Layover

by Kylie Lee

URL: http://www.area52hkh.net/ask/klee/layover.php
Summary: On Earth, after Siege 3, McKay stops by Sheppard's on his way to Canada

'I'm not in Canada.' Rodney McKay had to yell to be heard above the din in the airport. 'Do you mind?' he demanded of the woman behind him as she poked him in the small of the back. 'What?' he said into the pay phone. 'Major? I didn't catch that.'

Rodney could barely make out John Sheppard's words. 'I said, why aren't you in Canada?'

'Because there's a big storm in Cleveland.' Rodney rounded on the woman. He was freaked out enough as it was, calling John; he didn't need anybody prodding him, literally prodding him, with her cane. 'Please, just--just cut it out,' he said. 'I'll be done in a minute.'

'Why don't you have a cell phone, young man?' she demanded.

Rodney was not fooled by her white hair, cane, and hunched posture. She was clearly out to get him. He couldn't very well answer her: he'd have to admit he'd been not only out of the country for about a year, but also out of the solar system--hell, the galaxy. He settled for, 'Why don't you?'

She waved a hand by her ear. 'It interferes with my hearing aid,' she said. 'If you're done--'

'I'm not done!' Rodney leaned against the phone's small table, pinned her with his eye, and pointed at her threateningly. He knew better than to turn his back. 'John, I'm being persecuted by a little old lady and my plane was canceled,' he said. 'It's raining in Cleveland so the plane schedules are all messed up. It's like--it's like dominoes. One falls and the rest come crashing down. Anyway, the hotels are all full up. Can you put me up tonight? A plane leaves for Toronto at six in the morning and I plan to be on it.'

Rodney pressed the phone closer to his ear as he evaded the lady's cane. The static roared, then settled into, '--bring beer.'

'What?' Rodney said. 'Bring beer? Is that a yes?' It sounded like a yes to him. 'Look, give me your address. Ow! Ma'am, do you mind?' He tilted his head, pinning the receiver against his shoulder, as he scribbled down what he hoped was the address.

'--an hour or so to clean up,' John said, his voice suddenly clear. 'Rodney, are you there?'

'Yes, yes, yes, of course I'm here.' They'd only been home on Earth, free, after their first intense debriefing, for a little over a week. He figured John had turned the TV on and not left his sofa. He had sporting events he had to catch up on. He imagined there were pizza boxes and microwave popcorn bags and beer bottles littering the place. Air Force buddies would drop by and play poker for low stakes until the wee hours of the morning. He'd had a lot of time to imagine John in his apartment. He'd thought about nothing else for days. He'd really been looking forward for a trip to Canada to take his mind off John, and that--that thing, whatever that thing was, that had happened between them at the SGC, once they were safely on Earth. 'Two hours to clean up. Bring beer. Fifty-seventh street. Got it.' He hung up. 'Thank you so, so much for your patience. It's all yours.'

Incongruously, the lady said 'Thank you' and stepped forward to lift the receiver. Rodney moved to the side as he tucked his notebook into his carry-on. He half-watched as she dialed a long string of numbers printed on a plastic phone card. She had to squint to see them. Her finger was knobbed with age. He'd forgotten about phone cards, just as he'd forgotten about the huge, crushing number of people in airports, just as he'd forgotten about cell phones and Muzak and escalators. He couldn't help but look at the crowds of people as the Wraith would see them: a huge herd, ready to cull. He'd always known that the work he did was important, but being home, here on Earth, drove it home. It was more than doing something arcanely scientific, something only other specialized astrophysicists would understand and appreciate. In a very real way, he was responsible for keeping all of these people safe--the annoying old lady with the cane, even the little kids shrieking as they ran around wildly, their harried mothers following behind.

'Sir? Sir?'

Rodney blinked. 'Who, me?' he asked the lady. 'You have the phone at long last. Don't tell me you've changed your mind.'

'Can you help me? I can't see the numbers. I can't get through.'

He had to admire her guts. She'd been poking him, and now she wanted his help. 'Fine.' Rodney took the card from her, lifted the receiver, and started punching. There were three other people in line. All of them looked irritable. The cell phone revolution apparently meant that only one pay phone out of four actually worked. It struck him that he should call his sister and tell her the plane had been canceled, then immediately decided he could call from John's. He had to sit through a menu in Spanish and a sales pitch before he could dial the string of numbers on the card. Then had had to endure a thank-you message before the menu prompted him to enter the number. The sheer mundanity of the experience drove home the fact that he was back on Earth. He'd gotten used to always being plugged in, thanks to his earpiece. 'Okay, it's ready for you to put the phone number in. Don't dial one. You have twenty-five minutes.'

'Thank you,' the lady said. Her hand trembled when she took the receiver from him. 'My granddaughter.'

'Very nice.' Rodney grabbed his luggage and telescoped the handle so he could pull it behind him. His carry-on's strap dug into his shoulder--his new laptop, courtesy of the U.S. government. 'Goodbye.'

'She's coming to pick me up,' the lady called after him. 'I'm sure she'd be delighted to meet you.'

And now she wanted to fix him up. He'd been right all along. She was evil. Or maybe she had been testing him, to see whether he had what it took to date someone like her granddaughter, who, if she took after her grandmother, would likely be the kind of girl who needed to date a very, very patient man. 'Sorry,' he yelled. 'Not interested.'

He broke free of the airport by taking a shuttle downtown. He'd last seen John Sheppard a little over a week ago, after an intense debriefing that concerned everyone's conduct at the siege of Atlantis, and both of them had done little more than grunt at each other over breakfast in the commissary at the SGC. Rodney had wanted to ask John what the hell had happened, just as he had wanted to do every day after their arrival, but he hadn't, because he'd been afraid John would tell him. Instead, both of them had been ostentatiously interested in food--a fabulous variety of food, none of it ration packs, some of it hot and some of it cold. Rodney hadn't had a chance to say goodbye to John before he left, because John had to attend interminable military meetings.

'Your mission, if you choose to accept it, is to find beer,' Rodney muttered to himself as he wheeled his luggage down the sidewalk. The day was sunny and warm, the Wraith were a galaxy away, he had access to junk food, and he'd visited his cat, who, alas, didn't seem to remember him very well. He should have been annoyed that his plane to Toronto had been canceled, but he wasn't. In fact, he was positively pleased to have an enforced layover. He knew very well the cause of his good mood, and he did his best to push it down, but it bubbled back up. It was a sheer coincidence, he told himself as he entered a convenience store, that he had a layover in the very same city in which John Sheppard happened to reside. It wasn't his fault that all the hotel rooms were sold out, or that John was the only person he knew in town, besides a colleague or two from his graduate-school days whom he had no intention of visiting. He should think about asking John what had happened during the first initial excitement of being back home, on Earth. He knew he hadn't imagined it, because he ran through it, every sensation of that brief, hard kiss on the lips, that quick, tight hug, many, many times a day. He couldn't have made up all those sensations. He didn't have that kind of imagination.

The beer distracted him. It only took a minute to select two six-packs of cold beer in brown bottles. The labels promised summer. Rodney believed them; he was feeling optimistic. Rodney spent far more time lingering in the food aisle, full of overpriced snacks. How could he have forgotten about the existence of Oreos? In the end, he bought Oreos, Doritos, and a couple Snickers. He figured he should stick with the basics. Later, he could branch out into Cheetos and maybe Little Debbies. When he was in Canada, he could get proper chocolate--Coffee Crisps, Cadbury's--and decent salt and vinegar chips.

He had no trouble hailing a taxi, but once he'd paid his fare, he had some trouble negotiating the big brown paper sack of beer and snacks and his two pieces of luggage. Luckily, someone in John's apartment building was leaving as he was coming in and held the door. It wasn't until he knocked, a half-hour early, that he realized that he should have stayed at the airport and slept on the floor, along with everyone else, or he should have taken the lady up on meeting the granddaughter, because the thought of visiting John in John's apartment suddenly struck him as possibly the worst plan known to humankind. Of course, he didn't have to say anything. There was no need to actually say to John, 'So, what was that kiss about? Because I'm obsessing about it.' Nor was there reason to say, 'Ever since you kissed me, I've been wanting to rip your clothes off.'

In one of those twists of fate where reality meets thought, John opened the door wearing nothing but a towel around his waist and another draped half over his head. Rodney had to rip his eyes upward to meet John's eyes, because they had immediately drifted downward to check out the line of still-wet hair that led from John's belly button down. Rodney opened his mouth to say hello. He was not surprised when nothing came out.

'I thought I heard something,' John said cheerfully, rubbing at his wet hair, oblivious to Rodney's inability to speak. 'I was taking a shower. You're early. Come on in.' Rodney struggled through the doorway as John continued, 'Did you buzz? How did you get in?'

'Somebody coming out let me in.' Rodney set the beer and snacks down on the floor by the door. Luckily, his voice sounded normal. Rodney focused on not looking at John's bare chest, not looking at John's bare arms, not looking at his bare waist as the towel slipped slightly lower.

'The security around here is just awful,' John said, tugging the towel back up to hide his belly button and retucking it. 'You'd think after 9/11 people would have more sense.'

Rodney did his best to look at John's face instead of the rest of him. 'I must look reputable,' he said. 'The lady behind me at the phone booth tried to fix me up with her granddaughter. I have that kind of face--the kind of face you can trust.'

'Oh, yes, that's it,' John said. 'That's because they don't know you. They don't know how annoying you really are.'

'I think the little old lady did,' Rodney said drily.

'Did you let her?'

'Let her what?'

'Fix you up with her granddaughter.'

'Of course not,' Rodney snapped. 'If she took after the grandmother, then she and I obviously had far too much in common. We'd never get on.'

John grinned at him. 'Hey, I'm glad you're here. There's a game on tonight. Want to go to the sports bar around the corner and catch it? Or we can watch here and order pizza.'

Rodney didn't even have to consider his answer. 'Let's stay in,' he said. 'Not only did I buy beer and carry it all the way up here--your elevator doesn't seem to work, by the way--but also I have to get up at 4 a.m. to catch the first flight to Toronto tomorrow morning.'

'Ouch. Four a.m.?' John swiped at his forehead and eyes with a corner of the towel. 'Forget going to bed. We should just stay up all night. Okay, I'm going to get dressed. Do you want to call for the pizza? That way, you can get what you want. Oh--you're through here.' Rodney and his luggage followed John and John's bare back and John's bare legs through the neat living room into an even neater study. 'There's a futon in here, but the couch might be more comfortable. Whichever you want.'

'It's fine,' Rodney assured him. He needed a special mattress for his back. He probably wouldn't be able to walk tomorrow. But he'd put up with a lot to spend some time with John.

'There's the phone, and the number of the pizza place is on those coupons.'

'I have to call my sister,' Rodney recalled. 'In Canada.'

'Yeah, absolutely, go ahead. Get yourself settled. If you want to clean up, there's a bathroom in the hall.'

John took much more than a minute. Rodney had to figure out how to buzz the pizza guy in. He'd just paid--clever of John, to skip out on that bit--and settled in on the couch with paper towels, a hot slice of supreme, and a beer when John finally came in.

'About time,' Rodney said through a mouthful of pizza. He pointed with it. 'It was worth the wait. Don't you look nice.' John had changed into a blue T-shirt that set off his eyes and a pair of chinos. He was still barefoot. What had he been doing in the bedroom? He certainly hadn't been slaving over his outfit. It couldn't have taken him more than two seconds to get ready. 'How long does it take to do your hair? Because it looks exactly the same as when it's wet.'

To Rodney's surprise, John flushed, although his words sounded casual and easy, as always. 'I'll have you know I spend hours on my hair and have never had a complaint. This hair is a work of art.'

'There was a rumor going around Atlantis that your personal item was hair gel. True?'

'Not true,' John retorted, sitting next to Rodney on the couch and using the remote to flip on the TV. The sound was blessedly low. 'You must be confusing me with Carson Beckett. You know very well what my personal item was.'

'I thought maybe you pried open your TV and filled the innards with bottles upon bottles of hair gel. You know, to smuggle it in.'

'There's an idea,' John said. He stuck one leg up on the coffee table, his leg brushing Rodney's. 'How much do I owe you for the pizza?'

'Twelve bucks,' Rodney said, because he knew John thought he'd say, 'Oh, don't worry about it; I'll take care of it,' and he didn't want to give him the satisfaction. 'That doesn't count the beer, though.'

'You called Canada on my phone,' John reminded him.

'That's worth maybe two beers,' Rodney calculated. 'Just give me fifteen bucks and we'll call it even.'

'I'm good for it,' John said. 'Remind me after we've eaten.'

'I'll do that.'

'I'm sure you will.'

Rodney reached for another slice of pizza. 'Is your place always this clean?'

John smiled just before he took a swig of beer. 'No, Rodney, it is not,' he said. 'I cleaned it just for you. And it would be even cleaner if you hadn't come early. So don't go into the kitchen, okay?'

'Too late.' Rodney lifted and lowered the paper towels. 'It really wasn't necessary.' Still Rodney was pleased that John had made the effort.

John lifted his eyebrows. 'Trust me when I tell you it was. Plus--you're a guest. You clean up when guests come over. And you offer them food. Just two little things my mother taught me.' He tilted his beer in salute. 'It was my idea to get you to pay for all the food, but I see my clever ruse hasn't worked.' He took a sip. 'What? What did I say?'

Rodney shook his head. 'A guest. I feel like a guest here on Earth--like I'm not here to stay. Like I'll be leaving, so I have to see everything and do everything, like a--like a tourist.'

'Back through the Gate to another action-filled adventure?' John said. 'That's real, and this is some away mission?'

Rodney nodded. 'Yes, actually.'

'I feel the same way. Maybe we'll find out that it's all a dream, that none of it is real.'

'So cliche,' Rodney said, dismissing it. 'Been there, done that.'

'Well, to stop feeling like a tourist, you need to engage.' John set his beer down. When he settled back, his thigh pressed against Rodney's. Rodney, feeling perverse and enjoying the contact, didn't move away, and John didn't either, and then it was too late to move. John didn't seem aware of it. 'You're going to visit your family, your sister, and that's good. You'll fit back into life on Earth in no time. You're just having culture shock.'

Rodney tapped his ear. 'Before I take a shower, I try to remove my earpiece, but of course I'm not wearing it. The--the quality of the light seems wrong, because it's not over the water. Everything here is artificially bright, not like the broad-spectrum lighting in Atlantis. I can hear high-pitched humming wherever I go--lamps, computers, TVs--they're all incredibly noisy. And the outside isn't like outside, it's like modified inside.'

'That's just your surroundings,' John said. 'It's not--it's not you.'

'Me? Like some essence of me?'

'Right. You'll behave the same, regardless of stimuli.'

Rodney suddenly became hyperaware of John's leg against his. Stimuli?

'The thing that gets me is the waste,' John was saying as he nibbled pizza. 'All this food. When I think of how many rations we ate, the weird things we caught and killed, how tight food was--and here, Cheetos, ours for a low, low price.'

'I love the food,' Rodney said fervently. 'Sausage. I forgot how much I loved sausage. And here we have sausage and pepperoni, together. This is great. This is great pizza.'

'Yes, Rodney, it's like a dream come true,' John said. He leaned back with a slice of pizza. 'What have you been doing the past couple days? Besides not being in Canada.'

'I had to schedule around my sister's travel plans.' Rodney wiped his mouth. 'I ended up visiting my dissertation director and his wife. He's retired now. So I haven't really been doing much. Mostly getting reacclimated.'

'How long has it been since you've been up north?'

'A while,' Rodney admitted. 'I went to grad school in the States and never left, so I've been here for--how many years? Fifteen, I guess. I just go to visit. You know, get some Tim Hortons.' It felt odd to say 'here.' After all, he'd spent a couple years in Antarctica, which wasn't part of the States, although he'd been working for the U.S. government. Where was here? The States, or Earth? Where, for that matter, was home? Canada? Atlantis? 'I guess I was there for a couple days about--about a year and a half ago. What about you?'

'Just hanging around here. I'm planning on visiting Lieutenant Ford's family.'

Rodney nodded. 'Yes. That's--that's nice of you.'

John raised his beer bottle in a salute. 'I'm a nice guy,' he said. 'Oh, here we go.' He leaned forward to grab the remote. 'Finally, someone got a hit.' He punched up the sound just a touch. His hand brushed the inside of Rodney's knee after he set it back down.

'Who's playing?' Rodney managed, because John had somehow shifted so they were sitting hip to hip. Despite this, they weren't looking at each other.

'Well, if you look at the screen there, at the bottom, it says who's playing and what the score is.'

Rodney squinted. 'It says who's playing? They're three-letter acronyms.'

'Right.'

'So they're providing information only to an informed audience.'

'Right.'

'That makes no sense whatsoever.'

John was smiling. 'Right.' He tilted his beer up and drank half of it in several long gulps. Rodney watched his throat as he swallowed, its long arc, the groove alongside his Adam's apple. When John had kissed him, it had been hard and joyful and celebratory. It had been in front of a whole slew of other people, all of whom were laughing and crying and jumping up and down. It certainly hadn't been a romantic kiss. Rodney wanted to know what a proper kiss with John would be like. He'd like to start, he thought, by kissing that groove, licking his way up to John's jaw. John would moan, and he'd feel the sound on his tongue, just like he'd taste John. He had no idea what John would taste like. He very much wanted to find out. He'd continue his way up to John's lips, and John's mouth would--

'Rodney?'

'Yes?'

'Do you--uh--do you want another beer?'

Rodney looked at his bottle. It was empty. 'Sure,' he said. 'I put them in the refrigerator.' When John leaned forward, ready to stand up, before he could stop himself, Rodney grabbed John's wrist. 'You know, no. No, I don't want a beer. I--I've changed my mind.'

'Okay,' John said, settling back. 'Um--more pizza? You've only had three slices.'

'No, no, no more pizza, thank you.' Rodney hadn't let go of John, and John wasn't pulling away.

'Okay,' John repeated.

'Actually, I'd hoped to talk about the--the--the day we got back.'

'From Atlantis?'

'Yes. The day we got back, to Earth, from Atlantis.'

'Right.' When Rodney didn't say anything, John added, for the third time, 'Okay,' and Rodney squeezed his hand.

Rodney couldn't think of the proper words, because he and John were sitting pressed together on John's couch, holding hands, although now they were looking at each other. John's hair was starting to flatten a bit now that it was mostly dry, and Rodney realized there was no gel in it. He was getting to see John's hair in its natural state.

'Rodney, uh, I--I--' John started, and then trailed off. Rodney was getting short of breath, because John was looking at his mouth.

'Oh, hell,' Rodney said, and he put his hand on John's chest, pushed him back against the sofa, and straddled him, all before John could say a word. Maybe John had been opening his mouth to speak, but Rodney didn't give him the opportunity. He took John's head in his hands and kissed him, hard and joyful, just like John had kissed him--his welcome home to Earth. 'I wanted to talk about that.'

'Oh, *that,*' John said, as if he suddenly got it, and he grabbed Rodney's head, pulled him back down, and kissed him properly, with pressure morphing into exploration, with a touch of tongue. 'Jesus,' John murmured when they came up for air and Rodney touched his lips, warm and a little wet. 'I don't want to talk about it. No talking. Is it okay if we don't talk about it?'

'Oh, yeah,' Rodney said, bending down.

It stayed hard and joyful, Rodney realized a little fuzzily, even though there were lips, and teeth, and tongue, lots and lots of tongue, swirling and stroking as they explored. John tilted his head back and rested it against the back of the couch as he put an arm around Rodney's neck and an arm around his back, pulling him close. Rodney understood how he felt. He even sympathized. He understood the need to get closer, and, judging by John's reaction when Rodney tugged at John's shirt and then slid his hand underneath, John did too.

The chest he'd admired when John greeted him at the door in nothing but a towel felt as good as it looked: muscle, skin, the faint prickle of hair. John made a little noise when Rodney brushed his nipple, and then his hands burrowed under Rodney's shirt as Rodney kissed his way down John's jaw, into the groove by John's Adam's apple that he'd admired before. He'd wanted to touch it with his tongue, and that impulse, he realized, had been correct. John tasted clean, and his skin felt a little slick--he'd just showered, of course. Feeling John squirm and moan under him, stroking him, John needing to touch as much as Rodney did, John trying to wiggle closer--

'Rodney,' John gasped. 'We should--uh--oh, god. That felt--' Rodney leaned down and put his mouth where his hand had been: over John's nipple. John's moan went straight through him. He wanted to make John make that noise again, so he bit gently. He'd been right: John liked that. 'Rodney,' John repeated as Rodney tugged at John's shirt, trying to pull it off. 'Don't you think--we should--is this--'

Rodney managed to get the shirt off. 'I'm not stopping,' he said definitely, unbuttoning John's jeans.

'Okay, good,' John said. 'Just checking.'

He grabbed at Rodney's shirt as Rodney unzipped John's pants. When Rodney slid off the couch to kneel between John's legs, his shirt had disappeared, and John's pants had been pulled halfway down, freeing John's erection. Rodney's own hard-on throbbed as he lowered his mouth to John's penis and took it in his mouth without preliminary. John spread his legs as far apart as he could with his pants still on. As Rodney sucked, a musky taste exploded in his mouth from the slick liquid that beaded from the slit at the tip. John made encouraging noises as his hips moved, letting Rodney know what he liked. He liked hard and deep, and he liked it when Rodney swirled his tongue hard just under the cap. The clean scent of soap gave way to the dark smell of John's arousal. When the hand that cupped John's balls felt them tighten, Rodney lifted his mouth. He didn't want John to come yet.

'Rodney,' John murmured, a half-question.

Rodney undid his pants. 'Lube,' he said. 'Do you have lube? Because I need you inside me. Now.'

'Oh, Jesus.' John blinked at him with heavy-lidded eyes. 'That is such, such a good idea. Uh, no, not handy. Maybe somewhere in the bedroom.'

'Never mind. I think I have Vaseline.' He did, a little tube of Vaseline in a lip-balm container that he kept in his laptop case. His hands trembled as he managed to rip the top off. 'Here.' He squeezed Vaseline on John's hands. John stroked himself first, then Rodney. Rodney found it hard to breathe with the sensation of John's warm, slick hands sliding along his length. As John leaned back, Rodney kissed him, slow and deep, his tongue circling in time to John's slow pulls. His cock got harder as John squeezed, then rubbed their dicks together, sparks of excitement warming his groin and radiating outward. When John urged him to come up on his knees, he had to release John's mouth. John's warm hands clutched his ass cheeks, and then he felt John pull him apart. He groaned as John found his entrance with a finger. John teased him by dipping a fingertip in, then withdrawing it, then shoving his whole finger in, then doing it all again, until Rodney's cock was twitching and he thought he might come if John set a rhythm, come fast and hard.

John didn't set a rhythm. The withdrew his finger and urged Rodney up a little. Rodney had to cant his hips so the head of John's dick aligned properly. He felt the pressure of John's cock against his asshole, but it slid away and they had to try again.

'Oh,' Rodney said in amazement as the head lodged itself just inside him, and he let his weight down slowly, until John's cock filled him completely. He'd wanted this, needed this, ever since he'd first seen John, but he'd never let himself dream of it until John had first kissed him.

'This,' John said incoherently, and Rodney said in agreement, 'This.'

John put one hand on Rodney's ass and the other on Rodney's dick and began to stroke. Rodney's body responded. He lifted and lowered, feeling John embedded in him, hard and strong. Under him, John rocked his hips, aroused and hot, lips parted. He panted more than breathed. He was the most beautiful thing Rodney had ever seen, open and giving underneath him, those extraordinary eyes locked on his.

'Oh, god,' John said. The hand on Rodney's cock tightened. 'More. More.'

Rodney touched John's chest, found the nipple, and rubbed it hard. He wanted to kiss John, feel John's moans, but he wanted to see John's face when he came, that moment of joy.

'That's it,' John gasped, and the rocking of his hips became hard and urgent. His body tightened and trembled. His eyes never left Rodney's face as he exploded, coming deep inside Rodney's body, thrusting uncontrollably, and Rodney couldn't hold back anymore, because he needed John. His hand knocked aside John's as he grabbed his own cock, and three strokes did it. He came hard against John's stomach and chest, white come spattering.

'Jesus,' Rodney gasped. His cock gave one last squeeze. He rested his arms on the back of the sofa, trembling a little from orgasm and reaction. It had been so fast--fast and intense and wonderful.

'Oh, wow,' John said, rubbing his hands against Rodney's thighs. 'That Vaseline is good stuff, man.'

Rodney brushed John's cheek with the backs of his fingers. 'You're incredible,' he whispered, and he leaned down for a kiss that turned into a long, content, postcoital make-out session, until Rodney regretfully said, 'My legs are going to sleep.'

'Here,' John said, and they disengaged from each other. Rodney settled onto his back, shifting so that his legs were in John's lap. To his delight, John began idly stroking his legs. He touched the top of Rodney's bare foot. 'Can I rub your feet?'

'Rub hard,' Rodney said, because he tended to be ticklish.

'Okay.'

'Mmm,' Rodney said a minute later. 'That feels nice.'

'I'm expecting payback,' John said. 'I like back rubs.'

'Oh, do you.'

'Yes, I do.'

'We'll probably have to go into the bedroom for a back rub. More room.'

'I was thinking that,' John agreed. 'And you know what else I was thinking? I was thinking that I was right when I said you shouldn't go to bed tonight, that you should just stay up all night.'

Rodney asked, 'What if I miss the plane? The 6 a.m. flight to Toronto?'

John considered. 'I'd guess you'd have to take a later flight.'

Rodney, eyes shut, smiled. He felt perfectly content, perfectly at home, with John.

-30-