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Today's Disaster Forecast
For dogeared, who prompts: Why is Rodney so determined to get out of the upcoming mission with John?
"I knew this was going to happen," Rodney said.
John looked at him, hunched miserably over his plate of cheesy appetizers, tapping restless fingers against his half-empty glass of very good local beer. "What? A nice, low-key party? Great food? Great beer? Happy grateful people? Sunshine? Hot tub?"
"Yes, exactly." Rodney ate half of a triangle of sausage in pastry and glared at the other half like it was offending him by being delicious.
Ronon was off dancing a complicated dance with three giggling kindergarteners, barefoot. Teyla had disappeared somewhere with the young man from the welcoming committee. They'd been holding hands. Rodney said, "I never wanted to come in the first place."
Which was obviously true. He'd tried to get out of this trip with one excuse after another: too much work, fear of sunburn, a totally bogus headache. But the Gry welcome committee had been very insistent. Dr. McKay was the one who'd fixed their shielding when it went haywire and threatened to electrocute and/or burn the entire village, so they'd be happy to schedule their celebration whenever Dr. McKay might have an opening in his very busy schedule.
And when all Rodney had wanted to do was sit on the front porch of this guest cottage (while John danced and mingled and took a swim in the cold lake and came back to dry off in the golden afternoon sunshine), they'd accepted that. Every now and then, a little kid or an old grandma would come with food or beer or a garland of flowers. Rodney was looking like a pagan idol -- lounging in one of those Gry chairs that were like a cross between a beanbag chair and a down comforter, surrounded by offerings, glaring.
Maybe he'd have lightened up if it had been Keller here with him instead of John. Keller seemed like a gingham-bikini sort of girl; maybe for her Rodney would have taken off that stupid Arthur Dent bathrobe he was wearing over his trunks and actually gone in the water. If Keller were here, she and Rodney would probably be idly making out on the cushions, all warm from the sun. John suspected he was starting to pout.
Now two girls of about six came running up the hill and tugged on some cords, and rose-colored cloth came down all around the patio they sat on. "To keep the sun off," one said, and they dropped Rodney deep clumsy curtseys and ducked out under the curtains and ran away giggling, leaving John and Rodney in a glowing square of reddish-gold light.
John stretched and sighed. "I don't know what you're so pissed off about. This is great."
"And I knew something like that would happen, too." Rodney slammed his tin plate down on the stone floor. "We'd come here all tense from a couple of hellish weeks, and they'd give us everything to make us full and happy and slightly tipsy, and they'd get us off alone in this amazingly comfortable private space, and you'd -- "
"You'd relax," Rodney said darkly. He was leaning on one arm, looming over John with a furious glare, and John was irritated and also vaguely alarmed, because it was obvious some kind of explosion was on its way. Rodney couldn't just enjoy himself like a normal person, could he. He had to --
When Rodney's mouth hit John's, John was so tensed up for more yelling that he flinched back. It was a second before his brain connected -- Jesus, he just kissed me -- and by that time Rodney was yelling again: "You'd relax. You'd go swimming and come back with water all over your ridiculously attractive body. You'd lounge all over the place. Your jaw muscles would stop twitching. You'd finally quit with the John Wayne imitation and open your eyes all the way, and I would have to do it, I'd have no choice, and then everything would be ruined, doomed, completely down the --"
"Shut up," John said. "Back up a minute. You kissed me."
"Right! Which is exactly what I was just explaining how it is absolutely not my fault!"
The disturbingly vivid picture John had had of Rodney making out with Keller (and not for the first time) turned itself inside-out in his brain. Christ, he was an idiot. This explained everything. He grabbed Rodney by the lapels of his robe and said, "Do it again."
Rodney had been in the shade all day. His skin was cool and smooth under John's hands. The tentativeness of his kiss only lasted until John managed to shove the robe off, and after that he was fast but sensual, like John's mouth was an amazing treat he couldn't get enough of. Jesus. Rodney. And he hadn't thought of this?
Rodney pulled back, glaring. "You! Why didn't you say something? You could have put an end to my suffering any time in the last -- how long?"
"I have no idea." Though some things made a lot more sense if -- jesus, how far back?
"You are without doubt the most moronic, oblivious --" Rodney went on between kisses until John pushed up and tumbled him down on his back, and then he trailed off in a heartfelt "Oh."
Jesus. Rodney's body. Rodney's skin, tasting gorgeously of fresh clean sweat. Rodney's nipples, which John now realized he'd been observing covertly for some time, and Rodney's writhe when John licked one, and Rodney's big hand on the back of John's head. Rodney's cock, hot through the slick fabric of the swim trunks, so smooth against John's lips, and Rodney's hand switching to John's shoulder, gripping hard. Jesus, how had he missed this?
"Yes, yes, oh god yes, just like that only faster --" John looked up under his eyelashes to see Rodney watching him, bathed in the rosy light through the curtain, mouth open in astonishment. John had done this before, but never to anybody he especially liked, never to anybody whose crazy disarranged hair and kiss-red mouth filled him with this absurd tenderness, and he abruptly changed his mind about what he wanted and crawled up Rodney's body to kiss him some more.
"What -- oh, fine -- oh!" Rodney tugged on John's shorts until John pulled them off, and by the time he was done, Rodney had both their cocks in his hand, so that all John had to do was rub against him and gasp, "Rodney, yeah," and Rodney growled, "Yes," into his mouth and came all over him.
"Oh, man. Rodney." Rodney tried to get loose and go down, but John held onto him, because they were both all nice and wet now and kissing Rodney felt -- so -- good -- and Rodney said, "Come on, come on, you can," until John lost it.
When John had the strength to raise his head, Rodney was pretty much a mess -- hair everywhere, one side of his neck suspiciously red, lower lip obviously bitten. "OK, this is officially the best shore leave ever," John told him. "And, hey, maybe now you'll go in the hot tub with me?"
"I'm pretty sure there's a perfectly civilized shower inside the guest cottage, along with a bed, which we neglected so we could lie on the floor like animals or college students -- oh, fine," he said when John wiggled his eyebrows at him. "For you, I'll go in the human soup and probable get toenail fungus. I knew this was going to happen."
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December 20, 2008