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Title: Cotton Candy Was King
Author: Alizarin
Fandom: SGA
Written for: The sga_flashfic challenge: “buildings and food”
Rating: Mature
Notes: Teen crackfic McShep, and I blame

rageprufrock for the Snapshots which got the bunny going and so forth. But the fault and the shame is all mine. Really.
Title (once again), from Aimee Mann lyrics. "Cotton candy was king… on the midway that spring. When I saw you… in the ring on the lawn… Dear John."
Feedback and Concrit most welcome.

John only stopped once to get an ice cream, cotton candy, two hot dogs and a sack of peanuts. Halfway through the cotton candy, as he was licking his sticky fingers, he spotted the scruffy guy staring at him from behind the Tilt-a-Whirl. Scruffy had holes in his jeans and he was holding a wrench and he had stripes of black oil all over him. Still, he was kind of cute, and had a really intense stare. So John waved one sticky hand at him, and then got right back in line for the Ferris wheel.

Three rides later, John was rocking in his Ferris chair, looking around at everyone beneath him like busy little ants, and he spotted Scruffy standing by the Win-a-Goldfish. He was gazing up, not directly at John, but still, it was enough of a coincidence that John felt a little tingly. So when he returned to Earth and Mark asked him, "Go again?" He shook his head and stepped off the platform.

Scruffy moved away however, as John approached, and so he followed him through the crowds, along the hay-strewn passage between the Shoot-a-Mole and the Ring-a-Ding and right up to the Funhouse. The Scruffy guy stepped inside; the ticket collector just nodded at him, as if he knew him. Scruffy must work here, John thought. He was a roadie, a mechanic, maybe. One of those guys who traveled with the fairs and helped set them up. So he'd be gone once the fair was gone. John wasn't sure if that was a good or a bad thing, but he handed the man his tickets and followed his quarry into the Funhouse.

He rocked over a shaky platform, trying to keep his balance and then moved down the hall toward a spinning wooden circle with a red spiral painted on it. As he approached, Scruffy stepped out in front of the spiral. He appeared to be moving back and forth in John's vision, the background going round and round. The guy smiled at him. John felt weak in the knees. "Rodney," the guy said to him and nodded.

"John," John said, breathless.

"Come on," the guy said, and led John through a black curtain into a room full of mirrors. John looked at all the distorted versions of himself, as he was led by the hand through the endless maze of reflections. He watched Rodney's head grow and shrink, his body lengthen and shorten and he suddenly wanted to see Rodney's face straight-on, not shadowed, not distorted, not from the height of the Ferris wheel. He wanted to see this stranger and look him in the eye.

"Wait!" he said, pulling on Rodney's hand, and trying to spin him around.

“Just in here, don't worry man,” Rodney said. And he pulled John through another curtain and suddenly they were in a dark recess beneath the Funhouse. Light from the day slanted in through cracks in the wooden walls. And Rodney was pulling John's hands to his mouth and sucking on the sticky fingers, and John could feel the scrape of his stubble and even in the dim light he could still see Rodney's eyes, trained on him, looking at John like Rodney was the only one who had ever really known him.

“Hey,” John said, almost silently. “Oh god, that’s…” and he almost choked on his own words as Rodney sucked harder on his fingers. Then Rodney was even closer, pulling John in for a kiss, his hand undoing John’s fly. John wanted to say Wait, we don’t even know each other,” but he had a sudden dream-like flash of himself in what seemed a hundred awkward situations, talking, introducing himself, stating his age – (seventeen, almost eighteen now); scenarios with pretty colt-like girls from his high school and prettier, wilder, boys from school or down the street. Talking, trying, stuttering. Almost always failing. None of them had the intelligent, knowing look that Rodney seemed to have just now. But then again, it was kind of dark and the sounds of the Funhouse echoed in the background as kids screeched at the sight of themselves so distorted, and it was all converted into pandemonium.

So John let himself be kissed. Rodney was aggressive yet tender. He let Rodney slip a hand into his jeans and down into his briefs to stroke him. He was amazed that he didn’t come right then, but he pictured the Ferris wheel and the Funhouse mirrors and staved it off. Until Rodney went to his knees and ran his tongue up and along John’s cock, then took him into his mouth and reached around to squeeze his ass. John took as many deep breaths as he could and then gripped Rodney’s shoulders and when Rodney seemed inherently to nod his head, John came, gritting his teeth on the dust that rose up around them.

When Rodney rose, John sank to his knees and went straight to returning the favor. But Rodney gripped him by the biceps and hauled him to his feet.

“Been working,” Rodney said. “Long day; just, you know. Touch me.” And John gulped and resisted jumping in on Rodney with both hands. He played it cool and slid one hand into Rodney’s boxers. He was weak in the knees and he felt that he was almost getting turned on again, already, so Rodney guided him and soon he had a rhythm of strokes and Rodney was breathing hard, sucking in the dust and the gloom and John completely lost any idea of where he was or what he was doing. The moment was everything.

After, Rodney let him out into the light, bright as a midday morning, even though it was late afternoon, and they strolled over to the bumper cars. John couldn’t believe that Rodney was able to so soundly bump him right out of the arena. John prided himself on being an excellent driver. So when Rodney showed him how he’d rigged the red bumper car to be faster and more responsive than the rest – in essence, he’d cheated – John just grinned and put away his pout. He actually admired the genius that Rodney displayed.

And once he’d ascertained that Rodney was a student at MIT, and wasn’t a lifetime carnie, not that John had a problem with “carnies,” per se -- he’d totally misjudged this one -- he relaxed into Rodney’s easy grin, his stocky frame and cocky stance, and he found himself wondering how long he could make this summer last.

“Nothing lasts, John,” Rodney said, as they parted, kissing secretly under the merry-go-round carousel after it went dark and all the kids ran off with their parents. He almost sounded condescending. “Live in the moment, because when real life comes along, it’s gonna hit you like a hammer and this sort of thing will be a thing of the past.”

John looked at him in the dark, framed by a giant, white carousel horse’s frozen gallop with its sinister, plastic eyes shining down on them. But Rodney’s eyes were kind, and older than his apparent years. John sensed that Rodney had been thrust into adulthood much sooner than he would have liked, whether by situation or by the fact that he was, in essence, some kind of radical genius. So John trusted what he had to say, but was still caught up in the moment and the feeling that he was young and that everything was possible and nothing would change.

“Hammer,” John repeated. “You’ve hit me like a hammer. And now I know where you’re gonna be every day for the next four days, at least.” Rodney looked at him in surprise. “So let me have my moments,” he said and then he kissed him again and again until Rodney protested and John knew he was pushing his own strict curfew.

The next afternoon, John rode the Ferris wheel after buying two giant bags of caramel corn. He let it get gooey and sticky all over his fingers in full view of the entire fairground. He reached the top and had a wonderful view of the world as he licked his fingers, and down below, Rodney McKay came again into view, looking up, up, up.

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custardpringle.livejournal.com

That was so sweet. (In every sense of the word XD) And I absotootly love it to death. You should write more. Lots more.

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