliott are back to their staring match and John just stands there like some kind of sacrifice.
"There has to be something...." Kelly wrings her hands, eyes darting from face to face as if she'll find an answer on one of them, because there has to be an answer.
"There isn't. Our pilot can't handle the weight."
Something flashes through Towns' expression, something ugly and quickly suppressed. "You said we had an oversized lifting surface, Elliott. How can we be having a weight problem now?"
"Oversized for the load we had, but now that's changed, hasn't it. Now we need more control than we've got, you can't handle the plane with this many passengers."
Towns scrubs a hand over his face. "So give me more control."
"There's no time for that, it--"
"We're ahead of schedule as it is, how much more time could it take?"
Rodney hadn't realized it but Ian is right; since they found John again the work hasn't just been smoother, they've gotten it done far faster. Elliott is shaking his head again.
"It's not enough. All the control in the world doesn't matter if you don't use it properly, and Towns...." He trails off with a tight little smirk.
Sammi bulls his way into the growing circle. "Towns what, man? He saved our lives up there!"
Elliott has to raise his voice again, yelling over the general noise of agreement. "He wouldn't have had to if he'd listened to me in the first place!"
"Oh, is that what this is about? Weight problems. Maybe we wouldn't have had any if I'd left your sorry ass back at the well!"
"You'd be dead without me, all of you! You will never get out of this desert without me!"
John flinches, shoulders curving in, and Rodney takes his arm and hauls him back a step, back out of the line of fire. This thing, this fight is about more than the Phoenix, Rodney can tell that much but frankly right now he doesn't care. John tenses under his grip but doesn't try to shake him off.
"Is that what you think? That makes you more important than Davis or any of the rest of this crew?"
"You're damned right it does! I'm worth more than--"
Rodney's moving before he even thinks about it and now it's John's hand heavy on his chest, holding him back while Towns pulls a fist and punches Elliott right in the jaw, laying him flat out in the sand.
"Get up. Come on, you son of a bitch, get up!" Towns moves in on the grounded man, but when Elliott rolls to face him Towns stops short, turns on his heel, and walks away.
Rodney doesn't know what to make of it. From the looks of things none of them do, but no one seems particularly in the mood to fight anymore, either. A.J. and Kelly follow Towns over the top of the nearest sand dune. Rady offers his hand to Elliott, who glares at him, picks himself up and vanishes into the fuselage. The others drift away until it's just the two of them, John with his hand on Rodney's shoulder and Rodney still vaguely wishing he'd gotten a hit in while his blood was up.
"What the hell just happened here?"
John shakes his head, looking like he'd much rather be somewhere not-here but uncertain of just where that might be.
"And what the hell is up with you?"
"Nothin'." John's hand slides down Rodney's back and away, and he shifts from foot to foot. Rodney isn't buying it for a moment, but John's cultivated a sudden fascination with sand and won't meet his eyes.
Rodney has put this off for days, watching John, fitting the changes in him against each other like puzzle pieces and knowing one day he'll have to come right out and ask, but he doesn't have the words for it yet. He's wondered what the hell happened to John in the weeks after the sandstorm, and the picture coming together in his head maybe isn't anything worth killing over but Rodney finds he's not exactly sad none of the nomads survived the firefight.
John bobs his head to the left. "Kelly's back."
Rodney almost calls out to her, but something in the determined set of her jaw stops him and they watch her stomp past and into the fuselage. A moment later A.J. and Towns appear at the top of the dune, hang there for a moment like they're weighing options, back to camp or out into the deep desert? Rodney can't blame them for the urge; there's no doubt this entire situation is completely fucked and will likely end with someone's lips applied to Elliott's backside, and not in the fun way.
Still. Rodney'll be damned before he loses anyone else to this place -- again -- and he's not above dragging them back by their ears if need be.
Towns straightens his shoulders like he's facing a firing squad and starts down the dune, A.J. at his side. A.J. catches Rodney's eye as they pass and... well, fuck. He probably should have expected this, the friction may be between Towns and Elliott but all their lives are hanging on the outcome. And isn't that a sobering thought.
He rounds up the others -- expecting John to balk, and frowning at the back of his head when he doesn't -- and they gather around the back of what's left of Towns' plane to discuss Elliott's. Kelly, bless her, already has him talking and that must've been a feat in itself.
"Of course I can redesign the tail section. The question remains whether your people can build it correctly and on time, and whether Towns can compensate on the throttle. Frankly, I'm not convinced of either."
Elliott's tone has "smug bastard" written all over it and Rodney can see the muscle jump in Towns' jaw from where he stands. The rest of the crew is subdued, waiting out this storm like they have so many others. John slides down a bulkhead to sit on the floor, staring at precisely nothing.
"My people are prepared to do whatever it takes. We all are."
"Including me." Towns sounds as if he chewed on the words before he let them out, but there they are.
Elliott raises an eyebrow, sweeps his gaze around the makeshift room before staring over Kelly's shoulder at Towns. "Say please."
Kelly bristles -- whether at the request or Elliott's blatant dismissal of her, it's hard to say -- and the silence stretches out until it feels as if the whole damned desert is holding its breath.
"Please." It's Liddle, not Towns, climbing to his feet and drawing Elliott's attention. "Please, Elliott."
Elliott's mouth twists like he's tasting something rotten, or considering a change of tactics. "Ian?"
"Please, let's finish it."
"That's nice." He gives a sour little smile and fixates on Towns again. "Mr. Towns, who's the boss of everyone?"
"You are, Elliott. You're the boss of everybody. Now can we please finish the airplane? Please?"
It's possibly the most grudging, reluctant sentence ever spoken by man, but it does the trick. Elliott's chin comes up, proud, and he pats his pockets for his notebook, already heading for the outside. "Then it seems I have some work to do."
The crew begin to file out, one by one, and Rodney catches Jeremy's attention and tips his head to where John's still sitting in the corner. Jeremy nods once, clasping Rodney's forearm before following the others outside. Rodney makes it a point not to make a point of things, of them, but this he needs. A little time and a little privacy, because Rodney isn't letting John out of this plane again without some answers.
John stands finally, rubbing his hands absently along the front of his jeans and Rodney realizes John's missing his cap, must have lost it in the storm. How could he not have noticed it until now? John tries to move past and Rodney stops him with a hand on his chest.
"Not so fast."
"We've gotta get back to work--"
"There's time enough. What was all that out there?"
"Nothin', I told you." John looks out at the desert and then drops his eyes to the floor, avoiding Rodney entirely. Rodney's put this off for too long, he knows that now, but all he can do is keep going until this, whatever, until something's fixed.
"'I'll stay'? That's hardly nothing." John's cheek twitches and Rodney knows this isn't everything, but it's a good enough place to start. "You know even better than the rest of us how dangerous this place is, what were you thinking, you'd hang your shirt off a pole and we'd find our way back to you? What if another storm comes up? What if it buries this tin can and you can't dig your way out? What--"
"What if I'm still a jinx?" John mumbles the question, still looking down at the floor, and Rodney has to fight the urge to just take him by the arms and shake him.
"You don't seriously think that."
John lifts his shoulder in a loose shrug. "Just, what if. Elliott said the Phoenix won't fly with all of us."
"Elliott's full of crap, he's been itching for an excuse to jerk Towns' chain again. That wasn't about you."
"Maybe... but he might be right. You'd practically be out of here by now if it wasn't for me."
John still won't meet Rodney's eyes, and Rodney has had exactly enough of that. His hand is still on John's chest, the thin dirty fabric over his heart, and he pushes John back into the gloom, away from the sun.
"I'd be dead if it wasn't for you, don't think I've forgotten."
He mumbles again, and even as close as they are right now it's too low for Rodney to catch. Another push and John fetches up against the inner wall of the stripped plane, nowhere left to go. "What was that?"
John finally looks at him, his eyes all but unreadable under bangs grown too long and streaked by the sun. "I thought you were."
Rodney blinks. "Dead?"
"Rady told me about the fire, when all that gas blew... hell of an explosion. Showed up for miles." John shifts again, like he wants out from under Rodney's hand, his gaze. "I figured that was it, you know? You were all-- it was all over."
Rodney hadn't even considered it. John had vanished, and it had never occurred to Rodney to wonder if he'd seen the fireball, or what he might've thought of it. "Is that why you've been like this, walking around the camp like a ghost?"
"Hey, I've been--"
"Yeah, you've been working on the plane with the rest of us, all 'yes sir' and 'no sir' with your head down and no questions asked. John, that's not you, you never leave off with the questions. What's the matter with you? What happened?"
"What-- Christ." John leans heavier against the wall, letting his feet slide out a little. "What am I supposed to say? It sucked, it's over. The end."
"John." Rodney slides his hand up until he's gripping John's shoulder and one finger slips a little under the collar of his shirt. John shivers, he can't possibly be cold but Rodney presses and hopes.
"They made me carry stuff and they tied my feet all up and I never understood a word they said." He breathes harder, remembering. "Is that what you wanted to hear? The only people who would ever look for me were all dead and they didn't even know my name--"
"John." He's cupping the side of John's face, stubble rough against his palm and he remembers the first morning after, John alive and shaving with a borrowed knife. Rodney's had half an eye on him ever since, even at... especially at night, but it's not enough. Laying his bedroll between John and the door makes him feel like he's doing something, but it hasn't been nearly enough.
John turns his face into Rodney's touch, just a little, eyes still fixed like he's looking for something, reaching for solid footing. So Rodney reaches back.
"Rodney, you--"
He slides his hand to the nape of John's neck, tugging in and down and John's breath catches on a quiet "Oh" just before Rodney kisses him. It's hardly ideal, chapped lips on cracked skin and they're both riding the edge of dehydration, but every bit worth it when John's hands flutter and come to rest, one on Rodney's hip and the other at the small of his back.
Rodney should have kissed him days ago, wanted to, didn't because he's a damn fool.
John tastes like peach syrup, he's the only one of the crew not sick of them already and Rodney could love peaches again too just for this. He's pulled Rodney closer, folding around him, and Rodney is about two minutes away from saying the hell with the Phoenix, and the others, and every damned thing that isn't John's body pressed against his when John breaks off the kiss and rests his forehead on Rodney's with a quiet sigh.
"Ow."
Rodney runs his thumb below the edge of John's lip where the flesh has split. "Alright, there?"
"Mmhm, worth it."
He's in full agreement, and the lazy motion of John's hands over the cloth of his coverall, slow nudge and press of their thighs, it's mesmerizing. "You're hard."
John sighs again, rueful. "Yeah, but I'm scared I'll come sand."
Rodney's laugh bursts out of him, and when John joins in the spell's broken, they're left clutching fistfuls of cloth just to hold each other upright.
"Oh God... we've got to get the hell out of this desert."
"Damn right." John swipes the heel of one hand across his face, still half-laughing.
"So no more talk of staying behind, yeah?"
"Yeah." He leans back against the wall, pulling Rodney in again like he's unwilling to let go just yet.
Rodney isn't ready yet either. "Or jinxes"
"Okay, Rodney, I get it."
He can tell by the tone John's humoring him now, but he finds he doesn't much care. He lets John lay his forehead on Rodney's shoulder and cards his fingers through the hair at the nape of John's neck.
"We're getting out of here, count on it."
"And then what?"
Then... that's the real question, isn't it? They came to the Gobi for oil, the both of them. Without that, what do they have but severance checks and a distinct lack of destination?
Rodney rubs his thumb over the curve of John's skull. Maybe they didn't find what they came for, but he's not leaving empty-handed. "We'll figure something out."
John tucks his face into the curve of Rodney's neck. "Okay. Okay."
--
The Phoenix flies just fine, as it turns out, but it lands like a fucking beast. It's the complete lack of shocks, Rodney would say, if he had to guess. Not that he's even sure regular planes have shocks, but this one? Definitely not. Also lacking in a few other key areas, like a good way to drop speed without simply bouncing down the runway at Langhu like crazed skipping stone.
The holds Elliott had them put it come in damned handy, Rodney's suddenly even fonder of them than he was his personal little windshield. He yells for John to hang on like he doesn't know any better, barely hears John yell back and everyone else yelling all manner of things. The plane bounces one more time and careens suddenly to the left, and that sickening snap he hears, Rodney's pretty sure that's his arm.
Towns had actually managed to radio the tower shortly before they came down, time enough that the runway is soon a whirl of emergency vehicles, fire crews and amazed onlookers. Rodney's isn't the only injury, but Ian slides down off his place on the port wing and stalks right up to the man in the most expensive-looking suit, demanding a satellite phone among other things, and by the way, isn't Langhu the most logical staging area for a rescue? Aren't there Amacore representatives just waiting ready to welcome their recovered personnel?
Rodney loses track of Ian in the crowd, but John sticks to his side like he's welded there. They get electrolyte drinks for the dehydration, a temporary splint for Rodney's arm, and are told again and again, "Beijing, you're going to Beijing now."
The plane out is nice enough that Rodney wishes he were better able to enjoy it, but he's got John in the seat next to him and the strongest painkiller they'll let him have without a full medical workup, and really, after the fucking month they've had he'd take Beijing in an ox-drawn cart, as long as he was out of the sun.
The hospital is nicer than some hotels-- fuck, it's nicer than the apartment he gave up to come out to Mongolia. All he really wanted was to get his arm set properly but the doctor who met their flight insisted, oh so politely, that they all stay for "observation," for at least a day. So he's relaxing in his automatic bed in his semi-private room, buzzing a little on his IV drip and listening to his unnamed roommate snore on the other side of the privacy curtain when John sneaks in to see him.
It's almost comical-- scratch that, the sight of John actually tiptoeing into his room threatens to make Rodney laugh out loud, which would entirely defeat the purpose. Nevermind the fact that John on his toes is hardly quieter than John at any other time.
"He doesn't wake easily." Rodney pitches his voice low just the same, holds back a chuckle when John shrugs at him.
"Maybe, but I had to sneak past the nurses' desk, too." Rodney had the curtain half-pulled already, none too fond of the afternoon sunlight, and John tugs it the rest of the way 'round and perches on the edge of Rodney's bed.
"So, uhm. How are you?"
Rodney can't help but tease, John looks so... nervous. "I'm fine today John, and how are you feeling?"
John grins and ducks his head, those ridiculous bangs in his eyes again. "Kind of silly, yeah, I just wanted to check on you. Cast itch yet?"
"Not that I've noticed." John's wearing the same hospital-issue nonsense he is. The gown stretches absurdly across his shoulders and chest, pulls at the side of his neck when he settles further onto the bed and Rodney's so preoccupied with how uncomfortable it looks he just nods and hmms along as John talks.
"So, Elliott wasn't just bitching to bitch, he really did crack three ribs but he's been such an ass about it he's not getting much sympathy. Sammi's in my room, all he can talk about is his girl and how much cash the company might cough up, oh yeah, Ian went on a total tear... uh, Rod?"
"Mmhm?" His cast doesn't itch, but his lips are a little tingly. Odd, that.
John lifts a corner of his mouth in a loose grin. "Man, you're not even listening."
"No, I am. Elliott, Ian, right." He lifts a hand, his left, and touches John's bangs. "You could use a haircut."
"I... could use a lot of things."
There's something there under his words, something Rodney thinks he should know. He licks his lips, draws his fingertips down John's cheek. "You didn't sneak in here to tell me about Elliott's ribs."
"Not really, no."
John leans in a little, pauses a moment before his eyes clear and then he braces his arm on the other side of the bed and covers Rodney's mouth with his own. He's more Carmex than peaches this time, they're safe, and Rodney sucks air in through his nose and slides his hand back and into John's hair. John kisses him as if they're alone and he'll never have to stop, and Rodney flexes the fingers of his right hand against the edges of his cast and wishes he could hang on, just hold this for right now.
John smells of hospital soap and his cheeks are smooth. Even Rodney hasn't shaved yet and he wonders absently about that but John pulls his lips away and mouths along his jaw, almost whispering.
"Rodney... Rod, I wanna suck you off."
And oh, that flares right through him, burning off the lingering drug haze and twisting into a knot at the base of his spine. "God, John."
"Don't say we have to wait, man, I just." He swallows and skims his free hand down Rodney's chest. "Please. Please, I want to so bad--"
Rodney tugs on John's hair, pulls his head back enough to kiss him again, hard. "Yes. Just keep it quiet, yeah?"
John's answering grin is downright wicked. "Same to you."
John starts tugging the sheets down, and Rodney would help but that would mean letting go and he really, well, he'd rather not right now. He keeps his hand in John's hair and shifts his cast when the blanket threatens to catch on it. John shoves his gown practically up to his neck and licks at his chest, laying wet, open-mouth kisses across his skin.
Rodney's been scandalously hard ever since John pulled the curtain shut, but he didn't expect anything to come of it. He's never been so forward, not since the first night when Rodney was still convincing himself John was too young, too drunk, too likely to decide after the fact that no, this isn't what he'd wanted at all. But John's always known his own mind more than Rodney credits him for.
The bed creaks alarmingly when John shifts into position, half-on and half-off the mattress, and Rodney barely has time to worry about the noise before John's mouth closes over the head of his dick. Christ, he doesn't waste any time teasing either, just folds long fingers around the base of Rodney's cock and goes down.
"Jesus."
Rodney lifts his cast up before John knocks his head into it on an enthusiastic upstroke and can't think what to do with it, can't think so he just holds it in mid-air. John's kneading at Rodney's hip with his free hand, squeeze and release, and Rodney was only half-kidding when he told him to be quiet and John is only half-managing to.
It's these little happy noises John makes, like having Rodney's cock in his mouth is the best damned thing that ever happened to him. He doesn't think John even realizes he does it but God, it just takes Rodney apart at the seams, every time. His fingers are still threaded through John's hair, shaggy and soft, and when John murmurs and runs his tongue along the edge of his glans Rodney slams his head back into the pillow and comes. John swallows it down, like the first time, like always, straightens up and wipes the back of his hand across his grin.
"Didn't wake him, did we?"
His roommate lets out an impressive snore and Rodney shakes his head."Doesn't sound like it. Come on up here."
"Hmm?" John's pulling up the sheet, straightening his gown and Rodney really wishes he had both his hands free. He settles for twisting his left into the fabric over John's chest and tugging him closer.
"I said, come here." He keeps his cast angled out of the way, and it's starting to burn in his shoulder but the lapful of John makes up for it. John grins again, quick and sweet, and leans in to kiss him.
Rodney meets him halfway, it's hot and messy and he can taste himself in John's mouth, but he has a goal in mind and he won't be distracted from it. John gasps into the kiss when Rodney's hand reaches his cloth-covered cock, trembles where he's braced himself across Rodney's chest again and it's delicious.
"Help me out a little, yeah?" He breathes it against John's lips, and the look he gets in answer is so desire-fogged it makes him chuckle. "Come on, just lift a bit... like that."
Between them they get John's robe out from under his ass and up to his waist, and Rodney isn't left-handed but he is by God going to do his best.
John collapses sideways onto him at the first stroke, panting and pressing his face into Rodney's neck. He's heavy as fuck but Rodney isn't about to complain, he'll take half-smothering over... over no John at all, any day. The angle's terrible, John pushes at the floor with his free leg trying to shove his cock further through Rodney's fist, and it doesn't seem like it should work but it's getting him there all the same.
"Rodney, God yeah." He just breathes after that, a quiet whine high in the back of his throat telling Rodney yes, yes, right there. The hitch in his chest, the way he presses his mouth open and wet against Rodney's throat when he comes, Rodney can't fathom how he ever meant to walk away from this.
John's still breathing heavy when Rodney pulls his hand away, licks at his index finger with a thoughtful noise.
"Mmm... no sand at all."
He buries his face in Rodney's chest, and his shoulders shake with suppressed laughter. "Dude, you're gonna get us caught."
Rodney grins, murmuring around his fingers. "That might not be so bad. Maybe if you asked nicely, flashed that happy-puppy smile, you could be my new roomie."
John actually pushes up and stares at him for a moment like he thinks Rodney's serious, before the grin blooms across his face again. "Funny, funny man. God, we're a mess."
"Oh, and whose fault is that?" It's like can't help himself, the more he has of smiling, laughing John the more he wants.
"Well, since it was your hand on my dick..." John trails off, sits up and twists around searching for a box of tissue or something like.
It doesn't take long to clean them both up and set their clothing, such as it is, to rights. John perches on the edge of the bed again and Rodney doesn't much like the distance but, well, there they are.
"I should probably get back. They might, I dunno, want to check my blood pressure again."
"Or your fluids." Rodney says it for a smile and gets a quiet laugh and a ducked head.
"Doubt it, but uhm." John toys with the edge of the blanket, his long fingers twisting in a loose thread.
Rodney touches his hand, covers it. "John."
He looks up, suddenly calm and Rodney remembers him crab-crawling across the sand through gunfire, walking into the middle of a fight with his head up and his shoulders back.
"Okay, here's the thing: I don't wanna drill oil anymore, and I don't really want to go back home again, either."
Rodney could say any number of things to that, but he thinks... he shouldn't. Not yet. "What do you want?"
"Well. I'm not that picky about where, or even what 'cause Ian sure did right by us but that money won't last forever, but I would kind of prefer to go somewhere without sand." John stops, swallows once before he finishes. "With you."
There it is. Rodney hadn't expected John to be the one to bring it up, but he's realizing now that maybe he should have. It was the desert, he thinks, the crash and all that came after; it's left marks on every one of them and John suddenly isn't the same kid he met on a well in Mongolia.
"I've got a cousin does construction, up in the Pacific Northwest." His thumb moves over the back of John's hand, and John turns it palm-upwards.
"Rains all the time out there, doesn't it?"
"Not all the time, but more than some places, yeah."
John tilts his head, like he's thinking it over, but Rodney isn't that worried for his answer. If this doesn't suit, he'll think of something else.
"Putting that plane together was pretty damned cool."
Rodney chuckles. "You thinking of getting a mechanic's license?"
"Maybe one day. Just... it was great to make something, you know? Construction sounds pretty good."
"I'll give him a call when we get back, then."
"Great, that's great." John's bobbing his head in agreement, that wide grin spreading across his face, and Rodney is maybe about to say something embarrassing when they both hear the door creak open.
He half-expects John to spring off the bed like a jack-in-the-box but he doesn't, just releases Rodney's hand and sits up a little. He cuts his eyes to the side, then leans back in just long enough to plant a kiss smack on Rodney's lips and straighten again. It surprises him, enough that he's laughing when the nurse pulls the curtain aside but she pays him no mind, bustling around the bed and making shooing motions at John.
"This is not your room, sir, you should be in your room."
"I just came for a visit," John's eyes are twinkling, the rest of his expression such a picture of innocence that Rodney's about to start laughing again.
"Yes sir, they are looking for you, sir, you should go."
Rodney coughs into his hand; Sammi surely knows where John got off to, and at least half of the others could probably guess. As much as he won't miss the Gobi or even roughnecking, he will miss this crew.
"John." The nurse has politely backed him almost out the door, but he stops and raises his head in Rodney's direction. "Do you think you'll get tired of the rain eventually?"
John blinks, like he's wondering why Rodney would even-- then he smiles, not his usual wide grin, but a calm smile that lights his eyes and firms the line of his jaw. Rodney feels a knot in his chest loosen and knows John's answer before he even speaks. "No."
He lets the nurse shoo him out then, with a waved promise to come by again later and Rodney settles back into his pillows. His nurse may wonder why he can't stop grinning but, though her English is quite good, Rodney doesn't think he could possibly explain it. So he doesn't even try.
--
Rodney dreams they have a dog, and wakes up face-down on the motel bed thinking that's a really good idea before he realizes John's tracing the tattoo on Rodney's left shoulder with his tongue. Again.
"Why do you like that one so much?"
"Dunno."
John's curled up against Rodney's side, one leg tossed over both of his, licking down the swirls of ink on Rodney's deltoid. They've got -- Rodney eyes the clock on the bedside table -- about two hours left until they're supposed to be at Sammi's restaurant. The drive down from Portland took longer than it should have, just like every other time they've made the trip. John had never even been to the west coast so the first time, when Sammi and Sandra's Sweet Salsa Shop opened, Rodney drove them down US-101 instead of the I-5, and their map is dotted with hi-lighted lookout stops. Next time, maybe in the spring he thinks they'll pick up Route 1 where it splits off at Leggett and follow the coast all the way down.
"It's not like there aren't plenty to choose from. You could pet my lion."
"Hmm." John leaves off with a soft scrape of teeth, sounds like he's thinking that over. "Yeah, I could do that."
Rodney's still only half-awake, so it's a moment before he realizes that John's sliding his hand under Rodney's belly, and almost a surprise when he cups Rodney's cock.
Rodney laughs and shoves him over, rolls with him until he's pinning John to the bed by his shoulders. John matches him laugh for laugh, his thighs falling open to cradle Rodney between. "You're wicked."
"Uh-huh." He tugs Rodney down into a slow kiss, nudges his dick against Rodney's belly. "We've got time, yeah?"
"You always say that," Rodney kisses him again, his hands already sliding down the length of John's body, one palming his ass. "And we're always late."
John grins and stretches up to nip at his jaw. "That's because you always give in."
He's not wrong. One year, eight months, Rodney won't admit he knows how many days; it hasn't all run as smoothly as maybe he'd like, he's got his family's temper and John can be as stubborn as an entire herd of mules but at the end of the day -- the good days -- he gets to come home to this.
"Stop it." John's got his hands in Rodney's hair, mouthing along his jawline up to his ear.
"Stop what?" He isn't playing fair, but Rodney has a few tricks of his own. He slides his middle finger down the crack of John's ass, pressing in where he's still tender.
John moans, winds his leg around the back of Rodney's thigh and grinds up. "Stop thinking and fuck me."
"Wicked and demanding."
"You love it."
John's voice is already hoarse, breaking as Rodney starts to stretch him open again, whining when he pulls away long enough to find the lube under one of the pillows. He is demanding, needy and fucking gorgeous spread out across sheets they thankfully won't have to launder in the morning, and he's not wrong about Rodney loving this. Every minute it takes to work slick fingers into John's ass, roll on a condom, slide into his body like he's always belonged here, Rodney loves it. But more than that, when Rodney braces against the mattress to thrust John wraps himself around Rodney, the whole glorious length of him folded into a tangle of arms and legs like he's--
They don't talk about it, how Rodney can't open his eyes in the morning and not know where John is -- right then, that exact moment -- without his gut twisting in knots. How John loves the ocean and won't set foot on the beach, and lies awake when there's wind at night. They don't talk about this, but they kiss like they're drinking life, hold each other hard during sex and take the bruises as proof of something deeper than skin.
John comes apart when Rodney fists his cock, twisting his head on the pillow and clutching at Rodney's back. Rodney leans in, latches onto the side of his neck and bites, and John bucks against him and shoots all over, smearing white and hot between their bodies. Rodney watches as long as he can manage before his own climax overtakes him, takes him over and greys out his vision. He comes back to John's touch, John's hands cradling his face and his lips on Rodney's eyes.
"Hey, you."
Rodney lifts his head and licks into John's mouth, kissing slow and deep. "Hey, you."
"We should probably--"
"Yeah, probably."
"Don't want to."
They do anyway, though when Rodney shifts inside of John his eyelids fall in that way that makes Rodney want to push back in and call off lunch, and this is why they're always late to everything but work.
John waits 'till he's tossed the condom, then pushes Rodney down on his back and collapses on top of him with a deep sigh.
"The idea was to get out bed after, I thought." He's teasing, arms already pulling John closer and tucking him against his chest.
"Five minutes." John sounds like he could fall asleep again, though, and that's no good.
"We need to shower."
"Three minutes."
"Fine, but no dozing."
"'Kay." John flips his head over to face Rodney, eyes cracking open. "What did Liddle say? He emailed you back, right?"
"That the twins are still too young but he'll come out next time. Bring the whole family, maybe." John makes a thoughtful noise, and Rodney keeps going down the list. "Rady will be there, Jeremy said it'd be him 'plus one,' which always means at least two. Kelly's up on the North Slope somewhere, she said to send pictures."
"Of Jeremy and his girls?" John grins, and Rodney laughs and resists the urge to muss his already-mussed hair. He tugs him up further instead, covers John's grin with his mouth and that's fine, that's wonderful.
"Hey, Rodney?"
"Mmhmm?"
"Last one in the shower buys the beer." John tumbles backwards off the bed with a whoop, a mad scramble of arms and legs and even if Rodney was fool enough to try to race him, it's much more fun to watch. He'll get there, and they'll make it to Sammi's mostly on time, and maybe when they get back to the room the sheets will be clean again, and they can wreck them one more time before they head home.
Fandom: Flight of the Phoenix
Rating: Adult
Words: 8100+
Characters: Rodney Alex/John Davis
Summary: Rodney thinks it'll be a cold day in hell before he lets John wander off in the night again.
Disclaimer: Not mine, not mine, all lies.
Author's Note: This story owes its existence to a number of people: jyuu_chan for her FotP ficlets that indulged my obsession for the guys and her gracious betawork, whosjeebus for the Soap Opera Cliche challenge (no one ever really dies!) , and tsuki_no_bara for her tireless *cough* cheerleading :D My thanks to you all!
AN2: For your reference, this is John and Rodney on the plane at the beginning of the movie, and Jeremy and Rodney later with a nice shot of tattoo.
AN3: If you're uncomfortable posting crit in a comment, please do email me: wrenlet at livejournal dot com.
They don't find a body after the sand storm, not in the time they give him to search and Rodney refuses to let the others put up a marker.
--
Some say time is relative, that it races and crawls depending on your point of view and right now, Rodney has to agree with them. Time practically slows to a standstill when he sees the gun, shoves A.J. out of the way, and it comes to a complete fucking stop when he hears the yell.
"Rod, no!"
It's not possible. Not remotely possible but as the bandit turns -- missing his shot and knocking Rodney to the ground -- there he is, scrambling out of the yurt and across the sand through a hail of bullets with, what the hell, hobbles on his ankles? John Davis, big as fucking Texas and twice as alive.
Rodney's wind is gone, knocked out of him when he fell but somebody's still shooting and he waves an arm at John, hoping he'll stay the hell down before he gets dead again. John's there in no time, everything's fast now, and Rodney chokes on air he doesn't have while John's hands, those huge hands, move over him like John doesn't believe his eyes.
"Oh my God, man, where the hell did you guys come from? Did you leave the plane? Are we... I don't even know where we are."
John's jacket is missing, he's down to just a t-shirt and he's sun-burnt almost worse than Rodney. Rodney touches his fingertips to John's cheek and just like that it's over, silent but for the camels and maybe a dying bandit or two. John looks like hell. Rodney hopes they die slowly.
"Davis?! Holy shit, it's really you!"
Liddle slaps John on the back, and it sets off a blurring round of questions and answers that Rodney only half hears over the voice in his head, 'Alive, he's alive.'
We thought you were dead--
In that storm? Yeah, me too.
Who are these guys, where do they come from?
Hell if I know, mean bastards, though.
Why did they--
Don't know, man, I don't know.
It's Towns who asks about the shackles on his legs.
"I think they're for camels or some shit. Shoot 'em off if you have to."
He sits back down in the dirt, stretches his legs out and just waits, a flat look on his face that Rodney doesn't like at all. Towns squats down with him to get a better look and shakes his head.
"If I felt like shooting your foot off, maybe. Let's just get you back to camp for now and figure something out there."
John sets his jaw and lets Rodney help him to his feet. He ducks back into the yurt, coming out with an armful of waterskins and one wicked-looking sword.
"There's ammo in those boxes, there, y'all might wanna carry some of it back. In case." He turns and hands the sword to Rodney. "At least take care of the rope for me? I can't get a good swing at this angle."
Rodney takes the sword from him and John sits with his feet spread wide as they'll go. Which isn't exactly far enough for Rodney's comfort, but they'll take what they're given and he makes sure his blow is clean, centered, and hard enough to split the coarse rope in two.
John grins up at him when he's done, and it's the best thing Rodney's seen in days.
They salvage what they can, water and ammunition and God bless, hard flat rounds of bread and lumps of something John says is cheese. They smell sour, but it's neither hearts of palm nor peaches and Ian cradles the bag like it's pure gold.
John shoulders up a load of supplies that would stagger a horse like it's nothing, like it's pipe, like he's done this forever. A.J. steps up to slide a pack off his arm and John just looks at him, a long blink before the embarrassed grin creeps up and he lets the others take their share.
Rodney almost wishes the actual horses hadn't run off, only they can't spare the water so he supposes the beasts are better off fending for themselves.
The gunfire has drawn the rest of them -- aside from Elliott, that is -- away from the Phoenix, and halfway back there's a second round of amazement and questions. Jeremy thumps John on the back and congratulates him on not being dead, the funny fucker. Kelly hangs on his neck and sobs relief, and John flushes uncomfortably and thumbs the tears off her cheeks, like she shouldn't be wasting them.
Rodney keeps within arm's-length of him, unable to shake the feeling John could still vanish at any moment.
When they come up over the last dune John stops in his tracks, and damn it all Rodney had actually forgotten he didn't know.
"You built a new plane."
Ian puffs up like this was his idea, one of his pet projects. "Still building, actually, but yes. She's a bit rough around the edges but she'll get us as far as Langhu."
"Holy shit, you're serious."
Elliott is standing next to the tail section, watching as they skid down the lee side of the dune with their packs and their news. John's eyes are wide, he can't stop looking at the plane and Rodney can't stop looking at him.
"You're... we're really getting out of here."
"Yeah." Rodney rests his hand on John's shoulder and follows him down. "Yes, we are."
--
The ties on John's legs prove to be loops of viciously-knotted rope, and it takes a good twenty minutes of cursing and Kelly's sharpest knife for Rodney to saw them loose.
"What the bloody hell did they do this for, anyway? They were afraid you'd walk down to the corner store and not come back?"
John laughs weakly. "Afraid I'd take a horse or something, I guess. Or water. Something else they'd miss."
Rodney twists the knife and yanks, and one foot is loose. John pulls his leg up and offers the other.
"You know how to ride?"
"Some. My uncle had a place when I was a kid, couple of ponies he didn't mind us saddling."
Rodney tries to picture all six-foot-whatever of John folded up and perched on a pony, and the image makes him chuckle. The second rope comes free and John lets out a long breath, leaning forward onto his knees.
"Damn, that's better."
"I'll bet. Is your leg alright, there?"
"Yeah, 'm fine."
Rodney fingers the cut strands and John heaves to his feet. The rest of the camp is in motion around them, always, Rady and Sammi with their heads bent together over the supplies and Kelly explaining something to Towns with sweeping motions of her hands.
He thinks it'll be a cold day in hell before he lets John wander off in the night again.
Elliott puts John right to work on the plane, naturally, and spends the next two days circling the site and muttering under his breath. John takes to it handily enough, head down and doing as he's told, which come to think of it isn't really like him. The quiet is unsettling. It would be downright unnerving except that John's fallen into rhythm with the rest of the crew and it's as if Rodney had been walking with half a leg all this time and hadn't noticed.
Still, something just isn't right.
With the extra they hauled back from the bandits' camp, they're about breaking even on the water. The bread and cheese are a hell of a mood lifter but when Sammi mentions it to John he ducks his head, turns his face away like he can't take the thanks.
Sammi crosses himself when John's back is turned, and Rodney frowns and knows he owes some thanks of his own but he isn't sure John will hear him.
--
It's all going so well, relatively speaking, that Rodney realizes he should have expected the other boot to fall. John is under the starboard wing with Jeremy when Elliott approaches Towns, and the two of them vanish behind what's left of the fuselage. Nobody pays it much mind even when their voices begin to rise, but when Towns yells loud enough to be heard even over the noise of construction, everything stutters to a halt.
"We are all flying out of here, Elliott, so you just change whatever the hell has to change to make that happen!"
John's head comes up and a sick knot curls in the pit of Rodney's stomach. Of all the things Rodney would expect to read on John's face at that moment, resignation... defeat aren't even on the list.
Jeremy is already in motion, five yards out and adding his voice when John drops his shoulders and sets his tools aside. Rodney falls into step beside him and they're all moving toward the commotion, drawn into a knot of anger and disbelief.
Towns is looming over Elliott, in his space like he expects the other man to back down but he should know, even Rodney knows that won't happen.
"It doesn't work that way, Towns, the tolerances--"
"I don't give a goddamn about the tolerances, you're the hotshot experimental plane designer, you figure it out!"
"What the hell is going on, Frank?" A.J. steps up to flank Towns, just behind his left shoulder.
Liddle waves his arms. "We've been working on this thing for weeks and now he's saying he fucked it up?"
"I did no such thing, my design is flawless. But now there is too much additional weight." Elliott's jaw is lifted, as if he intends to stare down the lot of them, and there's a long breath of stunned silence until his meaning sinks in.
Then they all just yell, Rodney included, because God damn if they're going to come this far and work this hard--
John walks right into the middle of it, shoulders back and head pulled up to his full height like he almost never does, and says, "I'll stay."
"The hell you will!"
Rodney's protest is the first and likely the loudest but not the only, and he's less surprised by that than he'd have been even a month ago. Towns cuts John's offer off with the flat of his hand but damn it, damn it to hell, John sets his jaw and steps forward again.
"I mean it. You can, y'know, leave some water and stuff, come back for me. If that's how it's gotta be."
"Bullshit, Davis, we ain't leavin' you behind!" Jeremy shrugs off Ian's hand on his arm and looks like he wants to hit something. Rodney understands the urge, his own hands have balled into fists but he isn't certain whether it's Elliott he'd rather smack, or John for being so... bullheaded.
"Nobody is getting left behind, period!" Towns and Elliott are back to their staring match and John just stands there like some kind of sacrifice.
"There has to be something...." Kelly wrings her hands, eyes darting from face to face as if she'll find an answer on one of them, because there has to be an answer.
"There isn't. Our pilot can't handle the weight."
Something flashes through Towns' expression, something ugly and quickly suppressed. "You said we had an oversized lifting surface, Elliott. How can we be having a weight problem now?"
"Oversized for the load we had, but now that's changed, hasn't it. Now we need more control than we've got, you can't handle the plane with this many passengers."
Towns scrubs a hand over his face. "So give me more control."
"There's no time for that, it--"
"We're ahead of schedule as it is, how much more time could it take?"
Rodney hadn't realized it but Ian is right; since they found John again the work hasn't just been smoother, they've gotten it done far faster. Elliott is shaking his head again.
"It's not enough. All the control in the world doesn't matter if you don't use it properly, and Towns...." He trails off with a tight little smirk.
Sammi bulls his way into the growing circle. "Towns what, man? He saved our lives up there!"
Elliott has to raise his voice again, yelling over the general noise of agreement. "He wouldn't have had to if he'd listened to me in the first place!"
"Oh, is that what this is about? Weight problems. Maybe we wouldn't have had any if I'd left your sorry ass back at the well!"
"You'd be dead without me, all of you! You will never get out of this desert without me!"
John flinches, shoulders curving in, and Rodney takes his arm and hauls him back a step, back out of the line of fire. This thing, this fight is about more than the Phoenix, Rodney can tell that much but frankly right now he doesn't care. John tenses under his grip but doesn't try to shake him off.
"Is that what you think? That makes you more important than Davis or any of the rest of this crew?"
"You're damned right it does! I'm worth more than--"
Rodney's moving before he even thinks about it and now it's John's hand heavy on his chest, holding him back while Towns pulls a fist and punches Elliott right in the jaw, laying him flat out in the sand.
"Get up. Come on, you son of a bitch, get up!" Towns moves in on the grounded man, but when Elliott rolls to face him Towns stops short, turns on his heel, and walks away.
Rodney doesn't know what to make of it. From the looks of things none of them do, but no one seems particularly in the mood to fight anymore, either. A.J. and Kelly follow Towns over the top of the nearest sand dune. Rady offers his hand to Elliott, who glares at him, picks himself up and vanishes into the fuselage. The others drift away until it's just the two of them, John with his hand on Rodney's shoulder and Rodney still vaguely wishing he'd gotten a hit in while his blood was up.
"What the hell just happened here?"
John shakes his head, looking like he'd much rather be somewhere not-here but uncertain of just where that might be.
"And what the hell is up with you?"
"Nothin'." John's hand slides down Rodney's back and away, and he shifts from foot to foot. Rodney isn't buying it for a moment, but John's cultivated a sudden fascination with sand and won't meet his eyes.
Rodney has put this off for days, watching John, fitting the changes in him against each other like puzzle pieces and knowing one day he'll have to come right out and ask, but he doesn't have the words for it yet. He's wondered what the hell happened to John in the weeks after the sandstorm, and the picture coming together in his head maybe isn't anything worth killing over but Rodney finds he's not exactly sad none of the nomads survived the firefight.
John bobs his head to the left. "Kelly's back."
Rodney almost calls out to her, but something in the determined set of her jaw stops him and they watch her stomp past and into the fuselage. A moment later A.J. and Towns appear at the top of the dune, hang there for a moment like they're weighing options, back to camp or out into the deep desert? Rodney can't blame them for the urge; there's no doubt this entire situation is completely fucked and will likely end with someone's lips applied to Elliott's backside, and not in the fun way.
Still. Rodney'll be damned before he loses anyone else to this place -- again -- and he's not above dragging them back by their ears if need be.
Towns straightens his shoulders like he's facing a firing squad and starts down the dune, A.J. at his side. A.J. catches Rodney's eye as they pass and... well, fuck. He probably should have expected this, the friction may be between Towns and Elliott but all their lives are hanging on the outcome. And isn't that a sobering thought.
He rounds up the others -- expecting John to balk, and frowning at the back of his head when he doesn't -- and they gather around the back of what's left of Towns' plane to discuss Elliott's. Kelly, bless her, already has him talking and that must've been a feat in itself.
"Of course I can redesign the tail section. The question remains whether your people can build it correctly and on time, and whether Towns can compensate on the throttle. Frankly, I'm not convinced of either."
Elliott's tone has "smug bastard" written all over it and Rodney can see the muscle jump in Towns' jaw from where he stands. The rest of the crew is subdued, waiting out this storm like they have so many others. John slides down a bulkhead to sit on the floor, staring at precisely nothing.
"My people are prepared to do whatever it takes. We all are."
"Including me." Towns sounds as if he chewed on the words before he let them out, but there they are.
Elliott raises an eyebrow, sweeps his gaze around the makeshift room before staring over Kelly's shoulder at Towns. "Say please."
Kelly bristles -- whether at the request or Elliott's blatant dismissal of her, it's hard to say -- and the silence stretches out until it feels as if the whole damned desert is holding its breath.
"Please." It's Liddle, not Towns, climbing to his feet and drawing Elliott's attention. "Please, Elliott."
Elliott's mouth twists like he's tasting something rotten, or considering a change of tactics. "Ian?"
"Please, let's finish it."
"That's nice." He gives a sour little smile and fixates on Towns again. "Mr. Towns, who's the boss of everyone?"
"You are, Elliott. You're the boss of everybody. Now can we please finish the airplane? Please?"
It's possibly the most grudging, reluctant sentence ever spoken by man, but it does the trick. Elliott's chin comes up, proud, and he pats his pockets for his notebook, already heading for the outside. "Then it seems I have some work to do."
The crew begin to file out, one by one, and Rodney catches Jeremy's attention and tips his head to where John's still sitting in the corner. Jeremy nods once, clasping Rodney's forearm before following the others outside. Rodney makes it a point not to make a point of things, of them, but this he needs. A little time and a little privacy, because Rodney isn't letting John out of this plane again without some answers.
John stands finally, rubbing his hands absently along the front of his jeans and Rodney realizes John's missing his cap, must have lost it in the storm. How could he not have noticed it until now? John tries to move past and Rodney stops him with a hand on his chest.
"Not so fast."
"We've gotta get back to work--"
"There's time enough. What was all that out there?"
"Nothin', I told you." John looks out at the desert and then drops his eyes to the floor, avoiding Rodney entirely. Rodney's put this off for too long, he knows that now, but all he can do is keep going until this, whatever, until something's fixed.
"'I'll stay'? That's hardly nothing." John's cheek twitches and Rodney knows this isn't everything, but it's a good enough place to start. "You know even better than the rest of us how dangerous this place is, what were you thinking, you'd hang your shirt off a pole and we'd find our way back to you? What if another storm comes up? What if it buries this tin can and you can't dig your way out? What--"
"What if I'm still a jinx?" John mumbles the question, still looking down at the floor, and Rodney has to fight the urge to just take him by the arms and shake him.
"You don't seriously think that."
John lifts his shoulder in a loose shrug. "Just, what if. Elliott said the Phoenix won't fly with all of us."
"Elliott's full of crap, he's been itching for an excuse to jerk Towns' chain again. That wasn't about you."
"Maybe... but he might be right. You'd practically be out of here by now if it wasn't for me."
John still won't meet Rodney's eyes, and Rodney has had exactly enough of that. His hand is still on John's chest, the thin dirty fabric over his heart, and he pushes John back into the gloom, away from the sun.
"I'd be dead if it wasn't for you, don't think I've forgotten."
He mumbles again, and even as close as they are right now it's too low for Rodney to catch. Another push and John fetches up against the inner wall of the stripped plane, nowhere left to go. "What was that?"
John finally looks at him, his eyes all but unreadable under bangs grown too long and streaked by the sun. "I thought you were."
Rodney blinks. "Dead?"
"Rady told me about the fire, when all that gas blew... hell of an explosion. Showed up for miles." John shifts again, like he wants out from under Rodney's hand, his gaze. "I figured that was it, you know? You were all-- it was all over."
Rodney hadn't even considered it. John had vanished, and it had never occurred to Rodney to wonder if he'd seen the fireball, or what he might've thought of it. "Is that why you've been like this, walking around the camp like a ghost?"
"Hey, I've been--"
"Yeah, you've been working on the plane with the rest of us, all 'yes sir' and 'no sir' with your head down and no questions asked. John, that's not you, you never leave off with the questions. What's the matter with you? What happened?"
"What-- Christ." John leans heavier against the wall, letting his feet slide out a little. "What am I supposed to say? It sucked, it's over. The end."
"John." Rodney slides his hand up until he's gripping John's shoulder and one finger slips a little under the collar of his shirt. John shivers, he can't possibly be cold but Rodney presses and hopes.
"They made me carry stuff and they tied my feet all up and I never understood a word they said." He breathes harder, remembering. "Is that what you wanted to hear? The only people who would ever look for me were all dead and they didn't even know my name--"
"John." He's cupping the side of John's face, stubble rough against his palm and he remembers the first morning after, John alive and shaving with a borrowed knife. Rodney's had half an eye on him ever since, even at... especially at night, but it's not enough. Laying his bedroll between John and the door makes him feel like he's doing something, but it hasn't been nearly enough.
John turns his face into Rodney's touch, just a little, eyes still fixed like he's looking for something, reaching for solid footing. So Rodney reaches back.
"Rodney, you--"
He slides his hand to the nape of John's neck, tugging in and down and John's breath catches on a quiet "Oh" just before Rodney kisses him. It's hardly ideal, chapped lips on cracked skin and they're both riding the edge of dehydration, but every bit worth it when John's hands flutter and come to rest, one on Rodney's hip and the other at the small of his back.
Rodney should have kissed him days ago, wanted to, didn't because he's a damn fool.
John tastes like peach syrup, he's the only one of the crew not sick of them already and Rodney could love peaches again too just for this. He's pulled Rodney closer, folding around him, and Rodney is about two minutes away from saying the hell with the Phoenix, and the others, and every damned thing that isn't John's body pressed against his when John breaks off the kiss and rests his forehead on Rodney's with a quiet sigh.
"Ow."
Rodney runs his thumb below the edge of John's lip where the flesh has split. "Alright, there?"
"Mmhm, worth it."
He's in full agreement, and the lazy motion of John's hands over the cloth of his coverall, slow nudge and press of their thighs, it's mesmerizing. "You're hard."
John sighs again, rueful. "Yeah, but I'm scared I'll come sand."
Rodney's laugh bursts out of him, and when John joins in the spell's broken, they're left clutching fistfuls of cloth just to hold each other upright.
"Oh God... we've got to get the hell out of this desert."
"Damn right." John swipes the heel of one hand across his face, still half-laughing.
"So no more talk of staying behind, yeah?"
"Yeah." He leans back against the wall, pulling Rodney in again like he's unwilling to let go just yet.
Rodney isn't ready yet either. "Or jinxes"
"Okay, Rodney, I get it."
He can tell by the tone John's humoring him now, but he finds he doesn't much care. He lets John lay his forehead on Rodney's shoulder and cards his fingers through the hair at the nape of John's neck.
"We're getting out of here, count on it."
"And then what?"
Then... that's the real question, isn't it? They came to the Gobi for oil, the both of them. Without that, what do they have but severance checks and a distinct lack of destination?
Rodney rubs his thumb over the curve of John's skull. Maybe they didn't find what they came for, but he's not leaving empty-handed. "We'll figure something out."
John tucks his face into the curve of Rodney's neck. "Okay. Okay."
--
The Phoenix flies just fine, as it turns out, but it lands like a fucking beast. It's the complete lack of shocks, Rodney would say, if he had to guess. Not that he's even sure regular planes have shocks, but this one? Definitely not. Also lacking in a few other key areas, like a good way to drop speed without simply bouncing down the runway at Langhu like crazed skipping stone.
The holds Elliott had them put it come in damned handy, Rodney's suddenly even fonder of them than he was his personal little windshield. He yells for John to hang on like he doesn't know any better, barely hears John yell back and everyone else yelling all manner of things. The plane bounces one more time and careens suddenly to the left, and that sickening snap he hears, Rodney's pretty sure that's his arm.
Towns had actually managed to radio the tower shortly before they came down, time enough that the runway is soon a whirl of emergency vehicles, fire crews and amazed onlookers. Rodney's isn't the only injury, but Ian slides down off his place on the port wing and stalks right up to the man in the most expensive-looking suit, demanding a satellite phone among other things, and by the way, isn't Langhu the most logical staging area for a rescue? Aren't there Amacore representatives just waiting ready to welcome their recovered personnel?
Rodney loses track of Ian in the crowd, but John sticks to his side like he's welded there. They get electrolyte drinks for the dehydration, a temporary splint for Rodney's arm, and are told again and again, "Beijing, you're going to Beijing now."
The plane out is nice enough that Rodney wishes he were better able to enjoy it, but he's got John in the seat next to him and the strongest painkiller they'll let him have without a full medical workup, and really, after the fucking month they've had he'd take Beijing in an ox-drawn cart, as long as he was out of the sun.
The hospital is nicer than some hotels-- fuck, it's nicer than the apartment he gave up to come out to Mongolia. All he really wanted was to get his arm set properly but the doctor who met their flight insisted, oh so politely, that they all stay for "observation," for at least a day. So he's relaxing in his automatic bed in his semi-private room, buzzing a little on his IV drip and listening to his unnamed roommate snore on the other side of the privacy curtain when John sneaks in to see him.
It's almost comical-- scratch that, the sight of John actually tiptoeing into his room threatens to make Rodney laugh out loud, which would entirely defeat the purpose. Nevermind the fact that John on his toes is hardly quieter than John at any other time.
"He doesn't wake easily." Rodney pitches his voice low just the same, holds back a chuckle when John shrugs at him.
"Maybe, but I had to sneak past the nurses' desk, too." Rodney had the curtain half-pulled already, none too fond of the afternoon sunlight, and John tugs it the rest of the way 'round and perches on the edge of Rodney's bed.
"So, uhm. How are you?"
Rodney can't help but tease, John looks so... nervous. "I'm fine today John, and how are you feeling?"
John grins and ducks his head, those ridiculous bangs in his eyes again. "Kind of silly, yeah, I just wanted to check on you. Cast itch yet?"
"Not that I've noticed." John's wearing the same hospital-issue nonsense he is. The gown stretches absurdly across his shoulders and chest, pulls at the side of his neck when he settles further onto the bed and Rodney's so preoccupied with how uncomfortable it looks he just nods and hmms along as John talks.
"So, Elliott wasn't just bitching to bitch, he really did crack three ribs but he's been such an ass about it he's not getting much sympathy. Sammi's in my room, all he can talk about is his girl and how much cash the company might cough up, oh yeah, Ian went on a total tear... uh, Rod?"
"Mmhm?" His cast doesn't itch, but his lips are a little tingly. Odd, that.
John lifts a corner of his mouth in a loose grin. "Man, you're not even listening."
"No, I am. Elliott, Ian, right." He lifts a hand, his left, and touches John's bangs. "You could use a haircut."
"I... could use a lot of things."
There's something there under his words, something Rodney thinks he should know. He licks his lips, draws his fingertips down John's cheek. "You didn't sneak in here to tell me about Elliott's ribs."
"Not really, no."
John leans in a little, pauses a moment before his eyes clear and then he braces his arm on the other side of the bed and covers Rodney's mouth with his own. He's more Carmex than peaches this time, they're safe, and Rodney sucks air in through his nose and slides his hand back and into John's hair. John kisses him as if they're alone and he'll never have to stop, and Rodney flexes the fingers of his right hand against the edges of his cast and wishes he could hang on, just hold this for right now.
John smells of hospital soap and his cheeks are smooth. Even Rodney hasn't shaved yet and he wonders absently about that but John pulls his lips away and mouths along his jaw, almost whispering.
"Rodney... Rod, I wanna suck you off."
And oh, that flares right through him, burning off the lingering drug haze and twisting into a knot at the base of his spine. "God, John."
"Don't say we have to wait, man, I just." He swallows and skims his free hand down Rodney's chest. "Please. Please, I want to so bad--"
Rodney tugs on John's hair, pulls his head back enough to kiss him again, hard. "Yes. Just keep it quiet, yeah?"
John's answering grin is downright wicked. "Same to you."
John starts tugging the sheets down, and Rodney would help but that would mean letting go and he really, well, he'd rather not right now. He keeps his hand in John's hair and shifts his cast when the blanket threatens to catch on it. John shoves his gown practically up to his neck and licks at his chest, laying wet, open-mouth kisses across his skin.
Rodney's been scandalously hard ever since John pulled the curtain shut, but he didn't expect anything to come of it. He's never been so forward, not since the first night when Rodney was still convincing himself John was too young, too drunk, too likely to decide after the fact that no, this isn't what he'd wanted at all. But John's always known his own mind more than Rodney credits him for.
The bed creaks alarmingly when John shifts into position, half-on and half-off the mattress, and Rodney barely has time to worry about the noise before John's mouth closes over the head of his dick. Christ, he doesn't waste any time teasing either, just folds long fingers around the base of Rodney's cock and goes down.
"Jesus."
Rodney lifts his cast up before John knocks his head into it on an enthusiastic upstroke and can't think what to do with it, can't think so he just holds it in mid-air. John's kneading at Rodney's hip with his free hand, squeeze and release, and Rodney was only half-kidding when he told him to be quiet and John is only half-managing to.
It's these little happy noises John makes, like having Rodney's cock in his mouth is the best damned thing that ever happened to him. He doesn't think John even realizes he does it but God, it just takes Rodney apart at the seams, every time. His fingers are still threaded through John's hair, shaggy and soft, and when John murmurs and runs his tongue along the edge of his glans Rodney slams his head back into the pillow and comes. John swallows it down, like the first time, like always, straightens up and wipes the back of his hand across his grin.
"Didn't wake him, did we?"
His roommate lets out an impressive snore and Rodney shakes his head."Doesn't sound like it. Come on up here."
"Hmm?" John's pulling up the sheet, straightening his gown and Rodney really wishes he had both his hands free. He settles for twisting his left into the fabric over John's chest and tugging him closer.
"I said, come here." He keeps his cast angled out of the way, and it's starting to burn in his shoulder but the lapful of John makes up for it. John grins again, quick and sweet, and leans in to kiss him.
Rodney meets him halfway, it's hot and messy and he can taste himself in John's mouth, but he has a goal in mind and he won't be distracted from it. John gasps into the kiss when Rodney's hand reaches his cloth-covered cock, trembles where he's braced himself across Rodney's chest again and it's delicious.
"Help me out a little, yeah?" He breathes it against John's lips, and the look he gets in answer is so desire-fogged it makes him chuckle. "Come on, just lift a bit... like that."
Between them they get John's robe out from under his ass and up to his waist, and Rodney isn't left-handed but he is by God going to do his best.
John collapses sideways onto him at the first stroke, panting and pressing his face into Rodney's neck. He's heavy as fuck but Rodney isn't about to complain, he'll take half-smothering over... over no John at all, any day. The angle's terrible, John pushes at the floor with his free leg trying to shove his cock further through Rodney's fist, and it doesn't seem like it should work but it's getting him there all the same.
"Rodney, God yeah." He just breathes after that, a quiet whine high in the back of his throat telling Rodney yes, yes, right there. The hitch in his chest, the way he presses his mouth open and wet against Rodney's throat when he comes, Rodney can't fathom how he ever meant to walk away from this.
John's still breathing heavy when Rodney pulls his hand away, licks at his index finger with a thoughtful noise.
"Mmm... no sand at all."
He buries his face in Rodney's chest, and his shoulders shake with suppressed laughter. "Dude, you're gonna get us caught."
Rodney grins, murmuring around his fingers. "That might not be so bad. Maybe if you asked nicely, flashed that happy-puppy smile, you could be my new roomie."
John actually pushes up and stares at him for a moment like he thinks Rodney's serious, before the grin blooms across his face again. "Funny, funny man. God, we're a mess."
"Oh, and whose fault is that?" It's like can't help himself, the more he has of smiling, laughing John the more he wants.
"Well, since it was your hand on my dick..." John trails off, sits up and twists around searching for a box of tissue or something like.
It doesn't take long to clean them both up and set their clothing, such as it is, to rights. John perches on the edge of the bed again and Rodney doesn't much like the distance but, well, there they are.
"I should probably get back. They might, I dunno, want to check my blood pressure again."
"Or your fluids." Rodney says it for a smile and gets a quiet laugh and a ducked head.
"Doubt it, but uhm." John toys with the edge of the blanket, his long fingers twisting in a loose thread.
Rodney touches his hand, covers it. "John."
He looks up, suddenly calm and Rodney remembers him crab-crawling across the sand through gunfire, walking into the middle of a fight with his head up and his shoulders back.
"Okay, here's the thing: I don't wanna drill oil anymore, and I don't really want to go back home again, either."
Rodney could say any number of things to that, but he thinks... he shouldn't. Not yet. "What do you want?"
"Well. I'm not that picky about where, or even what 'cause Ian sure did right by us but that money won't last forever, but I would kind of prefer to go somewhere without sand." John stops, swallows once before he finishes. "With you."
There it is. Rodney hadn't expected John to be the one to bring it up, but he's realizing now that maybe he should have. It was the desert, he thinks, the crash and all that came after; it's left marks on every one of them and John suddenly isn't the same kid he met on a well in Mongolia.
"I've got a cousin does construction, up in the Pacific Northwest." His thumb moves over the back of John's hand, and John turns it palm-upwards.
"Rains all the time out there, doesn't it?"
"Not all the time, but more than some places, yeah."
John tilts his head, like he's thinking it over, but Rodney isn't that worried for his answer. If this doesn't suit, he'll think of something else.
"Putting that plane together was pretty damned cool."
Rodney chuckles. "You thinking of getting a mechanic's license?"
"Maybe one day. Just... it was great to make something, you know? Construction sounds pretty good."
"I'll give him a call when we get back, then."
"Great, that's great." John's bobbing his head in agreement, that wide grin spreading across his face, and Rodney is maybe about to say something embarrassing when they both hear the door creak open.
He half-expects John to spring off the bed like a jack-in-the-box but he doesn't, just releases Rodney's hand and sits up a little. He cuts his eyes to the side, then leans back in just long enough to plant a kiss smack on Rodney's lips and straighten again. It surprises him, enough that he's laughing when the nurse pulls the curtain aside but she pays him no mind, bustling around the bed and making shooing motions at John.
"This is not your room, sir, you should be in your room."
"I just came for a visit," John's eyes are twinkling, the rest of his expression such a picture of innocence that Rodney's about to start laughing again.
"Yes sir, they are looking for you, sir, you should go."
Rodney coughs into his hand; Sammi surely knows where John got off to, and at least half of the others could probably guess. As much as he won't miss the Gobi or even roughnecking, he will miss this crew.
"John." The nurse has politely backed him almost out the door, but he stops and raises his head in Rodney's direction. "Do you think you'll get tired of the rain eventually?"
John blinks, like he's wondering why Rodney would even-- then he smiles, not his usual wide grin, but a calm smile that lights his eyes and firms the line of his jaw. Rodney feels a knot in his chest loosen and knows John's answer before he even speaks. "No."
He lets the nurse shoo him out then, with a waved promise to come by again later and Rodney settles back into his pillows. His nurse may wonder why he can't stop grinning but, though her English is quite good, Rodney doesn't think he could possibly explain it. So he doesn't even try.
--
Rodney dreams they have a dog, and wakes up face-down on the motel bed thinking that's a really good idea before he realizes John's tracing the tattoo on Rodney's left shoulder with his tongue. Again.
"Why do you like that one so much?"
"Dunno."
John's curled up against Rodney's side, one leg tossed over both of his, licking down the swirls of ink on Rodney's deltoid. They've got -- Rodney eyes the clock on the bedside table -- about two hours left until they're supposed to be at Sammi's restaurant. The drive down from Portland took longer than it should have, just like every other time they've made the trip. John had never even been to the west coast so the first time, when Sammi and Sandra's Sweet Salsa Shop opened, Rodney drove them down US-101 instead of the I-5, and their map is dotted with hi-lighted lookout stops. Next time, maybe in the spring he thinks they'll pick up Route 1 where it splits off at Leggett and follow the coast all the way down.
"It's not like there aren't plenty to choose from. You could pet my lion."
"Hmm." John leaves off with a soft scrape of teeth, sounds like he's thinking that over. "Yeah, I could do that."
Rodney's still only half-awake, so it's a moment before he realizes that John's sliding his hand under Rodney's belly, and almost a surprise when he cups Rodney's cock.
Rodney laughs and shoves him over, rolls with him until he's pinning John to the bed by his shoulders. John matches him laugh for laugh, his thighs falling open to cradle Rodney between. "You're wicked."
"Uh-huh." He tugs Rodney down into a slow kiss, nudges his dick against Rodney's belly. "We've got time, yeah?"
"You always say that," Rodney kisses him again, his hands already sliding down the length of John's body, one palming his ass. "And we're always late."
John grins and stretches up to nip at his jaw. "That's because you always give in."
He's not wrong. One year, eight months, Rodney won't admit he knows how many days; it hasn't all run as smoothly as maybe he'd like, he's got his family's temper and John can be as stubborn as an entire herd of mules but at the end of the day -- the good days -- he gets to come home to this.
"Stop it." John's got his hands in Rodney's hair, mouthing along his jawline up to his ear.
"Stop what?" He isn't playing fair, but Rodney has a few tricks of his own. He slides his middle finger down the crack of John's ass, pressing in where he's still tender.
John moans, winds his leg around the back of Rodney's thigh and grinds up. "Stop thinking and fuck me."
"Wicked and demanding."
"You love it."
John's voice is already hoarse, breaking as Rodney starts to stretch him open again, whining when he pulls away long enough to find the lube under one of the pillows. He is demanding, needy and fucking gorgeous spread out across sheets they thankfully won't have to launder in the morning, and he's not wrong about Rodney loving this. Every minute it takes to work slick fingers into John's ass, roll on a condom, slide into his body like he's always belonged here, Rodney loves it. But more than that, when Rodney braces against the mattress to thrust John wraps himself around Rodney, the whole glorious length of him folded into a tangle of arms and legs like he's--
They don't talk about it, how Rodney can't open his eyes in the morning and not know where John is -- right then, that exact moment -- without his gut twisting in knots. How John loves the ocean and won't set foot on the beach, and lies awake when there's wind at night. They don't talk about this, but they kiss like they're drinking life, hold each other hard during sex and take the bruises as proof of something deeper than skin.
John comes apart when Rodney fists his cock, twisting his head on the pillow and clutching at Rodney's back. Rodney leans in, latches onto the side of his neck and bites, and John bucks against him and shoots all over, smearing white and hot between their bodies. Rodney watches as long as he can manage before his own climax overtakes him, takes him over and greys out his vision. He comes back to John's touch, John's hands cradling his face and his lips on Rodney's eyes.
"Hey, you."
Rodney lifts his head and licks into John's mouth, kissing slow and deep. "Hey, you."
"We should probably--"
"Yeah, probably."
"Don't want to."
They do anyway, though when Rodney shifts inside of John his eyelids fall in that way that makes Rodney want to push back in and call off lunch, and this is why they're always late to everything but work.
John waits 'till he's tossed the condom, then pushes Rodney down on his back and collapses on top of him with a deep sigh.
"The idea was to get out bed after, I thought." He's teasing, arms already pulling John closer and tucking him against his chest.
"Five minutes." John sounds like he could fall asleep again, though, and that's no good.
"We need to shower."
"Three minutes."
"Fine, but no dozing."
"'Kay." John flips his head over to face Rodney, eyes cracking open. "What did Liddle say? He emailed you back, right?"
"That the twins are still too young but he'll come out next time. Bring the whole family, maybe." John makes a thoughtful noise, and Rodney keeps going down the list. "Rady will be there, Jeremy said it'd be him 'plus one,' which always means at least two. Kelly's up on the North Slope somewhere, she said to send pictures."
"Of Jeremy and his girls?" John grins, and Rodney laughs and resists the urge to muss his already-mussed hair. He tugs him up further instead, covers John's grin with his mouth and that's fine, that's wonderful.
"Hey, Rodney?"
"Mmhmm?"
"Last one in the shower buys the beer." John tumbles backwards off the bed with a whoop, a mad scramble of arms and legs and even if Rodney was fool enough to try to race him, it's much more fun to watch. He'll get there, and they'll make it to Sammi's mostly on time, and maybe when they get back to the room the sheets will be clean again, and they can wreck them one more time before they head home.