ext_2784 (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
tzi.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
sga_flashfic2006-06-26 11:33 pm
tzi.livejournal.com) wrote in sga_flashfic2006-06-26 11:33 pm
Entry tags:
"Dueling Banjos" by Kat Reitz & tzigane (Earthside challenge)
Title: Dueling Banjos
Authors:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
tzi & zaris
Pairing: Sheppard/McKay. Kind of. Sort of. Well, really, more or less.
Rating: PG. Ish.
Summary: "I hear dueling banjos. Make it go faster."
Length: 1,803 words.
Dueling Banjos
"I hear dueling banjos. Make it go faster."
The fact that Rodney was serious just made it all the funnier.
"Look, McKay, we're gonna have to stop for gas sometime. You wouldn't let me stop in Mississippi because you said they'd tie us to the back of a truck and drag us all the way to their riverbank encampment...."
"They would!"
"...so we've gotta stop in Alabama. Look. There's a convenience store right there. They’ll have chocolate."
Rodney sat back in the passenger seat, and shot the convenience store a dirty glare. It had a nice, recognizable name for John; its only fault was that it just happened to be a Racetrac in Alabama. It wasn't like every state in the south was the setting for the movie Deliverance, and he wished that no one had ever let Rodney watch it.
"So? Do we really need gas?"
"Unless you want to be walking back down one of those roads like the one between Fayette and Jasper." He'd bitched all the way down that one, but he'd mostly been bitching about the Jersey Turnpike at the time. Something about Alabama at least not making them pay a toll for driving on shitty roads. John wasn't sure. He'd found an eighties station, and he'd kind of ignored most of it for the Real Genius flashbacks. "I'm pretty sure somebody's bound to drive by and tell you that you've got a purty mouth."
"You're the reason we couldn't just fly," Rodney muttered, and his mouth pulled down in a tense frown when John parked beside a gas pump. He was probably going to have to heave Rodney out of the car physically, but once he got him out of the heat and into the AC with the junk food, maybe he'd even out.
Maybe he wouldn't make any cracks about banjos, either. John was kind of optimistic about things like that.
"C'mon, Rodney. Isn't this just as good?" Hazard pay was the best thing ever, and his bank account had covered the gleaming black Thunderbird with ease. He'd wanted one like crazy when one of the kids on base had gotten an old '77 for his sixteenth, and buying one, cash in hand, had been a lot like orgasm.
Driving it felt a lot like sex. Anyway, he'd needed a car, and he and McKay were expected to drive -- well, McKay was expected to and it wasn't as if John was going to let McKay go by himself after the incident with the Hive ship -- from point a to point b to talk other obnoxious scientists into joining the SGC.
They'd sent Radek to talk to the ones they really wanted, John figured.
Rodney frowned at him for a moment, and sat back in the plush, soft leather seat, head against the headrest. "It's a nice car. I just wish we were further north."
John rolled his eyes, pulling the car in next to pump station eight. "Jesus, Rodney. Get out. Go inside. Bring me back Hershey's with almonds. I swear if anybody says anything about your mouth, I'll shoot them. All right?" After all, a guy had to have his priorities straight, and Rodney's mouth was a priority.
Sort of. It was a priority to John even if it wasn't to anyone else. Rodney shot him half of a dirty look, and pushed the passenger side door open. "Fine, fine -- oh, god, cramp! Shit, ow, people aren't made to stand up after that long in a car, ow..."
If he hadn't seen Miko chasing Rodney around trying to rub out a cramp, he probably wouldn't have laughed. Maybe.
"For a man who can spend three days hanging upside down trying to fix a device that can't be reached any other way, you're seriously wrong, McKay."
If it was an ass cramp, it might be worth offering to rub it out. Just... not in Alabama.
John popped the gas flap and unscrewed the lid, while Rodney limped towards the store. It was the normal things that made him seize up a little, that made John hold one galaxy against another. The price of gas had shot up to the sky since he'd last had much to do with cars, and all the gas pumps had 'pay first' written on them in angry block letters that made John reach for his credit card.
It was funny, really. Getting shot at in Pegasus felt better than paying for gas in the Milky Way, even if there was cheap chocolate and bad coffee and a guy eyeballing his car with some serious automotive lust.
By the time he'd topped off the tank, Rodney was coming out again with a scandalized expression that probably meant somebody had pinched his ass, or mentioned his mouth, or maybe they'd just tried to assert that cheap chocolate was a great, grand thing and he should be grateful to have it.
Maybe he was. Rodney had a fistful of candy bars, and it went with his habit of hiding food away. John was probably going to have to dedicate a day or two before they left to checking under the seat for candy. He had a soda in his other hand, but not coffee. "Are you done yet?"
"Just a couple more gallons." Rodney had been damn fast, and it made John wonder if somebody had pinched his ass. "Go ahead and get in the car. I'll be done in a minute."
"Sure, fine." Rodney leaned forwards and then reached around John to shove one of the candy bars, flat and brown with edges of silver wrapping, right into the back pocket of his jeans. "Hurry it up."
They were going to be so lucky if they made it out of Alabama without being strung up in the nearest cornfield.
"I'll get right on that," John grated out, releasing the pump handle and pulling it out of the tank, setting it back in its cradle and ignoring the curious look of the woman on the other side.
He was tempted to smile and wave. Maybe it hadn't been the best idea to put the USAF sticker on the back, and well, he had his base tags displayed clearly on the windshield of his new car.
Rodney opened the door and slid into the passenger seat, breaking into one of the chocolate bars already. For a man so paranoid about the possibility of hearing 'Dueling Banjos', he had no sense of appropriate touch in public. One day, it would probably get them killed, at least in the Milky Way. There were creepier forms of appropriate touch all over Pegasus.
"Have a nice day," John offered the lady before climbing into the driver's seat. A crunch and the rattle of tin foil caught his attention, and he reached back to pull the chocolate out of his ass pocket.
"I would kill for an Aerobar right now," Rodney mourned. He already had a mouthful of Hershey's something or other, and did that wrapper say special edition? Who the hell put out special edition candy bars? "Please tell me you're driving away now?"
"I'm driving away now. What happened in the store?" After all, Rodney had come out and palmed his ass, and that wasn't exactly par for the course. John turned the key, and the engine thrummed to life. It wasn't anywhere near as good as a puddlejumper, but a guy had to take what he could get when he was Earth-side. Thunderbird? Pretty damn good.
“Why do you think anything happened in the store?" There was a lift to Rodney's voice, the tilt that told John that he was a few steps away from trying to lie, which he wasn't any good at.
"Because you came out, slipped chocolate in my pocket, fondled my ass, and hurried back into the car." That just wasn't normal, especially considering they were in Alabama and Rodney had nearly hyperventilated about stopping.
"I didn't fondle your ass -- I gave you a candy bar, and your hands were busy. I wasn't going to put it in your front pocket, your jeans are, are..." Rodney waved one hand a little, eyeing John's jeans. "Too tight for that. Anyway, it was just something the clerk at the front said."
"Really?" That was interesting, and Rodney looked like he didn't want to answer, so it had to be good. He tapped the brakes, looked both ways, pulled out on the road and started to follow the signs for I-20. He'd had enough of back roads for a while, even if Rodney would gloat about it later. "What's that?"
"She said..." Rodney stopped, dragged it out long enough to chew another mouthful of chocolate. John wasn't sure when Hershey's had started making anything that was pink in the center, unless it was a really bad sex joke candy-bar. "She asked if she could have your phone number."
Huh. "Maybe I should go back and give it to her. I mean, you know, because it's gotta be easy to give me a call at home, right? She'd just have to go through about a dozen operators to get there is all." Yeah. And Rodney. Somehow, John didn't think any kind of call was gonna make it though Rodney, but the notion made him grin anyway.
Rodney turned his head, and John could only see it from the corner of his eye, but he could guess that Rodney was giving him the 'are you crazy' look that he'd seen a lot. Since before he knew John's name. "I told her no, and she said she'd ask herself."
"Well, that explains the ass fondling." Not that John minded. He kind of had a thing for Rodney's ass, to be honest about it. "Tell you what, McKay. It's maybe another three hours from here to Atlanta, and the guy at Georgia Tech, he's not expecting us. We could always stop off in between." They could talk about mutual admiration of assets. Or not talk about it. Either way.
"In between here and... what?" Rodney shifted in the seat, left the Coke between his knees, and leaned back a little. "Could we at least stop on the other side of the Georgia border? I.E., not in this state."
"Sure. Not in this state. You know...." John grinned. He just couldn't help himself. "That's where they filmed Deliverance."
"Where, in Georgia?" Rodney's mouth opened, and there was the angry muppet look that he loved to cause. It was worth taking his eyes off of the road for a minute to glance at Rodney and grin. "Are you joking? Why didn't you let these people secede back when they wanted to make a new crazy country, huh?"
Yeah, the more things changed, the more they stayed the same.
Authors:
tzi & zarisPairing: Sheppard/McKay. Kind of. Sort of. Well, really, more or less.
Rating: PG. Ish.
Summary: "I hear dueling banjos. Make it go faster."
Length: 1,803 words.
"I hear dueling banjos. Make it go faster."
The fact that Rodney was serious just made it all the funnier.
"Look, McKay, we're gonna have to stop for gas sometime. You wouldn't let me stop in Mississippi because you said they'd tie us to the back of a truck and drag us all the way to their riverbank encampment...."
"They would!"
"...so we've gotta stop in Alabama. Look. There's a convenience store right there. They’ll have chocolate."
Rodney sat back in the passenger seat, and shot the convenience store a dirty glare. It had a nice, recognizable name for John; its only fault was that it just happened to be a Racetrac in Alabama. It wasn't like every state in the south was the setting for the movie Deliverance, and he wished that no one had ever let Rodney watch it.
"So? Do we really need gas?"
"Unless you want to be walking back down one of those roads like the one between Fayette and Jasper." He'd bitched all the way down that one, but he'd mostly been bitching about the Jersey Turnpike at the time. Something about Alabama at least not making them pay a toll for driving on shitty roads. John wasn't sure. He'd found an eighties station, and he'd kind of ignored most of it for the Real Genius flashbacks. "I'm pretty sure somebody's bound to drive by and tell you that you've got a purty mouth."
"You're the reason we couldn't just fly," Rodney muttered, and his mouth pulled down in a tense frown when John parked beside a gas pump. He was probably going to have to heave Rodney out of the car physically, but once he got him out of the heat and into the AC with the junk food, maybe he'd even out.
Maybe he wouldn't make any cracks about banjos, either. John was kind of optimistic about things like that.
"C'mon, Rodney. Isn't this just as good?" Hazard pay was the best thing ever, and his bank account had covered the gleaming black Thunderbird with ease. He'd wanted one like crazy when one of the kids on base had gotten an old '77 for his sixteenth, and buying one, cash in hand, had been a lot like orgasm.
Driving it felt a lot like sex. Anyway, he'd needed a car, and he and McKay were expected to drive -- well, McKay was expected to and it wasn't as if John was going to let McKay go by himself after the incident with the Hive ship -- from point a to point b to talk other obnoxious scientists into joining the SGC.
They'd sent Radek to talk to the ones they really wanted, John figured.
Rodney frowned at him for a moment, and sat back in the plush, soft leather seat, head against the headrest. "It's a nice car. I just wish we were further north."
John rolled his eyes, pulling the car in next to pump station eight. "Jesus, Rodney. Get out. Go inside. Bring me back Hershey's with almonds. I swear if anybody says anything about your mouth, I'll shoot them. All right?" After all, a guy had to have his priorities straight, and Rodney's mouth was a priority.
Sort of. It was a priority to John even if it wasn't to anyone else. Rodney shot him half of a dirty look, and pushed the passenger side door open. "Fine, fine -- oh, god, cramp! Shit, ow, people aren't made to stand up after that long in a car, ow..."
If he hadn't seen Miko chasing Rodney around trying to rub out a cramp, he probably wouldn't have laughed. Maybe.
"For a man who can spend three days hanging upside down trying to fix a device that can't be reached any other way, you're seriously wrong, McKay."
If it was an ass cramp, it might be worth offering to rub it out. Just... not in Alabama.
John popped the gas flap and unscrewed the lid, while Rodney limped towards the store. It was the normal things that made him seize up a little, that made John hold one galaxy against another. The price of gas had shot up to the sky since he'd last had much to do with cars, and all the gas pumps had 'pay first' written on them in angry block letters that made John reach for his credit card.
It was funny, really. Getting shot at in Pegasus felt better than paying for gas in the Milky Way, even if there was cheap chocolate and bad coffee and a guy eyeballing his car with some serious automotive lust.
By the time he'd topped off the tank, Rodney was coming out again with a scandalized expression that probably meant somebody had pinched his ass, or mentioned his mouth, or maybe they'd just tried to assert that cheap chocolate was a great, grand thing and he should be grateful to have it.
Maybe he was. Rodney had a fistful of candy bars, and it went with his habit of hiding food away. John was probably going to have to dedicate a day or two before they left to checking under the seat for candy. He had a soda in his other hand, but not coffee. "Are you done yet?"
"Just a couple more gallons." Rodney had been damn fast, and it made John wonder if somebody had pinched his ass. "Go ahead and get in the car. I'll be done in a minute."
"Sure, fine." Rodney leaned forwards and then reached around John to shove one of the candy bars, flat and brown with edges of silver wrapping, right into the back pocket of his jeans. "Hurry it up."
They were going to be so lucky if they made it out of Alabama without being strung up in the nearest cornfield.
"I'll get right on that," John grated out, releasing the pump handle and pulling it out of the tank, setting it back in its cradle and ignoring the curious look of the woman on the other side.
He was tempted to smile and wave. Maybe it hadn't been the best idea to put the USAF sticker on the back, and well, he had his base tags displayed clearly on the windshield of his new car.
Rodney opened the door and slid into the passenger seat, breaking into one of the chocolate bars already. For a man so paranoid about the possibility of hearing 'Dueling Banjos', he had no sense of appropriate touch in public. One day, it would probably get them killed, at least in the Milky Way. There were creepier forms of appropriate touch all over Pegasus.
"Have a nice day," John offered the lady before climbing into the driver's seat. A crunch and the rattle of tin foil caught his attention, and he reached back to pull the chocolate out of his ass pocket.
"I would kill for an Aerobar right now," Rodney mourned. He already had a mouthful of Hershey's something or other, and did that wrapper say special edition? Who the hell put out special edition candy bars? "Please tell me you're driving away now?"
"I'm driving away now. What happened in the store?" After all, Rodney had come out and palmed his ass, and that wasn't exactly par for the course. John turned the key, and the engine thrummed to life. It wasn't anywhere near as good as a puddlejumper, but a guy had to take what he could get when he was Earth-side. Thunderbird? Pretty damn good.
“Why do you think anything happened in the store?" There was a lift to Rodney's voice, the tilt that told John that he was a few steps away from trying to lie, which he wasn't any good at.
"Because you came out, slipped chocolate in my pocket, fondled my ass, and hurried back into the car." That just wasn't normal, especially considering they were in Alabama and Rodney had nearly hyperventilated about stopping.
"I didn't fondle your ass -- I gave you a candy bar, and your hands were busy. I wasn't going to put it in your front pocket, your jeans are, are..." Rodney waved one hand a little, eyeing John's jeans. "Too tight for that. Anyway, it was just something the clerk at the front said."
"Really?" That was interesting, and Rodney looked like he didn't want to answer, so it had to be good. He tapped the brakes, looked both ways, pulled out on the road and started to follow the signs for I-20. He'd had enough of back roads for a while, even if Rodney would gloat about it later. "What's that?"
"She said..." Rodney stopped, dragged it out long enough to chew another mouthful of chocolate. John wasn't sure when Hershey's had started making anything that was pink in the center, unless it was a really bad sex joke candy-bar. "She asked if she could have your phone number."
Huh. "Maybe I should go back and give it to her. I mean, you know, because it's gotta be easy to give me a call at home, right? She'd just have to go through about a dozen operators to get there is all." Yeah. And Rodney. Somehow, John didn't think any kind of call was gonna make it though Rodney, but the notion made him grin anyway.
Rodney turned his head, and John could only see it from the corner of his eye, but he could guess that Rodney was giving him the 'are you crazy' look that he'd seen a lot. Since before he knew John's name. "I told her no, and she said she'd ask herself."
"Well, that explains the ass fondling." Not that John minded. He kind of had a thing for Rodney's ass, to be honest about it. "Tell you what, McKay. It's maybe another three hours from here to Atlanta, and the guy at Georgia Tech, he's not expecting us. We could always stop off in between." They could talk about mutual admiration of assets. Or not talk about it. Either way.
"In between here and... what?" Rodney shifted in the seat, left the Coke between his knees, and leaned back a little. "Could we at least stop on the other side of the Georgia border? I.E., not in this state."
"Sure. Not in this state. You know...." John grinned. He just couldn't help himself. "That's where they filmed Deliverance."
"Where, in Georgia?" Rodney's mouth opened, and there was the angry muppet look that he loved to cause. It was worth taking his eyes off of the road for a minute to glance at Rodney and grin. "Are you joking? Why didn't you let these people secede back when they wanted to make a new crazy country, huh?"
Yeah, the more things changed, the more they stayed the same.
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