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“Okay, so, I figure the thing we need to do is to get drunk,” Rodney said, holding up the bottle of whiskey.
John scrubbed his face with one hand. He'd just gotten back from Earth late last night, and he'd been looking forward to spending the whole day sleeping. “Rodney, it's the middle of the afternoon.”
“Which in my estimation is really the perfect time to get started,” Rodney answered, as the door to John's quarters closed behind him. “I've got the day off, you've got the day off. We can get drunk very slowly, and get an early night, which will result in a minimal hangover in the morning. Nine o'clock briefing: no problem.”
John couldn't help a wry smile from tugging at his lips. “I can see you've thought this all out.”
“That's what I do, I'm a thinker,” Rodney said, smiling smugly. “So?”
John thought about it. What the hell; it wasn't like he'd been getting much sleep anyway. “Okay, but under one condition. We don't leave the room. If one of us gets wasted enough to think that going skateboarding down the tower steps is a good idea, the other one of us has to hold them back.”
“That would be you, doing the skateboarding, then, because I can assure you I'll never be that drunk.”
“Rodney.”
“Fine, deal. Can we start drinking now?”
John sighed. “Yeah. Sure.”
Rodney grinned at John. “You lost again.”
John frowned at the board. He'd only had two whiskeys to Rodney's four, but Rodney had just won his third game of chess. He hadn't been drunk in a long time, but he seemed to remember he used to be able to hold his liquor a lot better. Mind you, he'd never tried to play chess while tying one on.
It didn't help that Rodney had kept fluttering those long eyelashes of his while they were playing. John was pretty sure he wasn't fluttering them on purpose, that it was just some kind of side effect of the alcohol, but that didn't stop it from being distracting. He wished Rodney would quit it already.
Or maybe he could stop playing a game that involved his staring at Rodney and his fluttery, pretty eyelashes for long periods of time. That was a damned fine idea.
“Okay, let's try something else,” John said, standing.
“Like what?” Rodney said, looking up at John with a weirdly trusting expression. John ignored the way that look made his stomach do a little flip.
John cleared his throat before speaking. “A movie.”
“Oh,” Rodney said. “Okay, but – a comedy? I could do with a laugh.”
John looked down at Rodney and damn, there was that flip again. “Sure, buddy. Sure.”
“Oh – oh, God,” Rodney said, between gusts of laughter. “This is the funniest movie ever.”
John rolled his head against the back of the couch.
“Really, I'd never understood what was so great about Wayne's World,” Rodney continued, oblivious to John's pain. “Everybody always said to me, 'But you're Canadian! Mike Myers is Canadian! Don't you get it?' And the thing was, I did. Those guys were like all those headbanger assholes who used to try to cram my head into a toilet every September in high school. But it really is – ahahahahaha, oh my God – ” Rodney cracked up, pointing at the screen.
John followed Rodney's pointing finger. Yeah, he'd always found that part funny before. Not now, though. Now, he just wanted to punch Dana Carvey in his pasty face.
Rodney leaned across him then and snagged the bottle of whiskey, which was now more than half empty, and topped up John's glass, only spilling a few drops on his hand. “Oh, sorry,” Rodney said, dragging his arm across John's chest as he moved back.
“'Sokay,” John said, concentrating on the cooling effect of the evaporating alcohol on his skin so that he could keep his mind off the way Rodney's careless touch had heated it.
Okay, he really needed to stop drinking now. As soon as he finished this one.
“I didn't go to my mom's funeral,” Rodney said, and yep, here they were, bottom of the bottle, and John wasn't nearly drunk enough for this conversation.
He stayed silent so as not to encourage Rodney, but it wasn't like John's silence had ever been a deterrent before. Unfortunately, he was drunk enough to forget that important point. “I was in Siberia, and it was the middle of winter. Her death was – sudden, unexpected, so it's not like I got any warning, and by the time I could get a flight out...” He trailed off, rubbing at his eyes with his fingers. “Well.”
“Rodney, look, I – ”
“She died alone. I thought about it – God, for years afterwards. Dad was gone by then, and Jeannie was away at school, and...even though it wasn't really anyone's fault, I felt horrible about it. And then, well, I started worrying that I was going to end up the same way.” He stared out at nothing. “Somehow, it became all about me.”
Rodney took a deep breath, as if gathering his strength, and John glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. It wasn't like he hadn't had the same thoughts – especially after Nancy had left him, when he'd finally faced the truth about himself. Since coming to Atlantis, though, those feelings had pretty much left him. He had a whole lot of people who cared about him, and who he cared about in turn. It was a hell of a lot more than he'd had five years ago, and he told himself it was enough. Most days, it was.
Too bad it wasn't looking like today was gonna be one of those days. And considering that Rodney was looking more and more depressed and downtrodden by the moment, John's mind couldn't help wandering to all the ways he could help Rodney's eyes lose that sad, lonely look. He'd thought about them sometimes, late at night, when he'd been too worn out to keep them at bay.
Like last night.
When it occurred to John that Rodney had actually stopped talking, he said, “It's natural to think that way when something like that happens. It doesn't necessarily make you selfish.”
Rodney barked a short laugh. “Thanks, but this is me we're talking about.”
Suddenly John was completely, unreasoningly pissed off. Turning to Rodney on the couch, he growled, “Quit running yourself down. Just – quit it.”
Rodney's mouth snapped shut and his eyes widened to saucers, and shit, that was not fair, because now John was back to noticing the eyelashes again.
“Oh, well, I –” he flapped a hand “– it's kind of a habit.”
“Habits are meant to be broken,” John snapped.
“So this is you when you're drunk?” Rodney asked, squinting at him as though he was having trouble focusing. “You spout platitudes and get angry?”
“Sorry to be a disappointment,” John muttered, looking away.
“I'm the one who's sorry,” Rodney said softly. “I thought – I don't know what I thought. That this would help.”
Just as suddenly as the rage had washed over him, it drained away, leaving John exhausted. He leaned his head against the back of the couch and closed his eyes. “Getting drunk never helps much of anything. It sure as hell didn't help my mother – she drank like a fish, but that didn't stop Dad from ignoring her and cheating on her.”
This time it was Rodney's turn to stay quiet, and John's turn to run off at the mouth. He couldn't seem to stop himself, no matter how hard he tried. “I missed my father's burial. I went to the cemetery after the whole Replicator thing was over, but I – it was just like at the wake, just like when Carter told me. I didn't have the – I didn't – feel anything.”
“What did he do to you?”
John opened his eyes then and looked at Rodney. The question had been almost a whisper, but the look on Rodney's face was as plain as a shout, and John sucked in a breath at the message he'd never seriously hoped to find there.
What the hell, John thought, might as well go for broke.
“He didn't do anything to me,” John answered matter-of-factly. “He told me I shouldn't let Nancy divorce me, and I told him I probably should, considering I was gay and all. He told me to get the hell out of his house and to never come back, and I did.”
John could practically see Rodney trying to prod the currently malfunctioning pathways of his brain to make sense of what John had just said, but he didn't appear to be having much luck, if the way his mouth kept opening and closing was any indication.
“It's okay, Rodney,” John said, trying to smile reassuringly and probably failing. “Look, why don't we call it a night?”
“No, I –” Rodney said, as John rose to his feet – God, why had he, after all this time, he should have just, everything would have been fine if he'd only kept his mouth shut “– wait, let me – ”
“Rodney,” John murmured, “just let it – ”
Rodney's hand shot out and grabbed John's, the fingers warm and strong, encircling his own.
“– go,” John whispered.
“Why didn't you tell me?” Rodney asked, his voice wavering.
John didn't answer as Rodney rose to his feet, still holding onto his hand. “I just told you,” John said.
“After almost four years.” Rodney frowned. “Were you afraid I wouldn't understand?”
“No, I – ”
“Because I do,” Rodney interrupted. “I do understand. I mean, I've never – ” he made an elaborate gesture with his free hand that John really didn't want to think too much about “– you know, but I understand, why some people, why you'd –”
“Rodney, please – ”
Rodney blinked with those damned eyelashes again. “Please what?”
John sighed. “Please let go of my hand?”
“Oh,” Rodney said, stupidly, and looked down at their joined hands. “Actually, I think you're holding onto my hand now.”
John looked down. “Oh,” he said, because Rodney was right, and he should let go, but somehow he couldn't. He really shouldn't have had those last two – three – drinks.
Rodney was staring at him now, like maybe he was finally starting to make sense of things. “You – really?” he squeaked. “Wow. That's – ”
“Y'know, suddenly I've got this crazy urge to go skateboarding...” John managed to let go of Rodney's hand, but Rodney grabbed his wrist before he could get away.
Rodney's gaze was suddenly clear, direct, determined, and God, John was in real trouble here. “No leaving the room while we're still drunk,” Rodney murmured. “We made a pact.”
“I'm not that drunk,” John said.
“Neither am I,” Rodney answered. His thumb was sliding up and down the inside of John's wrist, and then he was leaning closer, and shit, this wasn't – he couldn't be –
“Rodney, don't,” John said, hating the way it came out like a plea.
Rodney stopped. “Why not?”
“Because I'm not your goddamned science experiment. Or your rebound relationship.”
Rodney frowned. “I know that,” he said testily. “Don't you think I know that? I wouldn't – experiment on you. And I've had a relationship with you for four years. This is just – a new twist.”
“Not so new for me,” John bit out, and Rodney's eyes popped again.
“Oh. Really?” Rodney's face split into a brilliant grin. “That's – nice to hear, actually,” and okay, fine, what was John supposed to do then except kiss him?
Rodney was kind of stiff at first, and John was half a second from giving up on the idea – after all, he figured he could still pass the whole thing off later as an alcohol-induced hallucination on Rodney's part – when Rodney made a soft, low sound in his throat and flung an arm around John's neck and tilted his head and opened his mouth, and every thought of giving this up flew out of John's head. No way was he ever giving this up, because Rodney's mouth was a new world inviting him to explore, and it would take a hive of hungry Wraith and a whole troupe of clowns to stop him from doing just that.
When Rodney started to lead John toward the bed, still kissing, John hesitated. Rodney's mouth parted from John's with a loud sucking noise, and his eyes flew open. “What? Don't tell me you didn't know where this was going.”
“I thought you'd never – ” John copied Rodney's earlier hand gesture “– you knowed.”
Rodney grabbed John's hand again and pressed it to his very interested erection. “Somehow,” he said, smiling crookedly, “I don't think that's going to be much of a problem.”
John squeezed Rodney's cock, eliciting a gasp, then took two steps forward and shoved Rodney down on the bed. Rodney bounced like a quarter, his eyes wide and startled, and as he tried to sit up again, John reached down and yanked his shirt up over his head in one smooth motion.
“By the way,” Rodney said, panting as John watched his palms lay claim to Rodney's chest, “I'm totally open to being your science experiment. Just so you know.”
“Rodney,” John said, leaning down to bite at a nipple, “shut up.”
Rodney gasped and clutched at John's head and whispered, “Shutting up, yes, definitely, your wish is my command.”
“Wow,” Rodney wheezed against John's neck, “that was – really quite spectacular.”
“Glad to hear it,” John said, smiling stupidly up at the ceiling.
Rodney rolled off him, and John turned onto his side and shifted so there would be room for both of them on the narrow mattress. Rodney propped his head on an elbow and looked down at him. “So this wasn't just a one time thing, right?”
“What? The drinking? Letting you beat me at chess? Watching Wayne's World?”
“No, I meant –” Rodney trailed off, scowling. “What do you mean, letting you beat me at chess? I won fair and square!”
John raised his eyebrows. “We'll never know now, will we?”
“Oh, you – ” Rodney glared at him. “You're messing with me.”
“Yes, Rodney, I'm messing with you. And no, this wasn't a one-time thing. Not unless you want it to be,” John added, clenching the hand under the sheet into a fist.
“Don't be – I mean, no, I don't want a one-time thing. I would be perfectly happy to do this again. On a regular basis. On a frequent regular basis, even.”
John leaned in and pressed a kiss to Rodney's lips, feeling a thrill deep in his gut when Rodney responded without hesitation. “How about now?”
“Oh, God,” Rodney gasped against his mouth. “Not now. I'm sorry, I don't have that kind of recovery time. I'm sad to admit I don't think I ever did.”
John trailed his fingertips down the smooth, hairless skin of Rodney's side, smiling when he elicited a groan. “Too bad,” he murmured, kissing Rodney's chin, his cheek, his earlobe. “'Cause I was planning to suck you for as long as it takes for you get hard again.”
Rodney pulled back, his mouth dropping open in shock. “My God, I have been waiting my entire life for someone to say that to me.”
Smiling, John lifted the covers, only to have Rodney's hand grip his shoulder. “Wait.”
John looked up, confused.
“I'm sorry, I forgot. You must be exhausted after everything that happened on Earth.”
“I'm not that – ” John began, but Rodney silenced him with a hand on his cheek, a thumb sweeping gently just under his left eye.
“You've got those bags under your eyes,” he said, almost fondly. “You get them whenever you're really worn out.”
“Oh,” John said, because okay, he'd been trying not to get his hopes up here, but Rodney had been noticing when he'd been tired, obviously for some time now, and that wasn't something you generally noticed unless you cared about someone. A lot.
“So, as much as I can't believe I'm turning down what will doubtless be a stupendous blow job, I think maybe I'd better let you get some sleep.” Rodney leaned in for a kiss, then let go of John's face and made to sit up.
“You're leaving?” John winced at the whiny note in his voice – Christ, could he be any more pathetic?
Rodney stopped dead. “Oh – you – don't want me to?”
John hitched a shoulder. “You could stay. If you want.”
Rodney frowned. “What do you want?” he demanded.
“I want whatever you want,” John shot back.
Rodney's mouth dropped open. “God, I can't believe this. I actually understood that.”
Now it was John's turn to frown.
“No, really, do you have any idea how great this is? Twenty plus years of attempting to understand the language of women – with very little luck, I regret to say – and now you talk in this strange, seemingly indecipherable code and I get it.”
“Guess you should have tried guys a long time ago,” John said, unexpectedly stung.
Rodney cocked his head. “No, I'm pretty sure I only have a talent for deciphering Sheppardese,” he said happily, lying back down and closing his eyes.
John stared at Rodney's face for a minute or so, then rolled over to turn out the light. Rodney's arm slid around his middle, and in a moment his warm body was pressed all along John's back from shoulders to knees.
“Bed's narrow,” Rodney mumbled. “Don't want to fall off.”
“Sure,” John said, smiling, because he understood Rodneyspeak, too.