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John woke up with a headache and a mouth that tasted like an ashtray. Hanging right above his nose was one of Dex's filthy flat feet, and if he hadn't been considering being sick before, it was a possibility now.
"Fuck," he said. The foot twitched.
John cursed 'Two Dollar Pitcher' night and considered going back to sleep with the hope of waking up feeling pain-free and minty-fresh, but he'd twisted a muscle in his back sleeping on Rosa's crappy wooden floor, and the thought of a bucket full of cold water and a ten-minute piss seemed like heaven. He swatted Dex's foot out of his face and pushed himself up to his feet.
Dex was out cold; mouth open and shoulders twitching as he tried not to fall off the slim couch. That was one good thing about pilots - great balance under nearly all conditions.
As John stuck his mouth, then his head, under the kitchen faucet, he could hear the low murmur of conversation coming from the apartment's single bedroom, which meant Mitch and Rosa were awake, which meant that Rosa was going to be up and making coffee in the next five minutes. John liked Mitch's girlfriend; she was smart and fiery and knew when to go out drinking with the boys and when to leave them alone, but she also liked talking, and her enthusiastic patter was one other thing John didn't want to put up with on that quiet Sunday morning.
He found his car keys under a pile of burger wrappers and let himself out silently.
~~~
His car was beautiful. It was his baby. It was electric blue and low to the ground and yeah, she grumbled a bit when he pushed her for top speed, but she got there eventually. John rolled all the windows down and turned the radio off, and enjoyed the whistle of wind and the bright sun all the way home.
~~~
John's place was dull but clean on the outside, and he'd carried that theme through to the interior. He had the basics - bed, civilian clothing, enough pots to cook spaghetti bolognese, two changes of linen and four mismatched towels. Mitch's second-hand TV sat in the corner next to John's awesome yet compact stereo system.
The fern that Rosa had given him for his last birthday and that he'd tried to keep alive because it was the only gift he received, and that meant something, had droopy fronds and burnt tips from being too close to the window. He sipped at a glass of water, pouring some into the base of the pot between swallows. He took another glass for himself, then lay down in bed. His bedroom was dark and smelled like nothing, and he could hear a bunch of kids yelling out at each other up the street as he slipped into sleep.
~~~
When John woke up again it was lunchtime. The smell of someone's cooking wafting through the open windows twisted his stomach with hunger and some other emotion that he refused to call envy. He showered, didn't shave, left his hair wet and slick and decided to walk up to Steve's for something to eat. He knew from past experience that it was never busy on a Sunday; anyone that had someone was with them, and, in this neck of the woods, even the dysfunctional families took the time to share a meal together on the Lord's Day.
If he were back at the base it would be business as usual; airmen strolling back and forth across perfectly manicured lawns, the mess full of clutter and noise and a variety of plain but filling foods. John didn't really need, nor want his apartment, but most officers had a place to go - the married ones to their families that lived in the compact houses circling the base, the singles to their night lives or, if they were lucky, to their lovers. It would look weird if he didn't get off base occasionally, and John didn't like to stand out.
The keys in his pocket jangled in time with his footsteps as he walked and the swish swish of a sprinkler watering someone's lawn played a backbeat. The streets were empty of people and cars; he imagined himself the last living person on the planet.
~~~
Ignoring the five-dollar special, John ordered a hamburger with the works. Steve's wife left her magazine long enough to scribble down his order, holler it out and grab him a large glass of Coke. He drank it down immediately and waited for Sally-Anne to notice he needed a refill.
John sat at a table by the front window and watched a stray dog sniffing around the base of a garbage can across the road. A couple of cars drove past, all heading to the highway. He contemplated taking his baby out for a cruise later, but he'd seen pretty much everything there was to see in and around town, and the fact that he had to be back on base by oh-eight hundred hours the next morning meant he couldn't wander too far. When he went back home he'd see what was on TV then take a nap, or take a nap and then watch TV until he fell asleep in front of it. He could go back to Rosa's and hang out, but Dex would want to go drinking again and Mitch would be looking for some quiet time with his girl.
"One with everything," Steve said as he slid a plate in between John's elbows. "Got these things called curly fries now. Thought you might like to try 'em."
John nodded, pulling one off the plate and slipping it into his mouth. It was hot, salty and greasy, and just the thing his body had been craving.
"Barbeque, right?" Steve asked, holding up a half-empty bottle of sauce. John nodded again and Steve slapped it onto the table with a satisfied grin. "I like to take care of my regulars."
"Thanks," John said, waving the bottle at Steve as he went to refill Jed's coffee cup. The old-timer and Steve looked like friends from way back, or maybe second cousins. Either way, every time John had been there, so had Jed. John knew his name because Steve liked to yell it out when he was laughing and slapping the other man on the back.
~~~
John was eating his last fry and considering dessert when the bell hanging over the doorway clanged. He hadn't seen anyone coming, so the person must have walked from the other direction.
"Excuse me, is there a phone I can use?" a man asked politely. John leant back in his chair and casually listened to the conversation - yes, there is, but unfortunately it's not working and damn the telephone company for not coming out to fix it even though Steve called them two weeks ago, and no, there isn't another phone you can use; there's one at the movie house but that doesn't open until seven, and no, the garage is closed because Big John had to go to his first wife's new husband's funeral and he won't be back 'till Wednesday, and the closest gas station is ten miles that way.
"That's just great," the stranger said, and was out the door before Steve or Jed could offer him a lift up the road. All four of them could tell he was a stranger to the area because he hadn't realized that, for people around here, conversation was a meal and Steve had just been getting onto the main course while the stranger had barely touched his appetizer. John felt oddly cheated by the abrupt ending.
"Guess he's in a hurry," Jed drawled, and Steve laughed and slapped him between the shoulder blades, and Sally-Anne grinned over the magazine's glossy ads. John left some bills on the counter next to the cash register while Steve thanked him for his business and told him to come back soon.
~~~
The stranger, wearing rumpled clothes and a perplexed expression, was standing outside, so John said, "Car break down?"
The guy turned and his sharp blue eyes seemed to assess John from head to toe before answering, "Yes. And it looks like I may have to hike into the next state before I can get some assistance."
"I've got a phone at my place," John said, jerking his head in a 'come on' gesture. "Three blocks from here."
The stranger's eyes widened. "Oh...that's...that's very nice of you to offer, but I don't want to inconvenience - "
"No trouble. I'm heading home anyway."
"Is this an American thing? Because from everything I've heard, you people aren't usually the most helpful types."
John raised an eyebrow.
"Canadian," the guy said, pointing at his own chest.
"Well, I'll try not to assume anything clichéd about you, if you return the favor." John felt a smile creeping onto his face. He started walking, pretty sure he wouldn't be walking alone.
"Rodney McKay," the stranger - Rodney - said. "Visitor to your fair state, and hopefully for not much longer, if you don't mind my saying.
"I don't," John replied, watching their elongated shadows walk in front of them, listening to the distant peal of church bells calling afternoon service. "John Sheppard. Where you off to, Rodney?"
"Las Vegas. I've got two weeks off before I start my new job, and thought a couple of nights in that den of iniquity would get me acclimatized to my new surroundings."
"Why didn't you fly?"
Rodney scowled. "I'm not fond of dangerous transportation, especially if I don't know who's driving it."
John laughed. "I fly choppers."
"Helicopters?"
"That's what I said," John replied, nudging Rodney in the arm.
Rodney didn't look offended; just mumbled under his breath about crazy Americans and their zeal for extreme sports.
There was a brown sedan parked on the side of the road with its hood up, and from Rodney's mournful sigh, it had to be his. They stopped so Rodney could grab a backpack from the front seat and lock it up.
"She's been a good car," Rodney said, stroking a hand over its roof.
"This rust bucket?" John asked. He was teasing - it was hardly scrap metal material, but Rodney looked like the type of person who got indignant at the drop of a hat, and John thought it'd be cool to get those flashing eyes pointed in his direction again.
"Hey! I've had this car since I was sixteen years old. Her service has been impeccable; she probably just gave up once she realised she was on foreign soil. I was planning on selling her when I got to Nevada."
"Moving to Vegas?"
Rodney's mouth stretched into a huge grin. "Area 51."
"No way." John's tried not to act impressed.
"Yes way. Cool, huh?" Rodney asked, throwing his backpack over one shoulder and continuing down the sidewalk.
John grunted.
"Before you ask; no, I can't tell you what I'll be doing there. If I did, I'd have to kill you. It's very hush hush and terribly important and you shouldn't be at all embarrassed to act very impressed."
"If it's so hush hush, why are you telling me? I could be a spy."
Rodney gave him that up and down look again. He snorted and shook his head. "I doubt it."
"Hey! I could be. I could be the king of espionage."
"With that hair, you're more likely to be the king of Pantene For Men."
John scowled and rubbed a hand over the top of his head. "Cliché, McKay."
"I find they cut down on a lot of unnecessary conversation."
~~~
John grabbed them a beer each while Rodney was on the phone with the towing service and opened up a couple of windows. The sun had nearly set and the smell of fried chicken had disappeared from the house.
Rodney took the beer with a nod of thanks, the phone wedged under his left ear while his right hand scribbled indecipherably. "Ah huh...ah huh...right, so? Ah huh. Sure, thanks." He hung up and took a swig. John waited for him to say something. It didn't take long.
"They'll be three hours," Rodney said before taking another sip. "It seems they work with a reduced staff on Sunday's and, lucky me, they've got a previous job. In the opposite direction."
John shrugged and collapsed onto the couch. "You can hang out here. I don't have anywhere else to go today."
"You're awfully accommodating, Sheppard. What's the catch?"
"There needs to be a catch?" John asked, lifting the beer to his mouth.
"Just...never mind." Rodney sat down next to him. "So, what do people do for fun around here?"
John's mouth twitched.
"Oh, you're kidding me. This? This is it? This is the most fun one can have in this town?" Rodney bellowed.
"We are a simple, yet kindly folk, McKay," John said, and laughed when Rodney elbowed him as he got to his feet.
"I'm all sticky. It's thirty-five degrees outside, and yes, I mean centigrade, not that you'd know the metric system if it bit you on the ass, and seriously, isn't there a Holiday Inn within walking distance? A taxi service? A slow yet reliable mule train?"
John pictured his car sitting in the garage, sleek and loud and ready to go, looked at Rodney pulling the collar of his sweaty shirt away from his neck with a disgusted look on his face and made a split second decision. "Go take a shower. Bathroom's second door on the left and there's towels in the cupboard. By the time you're done the coffee'll be ready."
Rodney opened his mouth, - maybe to complain, maybe to request another beer, maybe to tell John to stick his crazy offer where the sun didn't shine - but he closed it in a decided manner and gave John a suspicious look over his shoulder as he was walking down the hall.
"I'm not going to steal stuff from your backpack, McKay," John yelled out after him.
"And I'm not going to go through your cabinets," Rodney shot back.
~~~
John was as good as his word, and the coffee was done, poured and waiting by the time Rodney came back to the living room.
"I left my clothes in the car," Rodney said sheepishly.
John raised his eyebrows at the towel slung around Rodney's hips.
"Well I'm not borrowing any of yours!" Rodney said, slumping down next to him. His knees were still a little damp and they bumped into John's as he leant forward to pick up his mug.
"Wasn't offering," John drawled.
"Wasn't asking," Rodney sniped back.
"So," Rodney began again after the silence had stretched out for at least a minute. "You usually invite strange men back to your apartment?"
"Not usually, no." John kept his eyes front and center. "Never, actually."
"Why am I so special?" Rodney asked, twisting around to face him. The edges of the towel separated and bared a pale sliver of his inner thigh, and John looked away, but not before Rodney had seen where he'd been staring.
John shrugged, trying not to act surprised when Rodney took the mug from him, placed it on the floor next to their feet, picked up John's now free hand and placed it squarely over his crotch. The towel was threadbare, and John could feel the heat of Rodney's erection through it.
"I've still got a couple of hours," Rodney said.
"Yeah, okay," John sighed, and slid his hand under the towel.
Rodney's head immediately fell back and he groaned with enjoyment, even though John had barely gotten the feel of him in his palm. He pulled a couple of times and watched in fascination as Rodney's skin began to turn pink from his cheeks down to his stomach.
Rodney opened his eyes. "You're good at that."
John shrugged with one shoulder, his grip sure and tight now. "Plenty of practice."
Rodney laughed. "What're my chances of getting a blowjob? With reciprocation, of course."
"Never done that before," John said. He knew he should have felt embarrassed to admit it, but he felt so comfortable with the situation; safe in his house, with Rodney pleased and flushed beside him, that he let it go.
"I could teach you," Rodney said, leaning into his shoulder and murmuring straight into his ear. "I'm a good teacher. Very patient."
John smiled, because he had a feeling that Mr Canada was a lot of things, but patient wasn't one of them. "Sure."
Within seconds he was on his knees between Rodney's bared thighs, looking at a cock that was pretty much fully hard, pink and pert and pointing toward John in a friendly manner.
"Not used to seeing one from this angle?" Rodney asked, stroking up, then down his own cock. John watched, intrigued, so Rodney did it again.
"I don't usually see them," John said, getting comfortable on his heels. "You can't really see what's going on when you've got your hand down a guy's pants."
Rodney laughed and John looked up at him, smiling at Rodney's obvious pleasure
"It's simple, really," Rodney said, taking John's hand and guiding it to his balls. "See, not so scary."
"Funny," John muttered, slightly annoyed that Rodney thought he was skittish. He curled his fingers loosely around the sac, tugging a little as Rodney made approving noises. After a while, John's thumb pressed up and stroked the base of the cock, watching as it swayed back and forth. He twisted his hand and moved his fingers lightly over Rodney's perineum.
Rodney's hips thrust forward.
"You like that," John grinned.
Rodney spread his legs further apart. "Yeah."
The head of Rodney's cock was glistening, so John rubbed it with his free hand, the slick warmth of precome drying tacky on his skin.
"I want to see you," Rodney panted, trying and failing not to squirm. "Undo your pants."
That sounded like the best idea he'd heard all day, so John leant back and unbuttoned his jeans, pushing them and his shorts down to his thighs.
"Nice," Rodney said, eyes fixed on John's already leaking cock.
"You too," John said, then leant over and swiped the head of Rodney's cock with his tongue.
Rodney groaned as John got used to the taste, then groaned louder as John kissed his way up and down the shaft, stopping every once in a while to nibble on surprisingly sensitive balls.
"That's it," Rodney groaned, rubbing the back of John's neck. "Good. Very good."
John hummed and sucked harder, moved his hand faster.
"Careful, I'm going to - "
John pulled off and tugged hard; once, twice, then Rodney came all over his hand.
"Thanks for the warning," John said.
"No problem," Rodney chuckled. He closed his eyes and breathed heavily for a few seconds then said, "Your turn."
They switched places. John kicked off his shoes, jeans and shorts, then pulled off his T-shirt because he felt stupid wearing nothing but that. Rodney knelt on the towel and tugged at John's hips until his ass was half hanging off the couch.
Rodney pulled on him leisurely, letting John get used to the sensation. John hunched down further, watching from beneath half-closed eyes.
Rodney smirked up at him. "You don't have to warn me. I like the feel of someone coming in my mouth," and John gasped as Rodney's words and Rodney's mouth hit him at the same time.
He lost himself in the sensations - wet and slippery over his balls, hot and tight over his cock, hands skilfully kneading his thighs wider and wider apart.
"Yeah. Yeah, Rodney," John moaned, breathless and dry-mouthed and heart pounding in his chest as Rodney took all he could give, and demanded more.
John opened his eyes some time later. "Wow."
"Mmmm," Rodney agreed, lips vibrating against John's stomach.
John brushed a hand over Rodney's hair. "Another shower or food?"
Rodney pushed himself up with a grunt. "Both."
~~~
It was dark, and John sort of offered to walk Rodney back to his car in case he got lost, and Rodney sort of insulted his intelligence because John had insulted his intelligence over a three-block walk in a straight line, then Rodney was dressed again in his rumpled clothes and standing by the door with his bag by his feet. "Hey," he said, looking at his surroundings, "your house is pretty bare."
John leant on the other side of the door. "I don't really spend much time here."
"What with all the 'copter flying you do."
"Chopper flying."
"That's what I said."
They grinned at each other then looked away.
"Thanks. It was great. I mean, it was very nice of you to - " Rodney stuttered, and John was pleased to see a wave of pink wash up Rodney's throat for the second time that day.
"It was nice of you too," he said, and he meant it.
"See you around?" Rodney asked, holding out his hand.
John shook it. "Sure. One day."
Neither of them let go, and both pulled the other forward. Their lips met in perfect alignment, which seemed strange because the crookedness of Rodney's mouth had intrigued John from the first time he'd noticed it. The kiss was slow, and wet, and satisfying in a way that John hadn't experienced in a long time.
They separated reluctantly. Rodney's smile dazzled John, and he resisted the urge to kiss him again, but allowed his fingers to stroke up over Rodney's side.
"See you 'round," Rodney said. This time it sounded like a promise.
John nodded. "You never know when you're going to need a pilot."