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"Hey, Rodney," John calls as he walks into Rodney's house. He's slightly musky, with a light sheen of sweat from the recycling run, and desperately wants a shower. But more than once, Rodney's eyed him getting out of his coveralls, and before he can dry himself off from the shower, Rodney's had him bent over the bathroom sink. Grabbing a kiss, John asks, "So what're you doing tomorrow?"
Looking up from his laptop, Rodney absently asks, "What?" before disappearing into his thoughts again.
John tempts the man back to reality by letting his fingers play with the zipper of his coveralls, the slight tinkling noise of metal on metal garnering Rodney's full attention.
"I said, what are you doing tomorrow?"
"Oh, you know," Rodney says, gesturing to the laptop. "Working with Zelenka on some new compression algorithms. Oh, and the SGC sent us some new stuff for you and I to test out," he says, pointing to a crate on the other side of his kitchen. Ever since John had agreed to help out the SGC, he and Rodney had spent most of their time in Citrus Hill, with occasional trips to Atlantis for work on the systems there. John always felt a little torn, nearly feeling like Atlantis was a second home, though Citrus Hill would always hold that top spot in his heart. "Why?" Rodney asks, a curious look on his face.
"Take tomorrow off," John says, then leans in for a quick kiss.
Rodney starts to protest, but John stops his "No, no, no," by fully unzipping his coveralls and letting the material hang at his waist. He stands there in his white tank top, Rodney's eyes bugging out just a bit as John casually runs his fingers over his chest. "Why?" Rodney asks, protests forgotten as he subtly tries to adjust his pants, John smiling at the man's predicament. (But turnabout was fair play; two weeks ago during a Citrus Hill City Council meeting, Rodney had purposefully bent over Laura's desk, causing John to fall out of his chair.)
"It's... There's something I want us to do tomorrow," John confesses.
When nothing else is forthcoming, Rodney just says, "Okay..." and rolls his hand.
"It's kindof a surprise," John says. At Rodney's look, he adds, "Just... I want to take you somewhere; a day trip. Maybe overnight."
"Seriously?" Rodney asks. At John's look, he just says, "Okay..."
John stands there, Rodney eyeing his half-removed coveralls. "I'm gonna go jump in the shower," he says, pointing towards the back of the house. He turns to head back, Rodney hot on his heels. "You coming with?" John asks.
Rodney gives John a look, as if to question his intelligence back a few generations.
With a smile, John just manages, "Cool."
~*~*~
"Up and at 'em, Rodney," John calls.
Rodney just groans his response and buries himself under the covers even deeper. It was a typical March morning, the temperature hovering just on the chilly side, which made even John want to stay in bed. But their day was calling, so John leans over, grabbing Rodney's pillow.
"So help me, I will end you if you steal my pillow, Sheppard," Rodney warns.
"Okay," John says, so he grabs the blanket instead, yanking it off in one fluid motion.
"Sheppard!" Rodney complains at the sudden influx of cool air.
"Hey, I didn't steal your pillow," John counters, smirking at his partner. "C'mon. We gotta get a move-on." John leans down, smacking Rodney on the ass, earning a yelp. "We got places to be, Rodney."
Sitting up on the edge of the bed, Rodney pulls John to him, nuzzling into the man's stomach as his hands wrap around John's midsection. "Is one of them Skeeters? 'cause I could use one of his Big Biscuits right about now. And coffee," Rodney says, finally standing up. "Lots and lots of coffee."
Holding up a thermos, John says, "No Skeeters, but I've got two big thermoses full of coffee - one for each of us." With another playful smack, he says, "Now get in the shower so we can go. We've got to be at the airfield by six."
Rodney stops in his tracks. "Airfield?" he asks.
John just smiles his reply, refusing to answer any other questions from the man. Instead, he pokes and prods Rodney until the man is ready, refusing to give him any coffee until they're settled into the truck.
"So where are we going?" Rodney asks as he greedily reaches for the mug.
"You'll see," John just says, handing over a travel mug, filled to the brim with Rodney's favorite Kona blend. "It's a Southern thing," is all the hint he'll give.
Twenty minutes later, John pulls into the Lake City Municipal Field, Rodney asking, "Lorne's?" as they pull up to an airplane.
"Yup," John manages. "He's loaning us his Cessna for the day."
"Just like that?" Rodney asks as he sips his coffee, the waning light of the moon shining off the brew.
"Well," John says as he turns off the car. "I did promise him and David a barbecue to pay them back. Plus he wants Uncle Jessup's secret recipe for pork ribs." At Rodney's look, he adds, "I know - Uncle Jessup won't even tell me." He shrugs, adding, "Well cross that bridge when we get to it..."
After a quick pre-flight check, John tucks Rodney into the passenger seat of the Cessna, handing him a pair of headphones. "Really?" Rodney asks.
Smirking, John just says, "This isn't like one of the gateships on Atlantis." He sighs, adding, "That kid - Ford? Shouldn't be allowed to name anything... It's a damned puddlejumper for crying out loud, not a gateship."
"Yeah, well this won't be anything like our last Atlantis gateship flight," Rodney says.
John takes a second to remember their last Atlantis trip, the details of their teenage-like makeout session, parking in orbit of one of Atlantis' moons on the last night of their trip. "Yeah," he says, setting a few levers. "But this one's not got any lube," he says, smirking.
John calls in his flight plan, then starts the plane, heading the plane to the runway.
"Lake City Tower to Cessna 1214. Cleared for takeoff. Safe travels," comes the voice from the nearby tower.
"Cessna 1214, roger. Happy Fat Tuesday, Carlos," John replies.
"Boucoup de perles, John" comes the reply.
Keying his microphone, Rodney asks, "Boucoup de perles - many beads?" When John doesn't immediately respond, Rodney adds, "You do know most Canadians - including me - speak both English and French?"
"Oiu," John says, drawn out in Southern style. "But hold that thought," he says, coming to a stop at the foot of the runway. "Flying always gives me a woody," he says, winking at Rodney. "And so does your accent."
Rodney just smiles, then sits back, and promises not to distract John "for fear of crashing and society losing my incredible mind, forever."
~*~*~
The trip to Mobile goes smoothly, Rodney spending half the time staring out over the countryside, the other half sleeping. John enjoys flying, and enjoys showing Rodney off to all things Southern even more. Mardi Gras in Mobile is something he's sure the man has never experienced, though John's been many times, and he's glad he's able to show it to him. New Orleans was legendary for their Mardi Gras celebrations, but Mobile was a close second. Plus, it was close enough to afford him only taking a day or two off, and to make the trip via flight instead of driving.
John looks over, grinning when he sees Rodney dozing slightly against the window. He reaches out, touching the man on the thigh, then keys his mic. "We're gonna be starting out descent in a few minutes," he says as Rodney stretches. "Should be on the ground in about fifteen minutes."
Rodney just nods his understanding, then reaches for John's thermos, taking the last of the coffee. He'd emptied his own thermos in the first hour, and John didn't mind sharing what he had left.
Angling the plane through the busy Gulf air corridor, John manages to set the plane down without Rodney spilling a drop of what's left of the coffee. Rodney tosses him a smile as he sips from the thermos lid, and John taxis down to the third turnoff, following the prescribed path to hangar parking. But suddenly there is a military Jeep in his path, and several military officers standing in front of the plane, weapons drawn. "What the hell?" John wonders aloud. "Rodney?" he asks, keying his mic this time.
"I have no idea," Rodney replies, nearly missing his mouth with the last sip of coffee from the thermos.
A man in uniform with a gold oak leaf on his shoulder - a Major, John recognizes - gets out of the Jeep and stands in front of the Cessna, giving John hand gestures to follow him. Once he gets back in the Jeep, John revs up the plane and follows the vehicle to a remote spot of the airfield, killing his engine when one of the soldiers gives him the signal. He and Rodney stay in the plane until the Major signals them to get out.
"Stay close to me, Rodney," John manages, Rodney nodding in agreement a beat later.
The two men get out of the plane and walk towards the person in command, John managing to get out, "Can I ask what is going on?" just as a beam of light shines in front him. He's glad he's got the aviators sunglasses on, looking over and seeing Rodney squinting at the sight.
It takes a second for the light in front of them to transform into a grey-haired man in dress blues. "Sheppard. McKay," the man says.
"O'Neill?" Rodney asks, and John is secretly relieved that it's only the man who took over for him as Mayor of Citrus Hill when John and Rodney went to Atlantis for the first time. John adds, "General," a second later, giving the man a salute.
"What the hell is going on?" Rodney demands.
"I could ask you the same thing, McKay," O'Neill says, smirking at the man. "Why're you not at home?"
"Uhh, I'm entitled to some time off," Rodney protests, chin protruding as he folds his arms over his chest.
"Cleared time off," O'Neill clarifies. "You didn't clear the day off with anyone, and some alarms went off at the SCG when your subcutaneous transmitter left the 50 mile radius of Citrus Hill."
"You've got an alarm that goes off if I leave my house?" Rodney huffs out, putting his arms on his hips. "Seriously?"
"Yeah, well," O'Neill says, nodding at Sheppard. "Guess we should really consider turning it off, now that..." O'Neill just nods again at Sheppard and stammers, "...you're not so, uhh - stressed out."
John knows he's helping push O'Neill's buttons when he rubs his jaw as if it aches from overuse, O'Neill complaining, "Oh Jesus, Sheppard... I did not need that visual."
John just smirks in responds, pulling Rodney to him and kissing the man full on the mouth, O'Neill blushing a deep crimson.
"I'll disable the 'McKay Escape Protocol' tonight," O'Neill says. He taps at an earpiece and says, "O'Neill to Daedalus." Turning to the members of the military, he says, "Sorry for the false alarm, boys. Thanks for making the trip all the way from Maxwell on such short notice." When the response from the Daedalus comes, he adds, "Ready to head back to the mountain, Hermiod." General O'Neill dismisses the military greeting party, then disappears into a beam of light.
"I can't believe that," John says as he goes back to the plane; they still need to move it to an approved berthing area of the airport.
"Yeah, well," Rodney says as he clambers back into the plane. "I guess it was wise, knowing that I'd probably have escaped back to Cheyenne early on in my 'incarceration'," he says, the air quotes hanging there quite visibly.
"You've never been that bad," John says as he puts his headset back on.
Rodney keys his mic. "Hello? Have you met me?"
John just smiles, then leans over and grabs a kiss before turning the engine over and taxiing the plane to one of the nearby hangars.
~*~*~
John introduces Rodney to the first Mardi Gras parade of the morning, handing the man a pillowcase as they step onto the street corner near the start of the route.
"What's this for?" Rodney asks.
John just smiles. "You'll see," he says.
Four hours, 62 strings of beads, 37 Moon Pies, and countless pounds of candy later, Rodney hands John the filled pillowcase to carry as the festivities start to break up. "So what'd you think?" John asks as they mill through the mass of people, all reveling in the spirit of the holiday.
Rodney reaches into the bag, pulling out a vanilla Moon Pie, breaking off a piece to feed to John before stuffing the rest in his mouth. "This was awesome," he says around the mouthful of sweet treat. He looks around, then reaches over, grabbing John's free hand in his. "Thank you," he says. "I've never been to a Mardi Gras parade before."
"Well now you've been to two," John says. At Rodney's curious look, he adds, "That was the Gulf Shores and Athena parades. There're four more."
"Four?" Rodney asks, a wistful look in his eyes and a quick glance down to the heavy pillowcase.
"Yeah, but we're gonna go take a nap. I got us reservations at the Renaissance for the night - just in case. The Mammoth parade's tonight at 6pm. That one's the best."
Rodney squeezes John's hand in agreement, and the pair takes off in the direction of the downtown hotel district.
~*~*~
Later that night, John and Rodney decide to skip the Mammoth parade, opting for some alone time in their room. They even order room service, though John doesn't know how hungry he really will be, what with the overabundance of sugary snacks from the days previous activities.
Much later, after two naps, John gets up and draws them a bath, Rodney nearly melting into the steaming water as he gets comfortable in the oversized tub. John gets in after him, Rodney grabbing him, pulling John back to rest against his chest.
"John?" Rodney asks, voice quiet.
"Yeah, Rodney?"
"Thanks," is all Rodney says, then leans in, dropping a kiss against John's neck, then rests his chin on John's shoulder. And John thinks he's found true contentment. All he needed was a full belly, a day full of activity, and Rodney at his side.