SGA AU Fic
Title: cinema verite
Fandom: SGA
Prompt: au100 #25 Strangers (003/100)
Words: 807
cinema verite
Rodney stared at the overfull van, head tilted, considering the likelihood of creating more room by sheer force of will. He'd already unloaded and reloaded everything twice, and was coming to the conclusion that, no matter how hard he thought at it, the van was just not getting any bigger.
It was the damned guitar that was giving him the most trouble, he decided. He eyed it warily, leaned against the bumper. It was covered in worn, peeling stickers from a dozen or more bands he didn't recognize (except for Johnny Cash) and bumper stickers with almost-funny slogans. The latches looked old and untrustworthy, like they might give way at any moment, and it occurred to him that maybe the stickers were the only thing holding it together.
Rodney sighed and pushed the rear doors closed, leaning on them for extra leverage, to make sure they clicked shut. He picked up the case carefully, and rounded the vehicle. "How attached are you to this guitar, anyway?"
John was sitting sideways in the passenger seat, leaning forward on his knees, as he had been for the past hour or so. He was impossibly good-looking, that sort of sleepy, scruffy, casual attractive that was basically every guy in California. The cigarette in his hand was held out as far as possible, but it still caused a furrow in Rodney's brow. Upon seeing his face, John hopped out and took two quick steps with a wry smile. "You limited me to only two pieces of luggage for a three-month, cross-country shoot, and you're already trying to ditch one?"
"Hmph. I guess not." If Rodney had learned anything from the last year with Radek, it had been that even an established friendship - or what passed for one with the two of them, anyway - could be strained by a long road trip; they'd bickered a lot, more than usual, they got into no less than two honest-to-God fistfights, and at one point, Radek had abandoned him at a truck stop thirty miles south of the Mexican border with only his camera and mike.
He still wasn't convinced working with a complete stranger would be any better, even if Rodney was technically the boss now, and even if John had agreed to the very sensible and very modest list of rules Rodney had insisted upon, which was more than Radek had ever done. Of course, no smoking in the van had been on the list, so there was no telling what was next. Radek had probably gotten himself stuck in Minsk on purpose, and then recommended John as a joke; Rodney put a line through his name on the acceptance speech in his mind.
He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the offending case again. "All right. Whatever. If you want to bring the thing along so badly, you'll have to find room yourself." He gave a vague wave at the van. "Don't damage any of my equipment. I'm going to get some food. I'll be back in ten minutes, and then we're leaving, ready or not."
"I think can handle it." John spoke slowly, and kept smiling as he dropped the cigarette, barely more than a filter at that point, squishing it into the ground with one boot. He reached into his pocket and fished out a worn five-dollar bill. "Wanna grab me a root beer?"
"Sure. Fine." John had a slow drawl, not quite Southern but undeniably sexy, and surely responsible for bagging him scores of painfully perfect, overly tanned California ass, and it irritated Rodney suddenly. He grabbed the offered money, still warm and a little damp from John's body heat, and shoved it into his pocket before he could think too much about it. "Anything else I can fetch for you while I'm at it?" His sarcasm felt a little wasted when John only shook his head and slid open the side door.
Rodney started towards the convenience store up the block, but stopped at the sidewalk and turned back towards the van. John was already unloading boxes onto the pavement and carefully restacking them inside the vehicle. He seemed to be showing the right amount of respect for Rodney's belongings, especially the cameras, which was good, but Rodney found himself almost mesmerized by John's jeans. Or more specifically, the way he moved in them, all effortless grace. Above the jeans, his back was displayed beautifully beneath soft gray cotton, muscles working and the occasional glimpse of skin flashing above his waistband. Several more boxes found their way to the ground and back into the van before Rodney finally snapped out of it.
This trip, he realized suddenly, might have a whole different set of problems. He checked for traffic, and then continued across the street without looking back.
Without looking back twice.
***
Table is here.