"A what?"

"A Superbowl party," John said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"You have got to be kidding me," Rodney said, folding his arms and staring at John through narrowed eyes.

"C'mon, we can actually watch the game in real time," John wheedled. "We haven't been able to do that in -- well, never, since we got to Pegasus."

"I can't say I've missed it," Rodney retorted, though he was fighting a losing battle; John's pout was going to win, which he suspected John knew.

"This time next year we're going to be out of here," John said. "Obama promised to send the city back. This is our chance."

Rodney cast an eye around their new quarters -- spacious living room, two desks, the sectional sofa he'd paid three Marines good money to haul to the far end of city -- and consoled himself that at least their bedroom had a door now.

He tried a different tack. "Do I have to be there?" Maybe John would let him off the hook! Surely he could fabricate something that absolutely needed doing in the lab on Sunday evening.

John walked over to where Rodney was leaning against his desk and unfolded Rodney's arms, putting Rodney's hands on his hips. God, his hips...

"You do," John said firmly.

"But--"

John talked right over him. "Because this is the first time we're having people over."

Rodney was about to argue when he realized what John meant. Each of them had been reasonably sociable in his own quarters -- well, what the average McMurdo refugee would consider "sociable," which is to say, not very. But this time they would both be hosting. Together. In their new place. With the windows that looked out over open ocean, not the weirdly disjunctive view of the Golden Gate Bridge.

"Oh, fine," Rodney said, trying to scowl and failing. "I'll watch your stupid football game."

"Men in tight pants," John pointed out, leaning in to brush his lips across Rodney's.

"I guess I can live with that," Rodney said faintly, and kissed him back.

The End