Fandom: SGA
Pairing: John/Rodney
Warning: AU
Word Count: 2,227
Rating: R
Summary: John's a fireman, Rodney's house burns down, the cat ends up wet.


Fight Fire With

By Elandria Lore

"Maybe we oughta get him a towel," John suggested, nudging his chin towards the cat.  "He looks kinda…" Wet, which was what he was, but at McKay's glare he clamped his jaw shut and tried not to laugh.

McKay and his cat had already gone through a police officer and a paramedic before John had managed to calm things down and he was absolutely sure that if McKay got riled again, John would be down at Headquarters in the morning trying to explain the property damage.

Right.

"You got any spare clothes somewhere?"

"Clothes?" Rodney asked and for a second he looked genuinely befuddled before he thrust his chin out and lowered his eyebrows and said, "Oh right, those things that I keep in my closet that are dry unless some idiot turns a hose on them."  The cat started growling on cue and John had to wonder if it was some sort of psychic connection or if Rodney's grip had just become painful.

And actually, he probably would have put money on the first option if he were a betting man because he was pretty sure McKay had some interesting unplumbed depths.

And John, cheerfully, deliberately oblivious to his own mortal peril grinned and said, "It was either fire or water, McKay and at least this way, the clothes will eventually dry."

Rodney's eyes narrowed.  "You're enjoying this aren't you?" he accused.  "A demented fire fighter that gets off on other people's pain and agony, well bully for you," he griped.  "Just be extremely grateful that all my research was at my office because if anything had been lost, I would own you and…"

And it seemed that he'd gotten McKay started again, but at least this time he was only hypothetically threatening city officials and it was about money and not missing spleens so he figured he was safe enough to let McKay talk until he either a) ran out of steam, or b) realized that since the sun had gone down it was starting to get cold which would lead to c) John offering him a fresh set of clothes and a place to clean up.

His place was only five blocks up and though John didn't normally make a habit of taking home strays, he did have a heart and Rodney McKay and his drenched cat were such a pathetically sad sight that he couldn’t just leave them there, and besides.  Listening to McKay made him smile.

And if he also happened to like the way Rodney's eyes flashed blue when he got fired up and the way his wet shirt clung to a surprisingly nice set of shoulders and a firm, broad chest with nipples that were totally paying attention to the change in temperature, then who could blame him?


"Your water pressure sucks," McKay said from underneath a towel and John rolled his eyes, though it was mostly at himself because he couldn't fathom why he'd imagined a thank you.  "And-wait, are you blow drying my cat?"

John looked up to see Rodney looking at him with something that might have been horror.  "He likes it," he said, and Rodney's face crumpled into a scowl.

"She," he snapped, sitting down on the couch next to them, and John smiled when the cat nuzzled at Rodney's hand.

They were both looking markedly better; the cat was almost dry, and Rodney was looking pretty damn good in the old jeans and green t-shirt John had dug up from the back of his closet.  He considered asking if they had a place to stay, but figured since Rodney had already taken him up on the offer of a place to clean up, it probably wasn't likely.  So it was just forethought and common human decency that had compelled him to call Jeff and switch shifts so that he had the next two days off.  Nobody should be alone after a fire.

"So I didn't have any cat food," John said, standing up, "but I figured I couldn't go wrong with a can of tuna."

"She's a very picky eater," Rodney said, and John smirked.

"She couldn't stop licking the plate, McKay," he replied from the bathroom.  Rodney might've been a complainer, but he was pretty neat for a guy; everything in the bathroom still in it's exact place.  John put the blow dryer away and walked back out to the front room.  "So you hungry at all?"

"I'm allergic to citrus," Rodney said, and John shook his head in wonder as he walked back into the living room.

"Well then lemon chicken's definitely off the list."

The cat was off God knew where, and Rodney was looking up at him like he couldn't figure out how he got there.  "Do you do this often?" he asked suddenly.

"Do what?"

"Invite strange men back to your home, be nice to them, blow dry their cat, and then invite them to dinner?"

"Well, when you put it that way, it sounds kinda…" he waved a hand, rocking back and forth on his heels.  "And you're not strange, really," he continued when Rodney just blinked at him.

"I'm not?"

John grinned again, shoving his hands in his pockets.  "Nah.  Just kind of quirky."

"I threatened to sue the mayor."

"You were distraught."

"No, no," Rodney said, "I'm generally caustic and verbally abusive, ask anyone."

John thought about that for a second, then looked back up at Rodney.  "So," he drawled.  "Dinner?"

Rodney threw up his hands.  "Sure," he said, standing.  "What the hell?"


"Look, are you just freakishly nice or are you trying to get laid tonight?" Rodney asked as they walked back to the car.

He tossed the car keys lightly in his hand as he pretended to think about it.  Dinner had gone well, and by now John was used to Rodney's abrupt turns in conversation, and so he finally just looked at Rodney and said, "I can't be both?"

"No," Rodney said opening the door and getting inside.  "You're a guy, and as a rule you're either nice and not trying to get into my pants or you're being nice just to get into my pants and you'll end up being an asshole.  Experience dictates that I'll always assume the wrong one," he said, turning toward John, "And if it's possible that I'm going to get laid tonight, then I'd like to just cut through the bullshit right now."

"You're a pretty blunt guy, you know that, McKay?"

"It saves time," Rodney said shrugging.

"I'll bet it does," John said, then started the car.

"Except in this instance it seems," Rodney said pointedly, "as you haven't answered my question."

John shot him a look and then said, "I am a nice guy.  Not always, but mostly."

"Right then," Rodney said briskly, "Cleo and I will get out of your hair in the morning."

"You want to know something else about me, McKay?"

"Not really," he said distractedly.

John grinned, braking gently at the red light.  "And since you asked so nicely, I'm going to tell you."  He waited for Rodney's huff of annoyance before turning to him and continuing.  "I'm not real good at following the rules."

"Well what the hell does that have to do with-" he broke off almost comically as he remembered what he'd just said about rules.  "You mean I am going to get sex?"

John just leered at him.

Rodney hit him in the arm.

"Hey," he protested, but he was still grinning, even when the guy behind him honked his horn and made a rude gesture.  John waved to him and then started driving again.

"So just to clarify," Rodney said, "When you said you were nice, that was just another lie."

"Hey, I saved your life today, gave you a place to clean up, gave you spare clothes, blow dried your cat, and took you to dinner, what's not nice about that?"

"You were just trying to trick me into having sex with you," Rodney accused.

"Is it working?" John asked sincerely, pulling into his driveway.

"I'm too smart to be tricked into anything," Rodney said, chin up in the air.

"Ah," John said, raising an eyebrow, "but are you too smart to walk away from me."

"Trick question," Rodney exclaimed, pointing a finger in John's face.

John smirked and got out of the car, enjoying the show as Rodney scrambled after him.  "So does this mean," he said, unlocking his front door, "that you are planning on walking away from me, because, I gotta say-"

But apparently he had misjudged Rodney's dedication to getting laid, because before the door even closed behind them, Rodney was pushing him roughly against the wall, turning him around and saying, "You suck at flirting," before kissing him full on the mouth.


John wasn’t used to moving this fast, but Rodney was saying all sorts of things with his mouth without uttering a single word, and John couldn’t seem to help but pay attention.  Lips and teeth and tongue, and Rodney was attempting to strip him with quick hands, and John was almost ready to go along for the ride, because he was sure it was going to be a nice one, but there was an urgency that was less about sex and more about Rodney wanting to get as much as possible before it was all over.

 

And John didn’t want to think about over before it was even started, so he grabbed Rodney’s wrists gently and said, “Hey, what’s the rush?” against Rodney’s lips, then slowed him way the hell down by kissing him lushly, all languid movements and long strokes of the tongue.

 

Rodney whimpered, low and needy in the back of his throat, his hands shaking in John’s grip.   “Things like this don’t happen to me,” Rodney said, eyes wide and dark, when John finally pulled back.  It was both explanation and apology and John was sort of touched.

 

“They don’t exactly happen to me either,” John said, then pushed away from the wall and tugged Rodney back towards the bedroom.

 

Rodney snorted, but didn’t hesitate to follow him.

 

The bedside light was low, but bright enough to see Rodney’s nervousness.  It was sort of endearing, that John could make him nervous, this man who seemed so confident about everything even when his house was burning down.  “Take your shoes off,” he said, kicking off his own.  He stripped his shirt off and smiled when Rodney’s eyes tracked hungrily down his chest.

 

“You do realize,” Rodney said, his voice muffled through his shirts as he yanked them over his head, “that you’re really unfairly hot.”  John grinned goofily, and Rodney narrowed his eyes.  “Except when you do that,” he added, then clicked his mouth shut when John started on his jeans.  “I should point out,” Rodney said, his eyes glued to John’s waist, his hands fumbling at his own, “that it’s kind of been a while.”

 

“Yeah?” John asked, more really to keep Rodney talking, because his voice was going flatteringly breathy.

 

“I’m just saying that you shouldn’t take it as a compliment,” he snapped, and then let out a choking breath when John bent over and peeled off his pants.

 

When John stood back up, Rodney’s cheeks were flushed and one of his big hands was gripping his dick through his pants like he was already fighting to come.  “Jesus,” John said, suddenly breathless, “C’mere.”

 

He pulled Rodney over to the side of the bed and efficiently stripped him, not letting his hands linger.   “I thought you said there wasn’t a rush,” Rodney said shakily, his hands clenching at his sides.

 

John looked up at him, grinned wickedly, and said, “No rush.  But how’s your recovery period?”

 

“What do you mean my – oh fuck,” he gasped, shoving into John’s mouth, yanking back in apology and then shoving in again helplessly.  John snorted a laugh as Rodney’s hands dove into his hair, gripping it thickly.  “Oh, Jesus, John,” Rodney babbled, when John clamped hands on Rodney’s hips and sucked him deep.

 

Despite what Rodney said, it was flattering how fast he came.  Even more flattering when he tumbled them both to the bed and rubbed against John like he was still crazy for it.  Grabbing John's dick in his saliva wet hand and jacking him quickly while whispering obscene things in his ear.

 

"Well," he said, a minute later still panting slightly.  "I'm afraid we're pretty much done for a while."

 

John lifted himself on his elbow so he was looking down at Rodney, eyes probably warmer than he'd ever admit.  "What's the rush, McKay?" he asked, hand trailing over Rodney's chest and down his side, grinning when Rodney twitched under his hand.  "You gotta be somewhere?"

 

Rodney opened his mouth, then snapped it shut.  "I-no," he finally said.  "Not really."

 

"Then if you wake up first, you just let me know so we can do it again," John said, and then flopped back down, arm still curled around Rodney's side.

 

Rodney was quiet for a long moment, then let out a huffing breath, squirmed and said, "Just don't steal the covers."

 

When John woke up the next morning, still smiling, Rodney snug against his left side and Cleo snug against his right, he wondered if it was too soon to think about buying a bigger bed.

 


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