sga_saturday | For Week #1 Coffee: Taste Test by esteefee (John/Rodney, PG)

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Title: Taste Test
Author: esteefee
Pairing: John/Rodney
Spoilers: none
Warnings: none
Categories: First Time
Words: 640
Rating: PG
Summary: John tries everything.
Prompt: coffee
A/N: Written on my iPhone. In a restaurant! While drinking coffee... :)
Also at AO3.

Taste Test

by esteefee

John tried mocha java from Zelenka's top secret, private stash. He tried Yamawlata chrota, foamy and dark, tasting of cinnamon with a bite of caffeine that would jump start a moose. Next, was Woolsey's private reserve of Sumatra espresso, single origin, dark roast. Seriously, the fact that didn't do it almost made John despair. He even tried caffeinated chewing gum and coffee-flavored jelly-beans.

Funny thing, funny, really—eventually, it was Teyla's totally bizarre Athosian nibi, the stuff that smelled like wet wool socks and looked like gray wash water. That somehow made the light shine in Rodney's eyes, made him finally turn away from the flat panel displays and look at John with utter adoration, made him smile with crooked fondness.

"If I didn't know better, Colonel, I'd think you were trying to get my attention."

"But you do know better, Rodney," John said lazily, crossing his arms and leaning into the warmth of Rodney's smile. Daring to, because he felt it now. The zing of Rodney's laser focus, more potent than Zimali Ceremonial Feelka tea, the stuff that hadn't worked, oh, six tries ago.

"I do. At least, I thought—" Rodney cocked his head. "This is just perfect," he waved his cup. "Where did you get it?"

"Not telling." John shoved away from the desk and pretended to walk away, only to be clutched by Rodney's free hand, the other still wrapped around the half-empty cup.

"Colonel!"

"Nope." John held back a smirk. He could smell the nibi on Rodney's breath. It didn't smell like socks anymore. Weird.

"But..." Rodney's eyes narrowed. "Ah."

"What?" A nervous flutter traveled through John's gut, making him pull back. "How else am I gonna bribe you into doing your P.T?"

"Uh-huh." Rodney didn't look impressed by the—pretty good, John thought—diversion. "Come here." Rodney tugged on John's arm, bringing him close enough to feel the warmth of him all along his side. "You've been bringing me coffee. I may be something of a social Luddite, but I do know what that signifies."

"That I want to keep you alert enough to save our hides on a daily basis?"

Rodney shook his head gravely, blue eyes too intent.

The back of John's neck was sweating. He'd wanted this, but somehow he hadn't gotten as far as this point in the whole Plan. The Plan really had been much more of an Inkling, actually. It had gone pretty much like this:

1. Give Rodney Coffee
2. ...
3. Sex!

So, the question was, now what?

"Um," John said, with shattering intelligence.

"Oh, for God's sake," Rodney said, and put down the cup. He put down the cup of nibi and clutched John's biceps. "Do I have to do everything, seriously?"

Which was just patently unfair in John's book. Nine tries! Nine different caffeinated beverages had gone through Rodney's exacting taste test before John found something that met his coffee standard! Rodney had taste buds that stupidly finicky!

"Shut up," John said, and kissed him. That would show him, the irritating, perfectionist, kissing-him-back bast—oh, God, Rodney was kissing him, the son of a bitch was kissing him right back, and licking under his tongue and moaning in this whimpery high voice that was making John's belly heat up. No fair.

"No fair," John said as he broke away. "You should taste like wet socks. You should run away like a dork."

"I really think you should shut up now, idiot," Rodney said, and John couldn't agree more.

So, eventually John did give Rodney the source of the nibi, but not until he'd extorted a hefty number of blow jobs, and kisses, too, because he couldn't get over those no matter how hard he tried. And Rodney didn't seem to mind. In fact, he didn't stop kissing John even after he had his own nibi dealer, which John thought was a pretty good sign.

A pretty damned good sign, yeah.

End.