We Could Do That, Sure

Rodney likes living with John. He even loves John, although there's no way he'd admit it out loud; they just aren't those guys who say things like that. But still, it's a good thing; loving John means that things--wet, sandy clothes on the bathroom floor, for example--that would normally make Rodney launch into a full fledged rant merely merit a bit of sarcastic grumbling.

But grocery shopping with John? Rodney really hates that.

He has a system, as he's tried to explain to John many times, and that system changes depending on which store he's in, what he's shopping for and his menu plan for the next week or so. And he doesn't interfere with John's system for doing the laundry, even though he's not sure there is one, because that's John's job. Food is Rodney's job and they both like it that way because otherwise they'd live on pizza, burritos from Joanafinas, and burgers from Duke's. While Rodney loves big half pound burgers cooked just right and hopes to someday tease her recipe for carnitas from Jonafina, he also likes to cook. And John, for all that he's an oddly proportioned beanpole, loves to eat.

"Hey, Rodney," John says, coming up to the cart with his hands full of plastic deli tubs. "Let's do a snack night. I've got some hummus and some spinach dip and that eggplant stuff and some of that Greek yogurt thing...."

"Tzatziki," Rodney says. "And I don't know why they call this imam bayildi," he adds, looking at the eggplant dip. "It's surprisingly good for store-bought but not the same thing at all."

"Great," John says and dumps the stuff in the cart. "I'll get some pita bread and maybe some of that garlic naan. Oh and that really good black bean dip...." He wanders off again and Rodney sighs as he checks his list and adds a jar of saffron threads--so much cheaper here at Trader Joe's than anywhere else--to the cart.

Thursday, he thinks as he heads over toward the cheese, they can do a snack night on Thursday and he can put off the penne with carrots and goat cheese until Friday.

By the time he makes his careful way over to the other side of the store, John's talking about clamming to the girl in the booze department. He's also got a case of Anchor Steam at his feet and a couple of bottles of Two Buck Chuck under his arm.

"Some people like Chardonnay with clams and mussels," she's telling him, but before Rodney can rant about Chardonnay being for people who have no taste, she continues. "But I think a good Pinot Grigio is better."

"She was flirting with you," Rodney says as they load the groceries in the back of John's truck.

"She wasn't saying anything about wine I haven't heard from you." John opens a bottle of pomegranate soda and drinks about half of it down.

"That just means she's a knowledgeable hussy," Rodney says. John belches and then laughs. "On second thought, let's go back. I'm sure your ability to express yourself will wow the hell out of her."

If TJ's was bad, Safeway is one hundred times worse. First John tries to sneak a jar of Goober Grape into the cart while Rodney's trying to figure out if there's any citrus in a new brand of gourmet apricot preserves and then, not even five minutes later, he shows up with a box of store brand cereal. Rodney makes him replace it with real Froot Loops--honestly, the off-brand ones are gross and go soggy way too soon--and thinks that's the last of it until they reach the check out stand.

"Oh my God, I'm putting my foot down!" he snaps as he grabs the offending package right out of the checker's hand. "I draw the line here. I am not letting this stuff anywhere near my kitchen."

"But Rodney...."

"Kraft Single Slices?" Rodney waves the package of mock cheese in John's face. "They have no real flavor, no real texture, and they aren't real food!" He turns to the checker. "Shawna, I swear to God I will flunk you so fast your head will spin if you ring this up."

"Oh hey," John begins.

"Sorry, John," Shawna says, "but I need the grade." She plucks the cheese neatly from Rodney's hand and puts in on the shelf next to her register, biting back a smile as she finishes ringing up the groceries.

"Thank you, Dr. McKay." She hands him his receipt. "You saved $26.97 by using your Safeway club card and you qualify for ten cents off every gallon of gas you buy at one of our gas stations. Have a nice day!"

They're hardly out the door before John starts laughing that ridiculous laugh of his. "You should have seen your face! I thought you were gonna tell me, in front of the whole store, that I had to sleep in the living room tonight." He looks back and laughs again. "And that lady behind us is looking all concerned; she was glaring at you when you threatened to flunk Shawna."

"She's obviously not from around here," Rodney says. "Everyone in that store knows Shawna's one of my best students and anyway, you fucker, you hate that so-called American cheese. You did all that just to wind me up."

"Worked too," John says with a smirk. "Even the Romanian judge would give you at least 9.6 for that performance."

"I hate you." Rodney glares at John and manages to keep it up until they have the cart unloaded.

Then John turns and smiles at him, not the familiar smirk, but an open, easy smile.

"I really do," Rodney says.

"Yeah?" John moves in close, backing Rodney up against the side of the truck.

"Yeah," Rodney tries to move away, but John's leaning in closer and Rodney can smell him--warm skin, organic aftershave lotion and pomegranate soda.

"That's too bad," John says, reaching around to slide a hand into the back pocket of Rodney's jeans. He leans in even closer, his words a mere breath away from Rodney's mouth. "Because I was thinking we could go home, unload and put all this stuff away and still have enough time for me to blow you before the diving comes on."

The last of Rodney's mock scowl disappears and he moves the few centimeters it takes to press his lips against John's mouth. The kiss is simple--he's hardly going to go for John's tonsils in the Safeway parking lot--but still, John hums a little against Rodney's mouth and Rodney can feel the beginning of a hard on pressing against him.

"Okay," he says when they pull apart. "We could do that, sure."

-end-

Notes: This was written for the mcsmooch comm on LJ.  It takes place in mid-August of 2008, during the Olympics.

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