Fic: Head Veg
Head Veg by 
sheafrotherdon
~ 677 words, John/Rodney, team breakfasts and care packages.
The final indignity came when Jeannie sent the squash hat – a winter hat knitted in variegated green, brown, and yellow yarn, with a bright green leaf poking out from the crown.
"Looks like a vegetable," Ronon pointed out as Rodney unwrapped it at the breakfast table. The detritus of his care package lay strewn about them – a number of books, a fruit cake, several bottles of micro-brewed beer, a Dalhousie sweatshirt (Madison had started there in the fall), chocolate-covered cherries (Teyla's weakness), Batman band-aids, and back issues of magazines (Ronon was pulling all the issues of People out of the pile; John was already flicking through 'This Old House.')
"It's a squash," John offered over the top of his coffee cup. "Fall thing."
"A seasonal ritual?" Teyla asked as Rodney held the hat up by its leaf.
"As if my being taunted across galaxies by my sister is a strictly seasonal event," Rodney huffed.
Ronon swallowed the muffin he was chewing. "Put it on."
Rodney graced him a narrow-eyed glare.
"I would very much like to see the effect of a vegetable on your head," Teyla offered.
"I'm sure you would. And I'm sure you have a digital camera stowed to capture the moment," Rodney said waspishly. "But my higher faculties being quite sufficient to meet your brazen attempts to gain blackmail material and . . ."
"I'll kiss you if you wear it," John said innocently.
Rodney pfffffft'd in his direction. "Unless that comes with a corresponding commitment to never kiss me unless I don't, your offer is considerably below-par. Do we need to recall the last time you decided you could go without . . ."
John waved a hand. "Spare 'em," he said, ficking a finger toward Ronon and Teyla, who both seemed highly amused.
"I'm just saying . . ."
"And I'm saying I'll kiss you here," John said. "Right now."
Rodney paused, mouth slightly open. "But you said . . ."
"I know." John leaned back in his chair, nonchalant. "Change of . . . something."
"No PDAs, you said! Unbecoming to the – " Rodney gestured toward John's BDUs as an attempt to encompass rank and division. "We keep this in our room, Rodney, that's how we . . ."
"You don't want to, that's fine," John said, hitching a shoulder as if he hadn't just reversed his position on the fight they'd been having on and off for two long weeks, all because of a squash-themed hat. Rodney spluttered helplessly – Air Force officers and their frankly ridiculous sense of everything, ever, with hotness and air between their ears, and hotness, and an inability to admit they'd ever been wrong, or unfair, or plain wrong, and with the hotness – and he jammed the hat on his head.
"Awesome," Ronon offered.
"It is a very jubilant piece of headgear," Teyla said with a smile.
John looked up from beneath his lashes, sly as a cat, pleased and perhaps a little bashful. He grinned and set down his magazine, pushed up from his chair just enough to lean across the table and kiss Rodney sweetly on the lips. It felt a little like an apology, and a lot like Rodney's knees weren't steady, even though he was sitting down.
"I don't understand you," Rodney murmured weakly as the kiss broke. "Is 'I'm sorry for being a giant jackass' really so hard? You realize you're now the military commander with a weakness for head veg?"
John kissed him chastely once more and sat back down. "Eh," he managed. "You know," and he popped a chocolate-covered cherry in his mouth.
Rodney adjusted his hat. The things it took to meet John Sheppard half-way were just . . . "Here," he said, and offered the hat to Ronon. "Try it out." And he bit into a muffin while Ronon arranged the beanie on top of his dreads, Teyla laughing openly, John starting up a game of footsie beneath the table. "Squash hat," Rodney murmured, and had the great satisfaction of seeing John Sheppard blush.
sheafrotherdon~ 677 words, John/Rodney, team breakfasts and care packages.
The final indignity came when Jeannie sent the squash hat – a winter hat knitted in variegated green, brown, and yellow yarn, with a bright green leaf poking out from the crown.
"Looks like a vegetable," Ronon pointed out as Rodney unwrapped it at the breakfast table. The detritus of his care package lay strewn about them – a number of books, a fruit cake, several bottles of micro-brewed beer, a Dalhousie sweatshirt (Madison had started there in the fall), chocolate-covered cherries (Teyla's weakness), Batman band-aids, and back issues of magazines (Ronon was pulling all the issues of People out of the pile; John was already flicking through 'This Old House.')
"It's a squash," John offered over the top of his coffee cup. "Fall thing."
"A seasonal ritual?" Teyla asked as Rodney held the hat up by its leaf.
"As if my being taunted across galaxies by my sister is a strictly seasonal event," Rodney huffed.
Ronon swallowed the muffin he was chewing. "Put it on."
Rodney graced him a narrow-eyed glare.
"I would very much like to see the effect of a vegetable on your head," Teyla offered.
"I'm sure you would. And I'm sure you have a digital camera stowed to capture the moment," Rodney said waspishly. "But my higher faculties being quite sufficient to meet your brazen attempts to gain blackmail material and . . ."
"I'll kiss you if you wear it," John said innocently.
Rodney pfffffft'd in his direction. "Unless that comes with a corresponding commitment to never kiss me unless I don't, your offer is considerably below-par. Do we need to recall the last time you decided you could go without . . ."
John waved a hand. "Spare 'em," he said, ficking a finger toward Ronon and Teyla, who both seemed highly amused.
"I'm just saying . . ."
"And I'm saying I'll kiss you here," John said. "Right now."
Rodney paused, mouth slightly open. "But you said . . ."
"I know." John leaned back in his chair, nonchalant. "Change of . . . something."
"No PDAs, you said! Unbecoming to the – " Rodney gestured toward John's BDUs as an attempt to encompass rank and division. "We keep this in our room, Rodney, that's how we . . ."
"You don't want to, that's fine," John said, hitching a shoulder as if he hadn't just reversed his position on the fight they'd been having on and off for two long weeks, all because of a squash-themed hat. Rodney spluttered helplessly – Air Force officers and their frankly ridiculous sense of everything, ever, with hotness and air between their ears, and hotness, and an inability to admit they'd ever been wrong, or unfair, or plain wrong, and with the hotness – and he jammed the hat on his head.
"Awesome," Ronon offered.
"It is a very jubilant piece of headgear," Teyla said with a smile.
John looked up from beneath his lashes, sly as a cat, pleased and perhaps a little bashful. He grinned and set down his magazine, pushed up from his chair just enough to lean across the table and kiss Rodney sweetly on the lips. It felt a little like an apology, and a lot like Rodney's knees weren't steady, even though he was sitting down.
"I don't understand you," Rodney murmured weakly as the kiss broke. "Is 'I'm sorry for being a giant jackass' really so hard? You realize you're now the military commander with a weakness for head veg?"
John kissed him chastely once more and sat back down. "Eh," he managed. "You know," and he popped a chocolate-covered cherry in his mouth.
Rodney adjusted his hat. The things it took to meet John Sheppard half-way were just . . . "Here," he said, and offered the hat to Ronon. "Try it out." And he bit into a muffin while Ronon arranged the beanie on top of his dreads, Teyla laughing openly, John starting up a game of footsie beneath the table. "Squash hat," Rodney murmured, and had the great satisfaction of seeing John Sheppard blush.