icarus | SGA Fic: Out Of Bounds - John/Rodney, NC-17 (someday)

So completely unbeta'd. The next part will have music -- oh! And if you want to read the whole thing up to this point, it's here. I just like the list of quotes below.

Part one: 'Get back out there.' – 'No. I'm taking up hockey. It'll *hurt* less.'
Part two: 'So why do we have to skate in the nude again?'
Part three: Naturally, John had brought the boom box but had forgotten to bring any music.
Part four: Rodney wondered if John knew 'Mustang Sally' was a favorite with strippers the world over.
Part five: 'This is hero worship, isn't it?'
Part six: 'Me coach. You student. You keep forgetting that lately.'
Part seven: It was just hockey, not a cardinal sin.
Part eight: I'm sure when we were being chased by sabre-toothed tigers we did all kinds of neat tricks.
Part nine: 'You want to be alone?' Kim-the-unutterably-stupid asked.
Part ten: He mentally took back his den and no longer had to worry about John's exercise equipment.
Part eleven: 'I take American Express.'
Part twelve: Give John a spotlight and what does he do? Skate in the dark.
Part thirteen: Something about a dead hamster-?
Part fourteen: Being a UPS driver had been great, nice people, but it worked all the wrong muscle groups.
Part fifteen: 'I don't think she actually skates -- she just floats over the ice like a fruit fly!'
Part sixteen: 'You see me naked and you think I'm athlete?'
Part seventeen: Pain was good. It told John when he went too far.
Part eighteen: 'Oh, yes, we're all very impressed with your vapid conversation.'

Out Of Bounds
by Icarus

"This is ridiculous," Rodney huffed, squirming in the passenger seat. The heater was blowing lukewarm air but at least it was better than nothing.

"We'll get there," John said. His eyebrows drew together, the only indication of his own irritation at traffic. The car inched forward a few more feet and paused, the windshield wipers beating slowly. The tailpipe of the car in front of them steamed, wisps disappearing into the flat concrete gray sky as they pulled alongside a family sedan with a rumbling loud engine. Vehicles were lined up along the three-lane highway like off-center boxcars. Rodney shifted around to face the sedan.

"You are Canadians!" he told a family of four through two layers of glass and a lane of cars. They didn't so much as glance in his direction. "You're supposed to be used to snow."

"Freezing rain," John corrected off-handedly.

"Whatever. These people don't know how to drive."

Rush hour traffic came to a standstill, the sleet pocking off the windshield and wet road. Hands sliding uselessly from the steering wheel, John sighed and put it in park, torn between annoyance at Rodney and relief he'd never had a nine-to-five job. Annoyance won.

"This seems like a long way to go for groceries…." he grumbled.

"You offered," Rodney said. John tipped his head and rolled his eyes. "There's only one co-op in the city that has my brand. Most the rest of the world is trying to kill me with citric acid."

"With-?" John frowned.

"It's a preservative and I'm allergic to citrus. Anaphylactic shock; not a pretty sight."

"Ah."

The cars beside them started moving forward again, slowly, but more steadily than the last twenty minutes. Their own lane remained at a standstill, a frustrating gap widening in front of the black Saab ahead.

"He's on his cell phone!" Rodney declared, vastly offended. John managed to shift lanes, crawling around the Saab while Rodney leaned on his window, glaring at the man who was chatting animatedly as they passed. "Oh, yes, we're all very impressed with your vapid conversation -- have you ever noticed what people say on those things? Loudly?" He twisted around towards John. "'I'm at the grocery store!' Right. Like they needed a cell phone to tell the world that."

"If you had one you'd probably be on it all the time," John pointed out, leaning forward over the steering wheel. He slid back into the center lane, cutting off the Saab as the driver finally woke up and tried to surge forward. Too late. John smiled vengefully to himself, glancing back in his rearview mirror.

"No, I-- okay, probably true," Rodney admitted. "But I would have important things to say, and I would never tell anyone I was at the grocery store because that's just idiotic."

John slammed on the breaks as a pick-up truck dodged into their lane.

"Hey, watch it!" Rodney yelled. He reached over and hit the horn, blaring at the truck.

"Knock it off!" John slapped Rodney's arm away. He turned to Rodney with a taut smile, saying in a sarcastic voice meant for bad children who didn't know any better, "When I'm driving, I'm in charge of the horn."

The black Saab rode their bumper as John edged forward, hurriedly catching up to close the gap in traffic, but a VW Bug slipped into the space he'd left open.

"You aren't using it!" Rodney fumed.

"I'm taking the moral high road," John explained. He frowned. "It won't get us there any faster."

"How can you be so--so impossibly mellow?"

John slouched against the seat as the traffic came to a standstill again. He spared Rodney a frustrated glance. "I'm not. I just have… techniques."

"Techniques."

"Yeah." John nodded and pointed a forefinger at the back of the VW Bug. "An M-79 would probably have enough force to punch a grenade through that back window. They'd be toast."

"An M-what?"

"Grenade launcher. That pick-up's got his little back window open." John squinted, vindictive and amused. "If you aimed just right…."

"I see," Rodney said. "That's awfully… knowledgeable of you, military-wise."

"Didn't you have army men as a kid, Rodney?"

"G.I. Joe. But my sister played with it more than I did." Rodney said this with a little distant smile, eyes sparkling with remembrance.

John guessed the source of that guilty gleam. "You took his clothes off."

The smile spread, turning sheepish and naughty. "Not anatomically correct I'm afraid."

"Yeah, it's disappointing," John agreed, edging the car forward a few more feet.

"So, ah, military--?" Rodney pressed the question, giving him a knowing sideways smirk.

With a shimmy, John adjusted his shoulders into the seat. "My brother's Air Force. My folks wanted me to join but…" He made a small gesture, fingers falling to the steering wheel in a patter.

"Didn't want to?"

"Well," John drawled. He looked away, rubbing the back of his neck absently. "Once I started blowing guys in the school men's room I thought it would be a pretty stupid risk."

Rodney's eyes flickered in a fast blink at that. "So. Figure skating."

"Looks like."

"Hey--!" Rodney startled, his head jerking in the direction of the sign for the off-ramp. "That's our turn off. You're never gonna make that in time!"

John scowled at him, clicking on the turn signal and ducking his head to scope for an opening. "Do you even have a driver's license?"

~*~*~

The shopping cart clattered and rang as John followed Rodney -- who kept up a pretty good clip, obviously familiar with the place -- wondering how his simple offer of a ride had turned into an expedition. The store was almost empty and smelled a little like hay bales and dusty burlap, like most co-ops. Rodney stopped them at the canned food aisle and began loading up the cart with huge cans of tomatoes.

Curious, John pursed his lips and tipped the square can already occupying the cart, reading the label. It looked like it could be turpentine but actually turned out to be olive oil. "More spaghetti?"

"Yep," Rodney grunted, his voice muffled where he was digging cans out from deep in the shelf. He was cleaning them out of tomatoes, John noted with a snort. His stocky shoulders barely fit between the pinto beans and the oversized jars of garbanzos.

John raised his eyebrows. "Isn't that what you made two weeks ago?"

"I went through it faster than usual. You ate a lot, although you're so skinny I've no idea where you put it." Rodney scraped the last can into the cart with a heavy clang, then wiped his hands on his jeans. "Okay. Garlic. It's overpriced here but it'll save us a stop."

"Don't you know how to make anything besides spaghetti?"

"I'm an excellent cook," Rodney said, tipping his chin. "With a somewhat limited repertoire. The garlic's over there, by the way." He pointed.

But John had steered the cart towards the check out line. "Just a suggestion, but have you ever thought of eating something green?"

"Garlic-?" Rodney pointed back towards the produce section, his gesture surprised, sketching a vague, helpless circle in the air.

"I don't think so," John said, shaking his head, leaning in to push the cart. It was heavier now. "We're making another stop."

~*~*~

The waterfront was the last place you wanted to be in the winter especially as the sun set and the wind picked up over Lake Ontario. The Great Lakes didn't tend to freeze but they were cold any time of year, and fingers of icy wind found their way between the tall warehouses and down paved streets. Cheeks stinging, John turned his back to the sharp breeze as he pulled the car door handle, making sure it was locked. A woman held a little girl's hand as they crossed the street, hunched against a blast of cold air.

Shoppers emerged from the wide warehouse doors, plastic bags dangling from their mittens, hats pulled low as they braved the winter. Buckets of flowers cluttered the vestibule just inside the entryway, brought indoors for the season.

Rodney blew on his gloved hands, bouncing in place as John stuffed coins in the parking meter, his own gloves tucked between his knees as he mentally cursed the cold metal. They crossed to the brightly lit warehouse.

"It'll be a little picked over, it's better to come here in the mornings, but at least it won't be as busy," John said by way of explanation, though Rodney simply forged ahead, clearly more interested in getting where it was warm.

In the entryway they stepped on leaves and crushed muddy flower petals mashed onto the floor. John handed Rodney a basket as they dodged people and flower buckets. It was chilly inside, but not freezing, and filled with the sharp scent of green.

"I'm not on that, you know, 'whole foods' kick anymore," John said with a rueful tip of his head, leading Rodney out of the way. "But one thing I did learn is you can eat a lot—cheap—from the farmers' markets."

"I thought farmers' markets were little wooden shacks by the side of the road." Rodney stood, gazing around, fascinated -- and still blocking the doorway.

"Not here." John grinned and took a chance, hooking a hand under his arm, drawing him forward.

Many of the stalls had shut down for the day but this market was more or less permanent with a coffee shop and bakery at either end working overtime during the winter, long lines trailing into the busy aisles. People in business suits wandered between tables in the open warehouse, several of which were half empty at this late hour. Other shops had makeshift wooden walls on three sides and canvas displays, baskets of scented soaps and other local items spilling out into the aisles. The result was something of a maze as John threaded through lines of people and the entryway disappeared behind them.

They passed the warm scent of cinnamon rolls and John glanced back to realize he'd lost Rodney. Four steps back and around a stack of baskets he found Rodney had hovered, lingering outside the bakery, before he caught sight of John with bright look and a nod, catching up. John made straight for one of the few remaining vegetable stands, ducking around a pretty busy crowd for a Friday night.

Sure enough, certain things were never popular. John scooped some beets into Rodney's basket, then fingered through bunches of greens. The spinach was wilted, though there were a few good batches he grabbed and.…

"What's that?"

"Arugula. It's good for you, trust me." John stuffed some into each of their baskets, ducking a hanging flower pot. It swung overhead as Rodney gazed up at it warily. Then John noticed the orange blooms and realized what it was. "Oh, hey, nasturtiums. Right on." He picked a small one in its little plastic pot and tucked it into Rodney's basket.

"Flowers?" Rodney gave him a doubtful look.

"Dinner." John grinned, waiting for the reaction.

"You eat flowers?"

John popped an orange blossom into his mouth and chewed, watching Rodney's mouth jaw drop. "They're good. Here." He handed one to Rodney, who glared at it suspiciously, then with a baleful glance at John, bit it in half.

"Okay." Rodney held up a finger as he squinted, looking for all the world like a dog eating peanut butter, his head tipped to the side with a strange expression. "The table decorations are not supposed to taste like that." He blinked rapidly. "It's… spicy. I need something to clear the taste out of my mouth."

"Don't like it?" John said, a bit disappointed. He reached for the plant to put it back.

"No, no, no, it's good," Rodney assured him, waving a hand. He gave an embarrassed lop-sided smile, "just… I expected it to be sweet somehow."

"'Cause it's a flower," John nodded, understanding.

They made for the fruit stands across the aisle and John bought him some grapes, eating a handful with his head tipped back while he handed Rodney a bunch.

"So where'd you learn about all this… stuff?" Rodney asked, munching his grapes as they walked.

"I told you I grew up on a farm," John drawled. "We cook. Or, well, my mom did, but it's not like I didn't learn anything."

The woman on the other side of a table pulled off empty plastic trays leaking water, stacking them loudly. This vegetable stand looked it was closing soon, and they didn't have much competition, so John snagged some asparagus and few more items as Rodney paid for their purchases. Several stands past a tourist shop had more fruit, and John loaded up on bunch after bunch of bananas.

"There're only so many of those I can eat," Rodney stared, his expression halfway between amusement and a frown.

"Hey, you're not the only one shopping here today." He held up a bunch and shook it. "Protein shakes. Not mention potassium's pretty good for muscle cramps."

"Right." Rodney grabbed another bunch for himself. "Though your main problem's dehydration, you know."

They ducked around a flower shop with a glass countertop, the offerings nearest the door wilted and battered at this hour. The boxes on the next table had bright green labels announcing California Grown.

"Avocados?" John suggested, squeezing to see if they were ripe. They were a little on the high side.

"Are you kidding? Look at the prices on those things!"

"They're organic." John shrugged apologetically.

"I'm not paying for avocados like they're steak!"

John set them down with a little regret but he couldn't justify the expense either. If Rodney were buying on the other hand….

"Oh." John spotted a tiny low box and picked it up. Sure enough… raspberries. Fresh. Perfect, in fact.

"What's that?" Rodney glanced at it with interest.

"Oh, no, nothing." He set it down, a hand lingering, trailing off the box. He gave a little shrug and a rueful smile. "They're out of season."

Rodney rolled his eyes with a dramatic sigh and picked them up, putting them in his basket.

They stopped for hot coffee, braving the lines and taking off their gloves to warm their hands. Then Rodney peered over at the cheese shop. "Go on," John suggested with a smile, pointing with his chin.

"Uh, no," Rodney shook his head vigorously. He spread his hands in a gesture of denial. "There are some things I just can't have."

"C'mon. Why not?" John said, noticing they were going in, even as Rodney declared, "Because cheese is nothing but fat and dairy—and oh, that's brie." Rodney came to a dead stop.

John grinned at him, leaning both forearms on the glass countertop.

"Canadian triple cream," Rodney informed him.

"Oh. So you know your cheeses, huh?" John shared a gleaming conspiratorial smile with the woman behind the counter.

"Better than French brie--okay, almost as good. Not as expensive, but a lighter, more delicate flavor," Rodney explained.

"Well," John said, "It's a pity you can't have any." Rodney wavered visibly, and John's grin was almost fiendish.

"One eighth wheel of the triple cream," John finally told the clerk.

"Oh, no. I couldn't," Rodney spluttered, but his protest was half-hearted and giving way.

"A little bit's fine," John said, looking Rodney up and down.

"No. Such. Thing." He puffed his cheeks at John, demonstrating the results.

"You'll work it off. C'mon, we'll share. I'll make sure you don't pig out," John said. "In fact," he said smoothly, with a hint of a smirk, "I'll even take the rest off your hands."

Rodney's mouth shut with a snap. "One sixteenth of a wheel," he corrected the clerk with a sharp glance at John, "and we'll share," he added firmly.

As the clerk sliced and wrapped the cheese in heavy brown paper, tying it with string, John hovered around Rodney, as cheerful as a puppy. He relieved him of a few of his plastic bags. "Bet it's great with the raspberries."

Retracing their steps through the market, Rodney gave him a considering look. "You really do cook, don't you?"

John shrugged, gazing off across the market. "Not for myself, no."

Bundled up against the cold, it was dark outside and the street lamps flickered by the time John fumbled with his keys. The meter had run out, they'd been in there a lot longer than he'd planned, but they'd gotten away with it. Glancing at the bags of cans in the back seat, he swore. "You're gonna make me carry all this shit in, aren't you?"

"Oh, I'll help," Rodney offered as he climbed into the passenger seat with a sigh. He kicked off his shoes and started massaging the balls of his feet.

John snorted and shook his head as he slid into the driver's seat. "Gee. Thanks."

As the engine turned over with a loud rumble, Rodney said, sounding half-hopeful, "You're cooking, right?"

And John burst out laughing, leaning his head on the steering wheel.

Added after the fact: Heart Still Beating - Ottmar Liebert (coming soon)

Unbelievably, I've finally updated.

Current Mood: optimistic
Current Music: Big Mouth - The Smiths

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

enname.livejournal.com

Oh boys, so domestic. So cute in a grouchy way. :) Although now all I want is brie and raspberries. Oh and nasturtiums and ... oh god, such a vegetable addict.

Yay, you posted ... just what I needed as an essay marking break. *relaxes in break* In fact, I am going to go and read it again. *g*

From:

Students? I like to think of them as "test subjects".....

SGA Fic: Out Of Bounds - John/Rodney, NC-17 (someday)

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