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Title: Traditional
Fandom: Flight of the Phoenix
Rating: PG
Words: ~600
Characters: Rodney Alex/John Davis
Summary: ... it's holiday schmoop, no use pretending differently :D
Disclaimer: Nobody here is mine. Dammit.
Author's Note: Futurefic and AU, as I rescued the both of 'em from their horrid fates in a previous fic, Intercession. Technically it's an interlude, fitting between the body of that fic and its epilogue. But, whatever. :D
Rodney opens the third box with a growing sense of bafflement. These are his boxes, rescued from the storage room he'd been paying on for the last year and change and the scrawl across the side is unmistakably his handwriting, he just can't fathom how he ever owned this much... crap.
"Find a platter?"
"Not yet." He can hear John moving in the kitchen, searching the cabinets again in case they'd unpacked one already and forgotten, and calls back, "Did you start the oven?"
"Yeah." Rodney's into a fourth box by the time he notices John is leaning against the door frame, watching. "We don't really need a platter, do we? It's not a whole turkey or anything."
Rodney shrugs at him, folds the cardboard flaps in on themselves and shoves the box back against the wall with all the others. "They're your traditions, so I guess it's your call."
"Then I say screw it. Help me with the potatoes?"
John puts a hand out to haul Rodney to his feet, and tugs him in for a kiss. He probably meant it to be quick but Rodney has other ideas; he presses John back into the wall, dips his fingertips beneath the waistband of his jeans, right at the small of his back, and licks the taste of eggnog from the corner of John's mouth like they have all the time in the world.
The oven beeps and John pulls his mouth away, breathless. "'S hot."
"Tell me about it."
John laughs against Rodney's cheek and pushes halfheartedly at his chest. "You wanna eat today, right?"
"Maybe."
"Man can't live on sex alone, Rodney."
"We could give it a shot?" But John's already twisting out of his grasp, grinning wide and backing away.
"C'mon and peel potatoes. I've got turkey to cook."
'Cook' is maybe an exaggeration. They've only been in the house a bit over a week and neither felt up to the challenge of roasting an entire bird, so John settled for the spirit of the occasion rather than the letter. John's got the aluminum pan of sliced, frozen turkey breast out and sitting on a cooking sheet and is frowning at the instructions on the back of the box when Rodney joins him at the counter.
"You think there's enough gravy in here for the potatoes, too?"
"If there isn't, we can always mix up the other."
Shopping had been an adventure in itself. Pre-cooked turkey, a cannister of instant stuffing, five-pound bag of potatoes, two envelopes of gravy mix and -- this being, apparently, key -- jellied cranberry sauce in a can. John had insisted it just wouldn't be traditional if he couldn't see the ridges on the side of the sauce and Rodney didn't argue with him, just tossed an extra can into the cart.
This isn't Rodney's first Thanksgiving in the states but it's their first, a holiday together in their new house and Rodney will eat anything John sets in front of him and be happy for it. If the potatoes are a bit lumpy... well, that's on Rodney, and it doesn't matter that some of the turkey slices drape over the edges of the biggest plate they could find and drip onto the paper tablecloth because they haven't located a platter or bought proper linens yet.
It doesn't matter, because John taps the instep of Rodney's foot with his own under the table as he eats, and smiles through a mouthful of Stove Top's finest when Rodney raises a glass to what he's most thankful for.
"Happy Thanksgiving, John."
Fandom: Flight of the Phoenix
Rating: PG
Words: ~600
Characters: Rodney Alex/John Davis
Summary: ... it's holiday schmoop, no use pretending differently :D
Disclaimer: Nobody here is mine. Dammit.
Author's Note: Futurefic and AU, as I rescued the both of 'em from their horrid fates in a previous fic, Intercession. Technically it's an interlude, fitting between the body of that fic and its epilogue. But, whatever. :D
Rodney opens the third box with a growing sense of bafflement. These are his boxes, rescued from the storage room he'd been paying on for the last year and change and the scrawl across the side is unmistakably his handwriting, he just can't fathom how he ever owned this much... crap.
"Find a platter?"
"Not yet." He can hear John moving in the kitchen, searching the cabinets again in case they'd unpacked one already and forgotten, and calls back, "Did you start the oven?"
"Yeah." Rodney's into a fourth box by the time he notices John is leaning against the door frame, watching. "We don't really need a platter, do we? It's not a whole turkey or anything."
Rodney shrugs at him, folds the cardboard flaps in on themselves and shoves the box back against the wall with all the others. "They're your traditions, so I guess it's your call."
"Then I say screw it. Help me with the potatoes?"
John puts a hand out to haul Rodney to his feet, and tugs him in for a kiss. He probably meant it to be quick but Rodney has other ideas; he presses John back into the wall, dips his fingertips beneath the waistband of his jeans, right at the small of his back, and licks the taste of eggnog from the corner of John's mouth like they have all the time in the world.
The oven beeps and John pulls his mouth away, breathless. "'S hot."
"Tell me about it."
John laughs against Rodney's cheek and pushes halfheartedly at his chest. "You wanna eat today, right?"
"Maybe."
"Man can't live on sex alone, Rodney."
"We could give it a shot?" But John's already twisting out of his grasp, grinning wide and backing away.
"C'mon and peel potatoes. I've got turkey to cook."
'Cook' is maybe an exaggeration. They've only been in the house a bit over a week and neither felt up to the challenge of roasting an entire bird, so John settled for the spirit of the occasion rather than the letter. John's got the aluminum pan of sliced, frozen turkey breast out and sitting on a cooking sheet and is frowning at the instructions on the back of the box when Rodney joins him at the counter.
"You think there's enough gravy in here for the potatoes, too?"
"If there isn't, we can always mix up the other."
Shopping had been an adventure in itself. Pre-cooked turkey, a cannister of instant stuffing, five-pound bag of potatoes, two envelopes of gravy mix and -- this being, apparently, key -- jellied cranberry sauce in a can. John had insisted it just wouldn't be traditional if he couldn't see the ridges on the side of the sauce and Rodney didn't argue with him, just tossed an extra can into the cart.
This isn't Rodney's first Thanksgiving in the states but it's their first, a holiday together in their new house and Rodney will eat anything John sets in front of him and be happy for it. If the potatoes are a bit lumpy... well, that's on Rodney, and it doesn't matter that some of the turkey slices drape over the edges of the biggest plate they could find and drip onto the paper tablecloth because they haven't located a platter or bought proper linens yet.
It doesn't matter, because John taps the instep of Rodney's foot with his own under the table as he eats, and smiles through a mouthful of Stove Top's finest when Rodney raises a glass to what he's most thankful for.
"Happy Thanksgiving, John."