fic: dock
Dock
John/Rodney | PG | 480 words | No spoilers. If you haven't seen SG1... Jack O'Neill has a lake house where he goes to get away from it all and fish. That's...about all you need to know. | I can't believe General O'Neill gave you the keys.
On the dock there are two chairs. In between the chairs there is a stainless steel bucket. Tied to the end of the dock is a small rowboat idly rocking up and down with the lapping water of the quiet lake.
Sitting in the chairs are two men. In the bucket there is ice and beer. In the bottom of the boat there are four bottle caps from where they have been snapped and sent spinning through the air.
"I still can't believe General O'Neill gave you the keys," Rodney says, squinting at the horizon and aiming the bottle cap resting on his thumb.
He snaps. The cap flies and lands on the planks of the dock, bouncing and landing just short of the intended target.
"It wasn't without rules. We bring our own food and beer. We break anything, we buy it. And no drinking coffee out of the Simpsons mug." John sends his own bottle cap through the air; it soars and lands with a plunk against the inside of the boat. He smirks.
"And no driving a Prius." Rodney turns to look back toward the lake house and the old pickup truck that had been waiting for them at the airport.
"He does have a reputation to uphold."
Rodney looks away from the truck and looks at John, who's looking at him in a way that he can't when they're at the SGC.
"I bet he'd let Daniel Jackson drive a Prius."
John barks a laugh and Rodney takes advantage of the momentary surprise to lean forward and catch John's mouth with his own. John shifts his beer to his other hand so he can grip the front of Rodney's shirt, pulling him closer.
Over the years, they've become experts in the art of the awkwardly positioned kiss--the maze on Thrase still holds the top spot--but for as many times as they've found themselves in uncomfortable situations...
"Okay, I'll say it. Ow." Rodney pulls back--although he can't see them, he's pretty sure they both have indentations from the corners of their chairs pressed into their sides--his mouth ruddy from John's stubble.
"Probably not the best--"
"No. But nice."
"Yes. It is."
Rodney leans forward one last time and kisses John softly.
"Next time, I'm pulling you over here," Rodney says, looking back toward the horizon. His hand crosses the short distance and his fingers tangle with John's with the practice of years of experience.
"Promise?" John asks, turning his head to look at Rodney. He squeezes Rodney's hand.
Rodney looks over at John, his expression as unguarded as it's ever been. He smiles. "Oh yeah."
John smiles back. "Cool."
On the dock there are two chairs. In between the chairs there is a stainless steel bucket. Tied to the end of the dock is a small rowboat idly rocking up and down with the lapping water of the quiet lake.
Two men are sitting in the chairs and between them they are holding hands and watching the setting sun.
John/Rodney | PG | 480 words | No spoilers. If you haven't seen SG1... Jack O'Neill has a lake house where he goes to get away from it all and fish. That's...about all you need to know. | I can't believe General O'Neill gave you the keys.
On the dock there are two chairs. In between the chairs there is a stainless steel bucket. Tied to the end of the dock is a small rowboat idly rocking up and down with the lapping water of the quiet lake.
Sitting in the chairs are two men. In the bucket there is ice and beer. In the bottom of the boat there are four bottle caps from where they have been snapped and sent spinning through the air.
"I still can't believe General O'Neill gave you the keys," Rodney says, squinting at the horizon and aiming the bottle cap resting on his thumb.
He snaps. The cap flies and lands on the planks of the dock, bouncing and landing just short of the intended target.
"It wasn't without rules. We bring our own food and beer. We break anything, we buy it. And no drinking coffee out of the Simpsons mug." John sends his own bottle cap through the air; it soars and lands with a plunk against the inside of the boat. He smirks.
"And no driving a Prius." Rodney turns to look back toward the lake house and the old pickup truck that had been waiting for them at the airport.
"He does have a reputation to uphold."
Rodney looks away from the truck and looks at John, who's looking at him in a way that he can't when they're at the SGC.
"I bet he'd let Daniel Jackson drive a Prius."
John barks a laugh and Rodney takes advantage of the momentary surprise to lean forward and catch John's mouth with his own. John shifts his beer to his other hand so he can grip the front of Rodney's shirt, pulling him closer.
Over the years, they've become experts in the art of the awkwardly positioned kiss--the maze on Thrase still holds the top spot--but for as many times as they've found themselves in uncomfortable situations...
"Okay, I'll say it. Ow." Rodney pulls back--although he can't see them, he's pretty sure they both have indentations from the corners of their chairs pressed into their sides--his mouth ruddy from John's stubble.
"Probably not the best--"
"No. But nice."
"Yes. It is."
Rodney leans forward one last time and kisses John softly.
"Next time, I'm pulling you over here," Rodney says, looking back toward the horizon. His hand crosses the short distance and his fingers tangle with John's with the practice of years of experience.
"Promise?" John asks, turning his head to look at Rodney. He squeezes Rodney's hand.
Rodney looks over at John, his expression as unguarded as it's ever been. He smiles. "Oh yeah."
John smiles back. "Cool."
On the dock there are two chairs. In between the chairs there is a stainless steel bucket. Tied to the end of the dock is a small rowboat idly rocking up and down with the lapping water of the quiet lake.
Two men are sitting in the chairs and between them they are holding hands and watching the setting sun.