squidgiepdx: (adorkable)
squidgiepdx ([personal profile] squidgiepdx) wrote in [community profile] sga_saturday2012-03-31 10:06 am

Fic for Week #44: Control - "Mayor Sheppard, If You're Nasty" - McShep - Citrus Hill AU - PG

TITLE: Mayor Sheppard, If You're Nasty

FANDOM: SGA, Citrus Hill 'verse
PAIRINGS: Sheppard/McKay
CHARACTERS: John Sheppard, Rodney McKay, Laura Cadman

RATING: PG

WORDS: 815
AUTHORS: [livejournal.com profile] squidgiepdx and [livejournal.com profile] elderwitty
NOTES: For [livejournal.com profile] sga_saturday Week #44, Prompt "Control".  This takes place in the Citrus Hill 'verse created by [livejournal.com profile] squidgiepdx and [livejournal.com profile] elderwitty.  In this universe, Rodney is Rodney (though he's been banished to a small town in Florida for his attitude), and John is his boyfriend, the town
garbage man environmental engineer, Rodney's landlord, and Mayor (among other things), and Laura Cadman is John's assistant.  If you want to read up on Citrus Hill, click here for the Citrus Hill Master Index.
SUMMARY: Rodney goes to visit John at work.

~*~*~



Rodney walks into the Citrus Hill City Hall, locking eyes with Laura Cadman as soon as he opens her office door.

"I thought I smelled something," Laura taunts.

"Try all you like, Cadman, but it won’t work today."  Rodney bounces on his toes, his broad smile only increasing Laura's scowl.  "Where's John?  I thought I’d take him to lunch."  Actually, Rodney wanted some of Skeeter's fine fried chicken, and figured he'd take John along with.

Laura studies him for half a minute before shuddering violently, making Rodney throw her a quizzical look.  "I just figured out that you got laid this morning and that's what has you in such a good mood."

"Not that it's any of your business, but yes."  Rodney takes a deep breath and remembers the mingled smell of John and himself from earlier.  "So?" 

"So?  So, that made me think about youNaked."  This time her shudder is almost bone-cracking.

"Oh, whatever.  Do I say negative things when you get laid?" he asks.  "Oh, wait a minute... That's right.  Ronon's been in Europe for two months," he says as sweetly as he can manage.  Laura flips him the bird as she rolls her eyes  "Where's John?"

"His morning meeting with one of the Alachua County folks was cancelled, so he decided to wash the trucks out today instead of this weekend.  He’s over at Sheppard Hauling," she finishes, already turning back to her computer.

"Thanks," Rodney says, squashing the urge to pull Cadman's pigtails.  (Actual, not metaphorical.)  He doesn’t want another round of 'Can't you two just get along for once?' from John.  It’s swiftly becoming a regular thing.

Rodney stays mostly under the awnings of Citrus Hill's downtown shops as he walks the two blocks to Sheppard Hauling, dodging the noonday sun.  He nods to Lurlene as he enters, but she’s concentrating on her plate of snapper and greens.  Rodney doesn’t need her to direct him, though; he can hear the music blaring from out back.  As he steps into the cleaning bay, he's accosted by the apocalyptically loud techno-beat of "Control" and the sight of John Sheppard bouncing along in a garbage truck, complete with slide-stepping to Janet's croon of "Jaaammm..."

"Seriously?" Rodney calls, unheard above the din.

John continues sweeping the pressure washer from side to side in time with the song.

Sighing, Rodney climbs on the truck’s bumper and steps into the hopper, reaching out to tap John on the arm.

"HOLY HELL!!”  John slews around, the jet of water sending debris flying every which way.  "Rodney," he grins, leaning down to pluck a WantABurger wrapper from Rodney's khakis before removing his earplugs.  He grabs a kiss and asks, "What're you doing here?"

"Updating my wardrobe - obviously," Rodney yells over the chorus.

John unzips his coveralls to the waist, giving Rodney a glimpse of belly as he pulls out a remote control, which he uses to mute the stereo.  Rubbing the back of his neck, he repeats, "What're you doing here?"

"Well, I was craving fried chicken, so I figured I'd see if you wanted to go to Skeeters.  But now," he says, flicking a stray piece of lettuce off his knee, "I need to burn these."

"I've got some sweats you can change into at the house," John says.  "Gimme a couple of minutes to finish."

Rodney holds out his hand as John prepares to finish washing out the garbage truck.  "Keys?"

"You know it's not locked, McKay," John says.  "But seriously, just give me two minutes."  John goes back to spraying, aiming at the remaining debris and hitting Rodney with some backsplash.

"Seriously?" Rodney squeaks.  "Now I need a shower, too.  Watch where you point that thing, Sheppard," he scowls.  "You could hit the levers."  He points at the controls for the gate, emptying cycle, and compacting sequence.  "And I certainly don't want a squished boyfriend.”  Climbing down to the pavement, Rodney says, "And now..."

Hopping out of the cavernous garbage truck, John drops the pressure washer hose and turns off the spigot.  "I'll come with," John says, wiggling his eyebrows.  "I could use a shower, too."

"I know that look.  That's your lets have shower sex look," Rodney says, remembering it quite clearly from five hours ago.  "And while I'm thrilled to the depths of my horny, horny soul, I don't think I'm quite recuperated from this morning's marathon."

Guiding Rodney through the office, John leans over his desk, pulls out a packet of Hostess Cupcakes and hands them over.  "This help?" he asks with a smirk.  On their way out the door John calls to Lurlene, "I'll be back later," before taking Rodney's hand as they walk down Main Street.  

Sniffing the air, John says, "You know, I'm kinda in the mood for a burger now."

Peeling a pickle off the hem of his shirt, Rodney says, "You would be."




Post a comment in response:

This account has disabled anonymous posting.
If you don't have an account you can create one now.
HTML doesn't work in the subject.
More info about formatting

If you are unable to use this captcha for any reason, please contact us by email at support@dreamwidth.org