He wakes him with a kiss. Rolls him onto his back. Touches him all over, admiring the lazy sprawl of his body in the morning sunlight with his lips and hands. More kissing, relaxed, and slow. Sloppy half-asleep kisses.
John's still slick from the night before, albeit a little swollen, and it's easy to work himself open while Poe watches, straddling his hips. Then he takes Poe's dick into his hand, positions it, and sinks down, all the way down, until his ass meets Poe's pelvis, with a heavy sigh.
He looks down at Poe, gripping onto the headboard with both hands for support, because it's going to be a bumpy ride. John starts off slow and even, making adjustments to his preference, watching Poe's face. Watching Poe watch him. He moves quicker, harder, his thighs flexing, muscle rippling in his back with each rise and fall of his hips. Taking more and more, as much as he wants from him, because he knows Poe likes it. Loves it.
They're both warriors in that way, admirers of strength.
Sweat trickles down John's scarred back, following the curve of his spine.]
[ If Poe is being honest, he's still a little tender from last night. When John rolls him over he almost protests, groaning low in his throat, but the touches quiet him. The kissing. The slow way John works him over opens the gates to arousal, and then John mounts him and Poe hisses quietly, alongside John's sigh.
It feels good to have John around him. Then John takes hold of the headboard and Poe's heartbeat kicks up, his dick starts to harden, because sometimes Poe likes to be used. He likes being a tool in someone else's pleasure. The unbroken eye contact as John picks up speed, the flex of muscles seen just out of the corner of Poe's eye--he breathes in sharply, hips twitching upward without his meaning them to.
He grabs onto the headboard over him, thinking with irony about his teasing John for making noise when he's about to start himself. Poe's eyelids flutter shut for a moment; he opens them, then John rolls against him just right and Poe's head tilts back, and he follows John in an arch as the other man starts to draw away, wanting to stay in just that spot, just for a second longer.
A smile breaks across his face, and he gasps out, ] Four stars.
[It's been a long night. A very, very long night. Rodney is exhausted, worn down to the bone, eyes stinging, back aching from hunching over a computer, mind moving sluggishly, barely able to process basic algebra let alone complex physics. It's frankly exquisite, exactly the right kind of exhaustion that leaves Rodney thinking he might actually get a few hours of decent sleep for a while, just the right mix of physical and mental exhaustion that might let him just turn off and be unconscious for a while without spinning his metaphorical wheels and thinking too much.
Squinting into the sunlight as he goes up the elevator, Rodney sighs slightly, leans against the wall, stares into the woods, then pushes away from it and shambles his way to the apartment as if he were a zombie, most of the way asleep. He's already talking as he unlocks the door, voice slightly slurred.]
For once, I'm not going straight for a cup of coffee. You can have one if you want, but I'm having an herbal tea and straight to bed, it's been a very, very long ni-
[And it's then, when he lifts his head as he steps into the bedroom doorway, that he sees it. For a moment, he's completely aghast, blue eyes wide as he takes in the whole scene. A man in John's bed who looks vaguely familiar (for all that he can see his face from this angle) and John...arching...on top of him...completely naked.]
[John isn't completely naked. He's still wearing his dog-tags, and they clatter around his neck with every slam of his ass into Poe's pelvis.
He loves the way Poe's body moves with him. His hands fall away from the headboard to grip onto the meat of Poe's shoulders, leaning down to claim a kiss from Poe's parted lips before driving himself harder, faster, deeper, because he's close and-
Oh my god. John grins wolfishly.]
Sounds like five stars to me-
[Something about that wasn't right. It takes John a moment to put two and two together, what with all the blood in his body flowing straight into his dick and away from his brain.
John's so close. He can ignore it. Ride this out, and think about it later.
But he feels a tingle at the base of his spine, the intrinsic knowing that something is wrong. A sixth sense, if that sixth sense were being half-aware of a door opening and someone talking in a perfectly normal voice. John looks back over his shoulder.
And makes eye-contact with Rodney Mckay standing in the doorway of their bedroom.
His heart stops. His jaw drops. He freezes like a deer in headlights. If that deer were doing the nasty in the middle of the highway with another deer, though since they're technically two stag, you could probably call it locking horns.
John's first instinct is to NOT be doing what he's doing, which means dismounting, but since Poe's still in him, he can't just roll off and to the side without breaking his dick in half. He attempts a vertical lift-off, like a helicopter, except helicopters aren't usually seconds away from orgasm, or slippery with sweat. And they usually have a bigger landing pad than a single bed already overcrowded with two full-grown men.
How terrible mistakes always happen in a split-second, but in slow motion, is something John doesn't have an answer to.
What John means to do is separate, roll to one side, and cover himself with a blanket. What John does is separate, fall to the wrong side, and land hard on his (already tender) ass on the floor.
That wasn't me, Poe almost says, but John appears to have already figured that out.
Poe looks toward the door, sees Rodney, sees the look on his face. And then John rolls sideways and falls off the bed, and it's all too perfect. Way, way too perfect.
Poe cracks the fuck up. He manages to get himself under control long enough to say: ] Hey, mind closing the door?
[For a few moments, Rodney is completely still, and completely silent, while his brain tries to process what's happening in front of him. To put together a dozen little flash impressions that he's pretty sure are never going to leave his brain into a coherent understanding of what's happening to him. Rodney is an intelligent man, he can run through dozens of scenarios in a few moments, like virtual simulations, but every single one of them, right now, is coming to the same conclusion.
John Sheppard is having sex with a man in their bedroom.
And then John is jerking upward like he's convulsing and toppling over onto the floor, and the other man is laughing (Dameron, he thinks his name was) and Rodney can't take it anymore. Stepping backward stiffly, moving like a robot, he grabs at the door handle, hands shaking.]
As you were!
[He yells it into the room then pushes the door shut and turns on his heel, making his way into the kitchen, where he sits down heavily on a chair and puts his face in his hands.]
[Poe laughs harder, and John slaps him hard on his sweaty thigh.]
Not helping!
[John's past the point of embarrassed. Now he just wants to die. He covers his face with both hands, shaking his head. If there was a big enough hole for him to crawl into, John would be there, and he'd be taking his gun with him.
He'll never live this down. There's no way Rodney will let it go, and even if he doesn't mention it, which John knows he will, they'll both remember.
At least he doesn't have blue balls. John's amazed his dick hasn't crawled back up into his body and died there. Never to be seen again. By anyone. Ever.
He should've been more careful. Just because Rodney's been working well into the morning most nights doesn't mean he will every night, and John could've hung a sock on the door, or something.
Finally, John starts crawling around on the floor in search of his discarded BDUs, because he owes Rodney an apology, and he really isn't in the mood to be naked. He feels plenty exposed already.
He might be giving Poe the cold shoulder as he dresses.]
[ Poe's amusement wears off as he finds his own clothes, enough that he can look at John without grinning, which would no doubt be like poking the pilot's bruises (physical and otherwise).
He has his shirt in one hand as he comes up behind John, slinging his other arm around John's shoulders and kissing his temple before he lets go. ] Come on. That was at least a little bit funny.
[ It was a lot funny. A lot.
Poe is still pulling his shirt on when he comes into the kitchen. He sees Rodney as his head pops through the headhole and what-do-you-know, he's grinning again. ]
[As far as Rodney is concerned, it's definitely not funny. Not even a little. This is the worst thing that has happened to him since he got to this place, bar none. When Poe strides out of the bedroom, he's still sitting at the tiny kitchen table with his face in his hands, groaning slightly as he tries somehow to wipe the images out of his brain.
Lifting his head a little, he squints at Poe with a slightly squinted expression of distrust and sardonic unamusement.]
Good morning...what was it? Doe?
[Shaking his head, he sighs and pushes up to his feet.]
[The kiss helps. Not enough to make the walk down the hallway and into the kitchen any less painful, or shameful, but as much as John wants to turn tail and run, it's a walk he has to make.
John enters the kitchen fully dressed, as if that might undo some of his earlier nakedness, and starts making coffee. Strong coffee. He'd be tempted to slip some whiskey into it, if he and Poe wouldn't be going back to work in a couple hours.]
His name's Poe. He's on the shuttle team. We're... co-pilots.
[That's one word for it. Truthfully, John has no idea what they are. If they're anything. They haven't talked about it yet. John doesn't know if they will. Talking isn't something John does a lot of, pre or postcoital, but he doesn't have a lot of sex with people he knows well enough to want to talk to, either.
John scrubs his hand over his jaw. He needs to shave sometime before before work. So much for a shared shower.]
I'm sorry, Rodney. I didn't think you'd be back before noon. I'll hang a sock next time.
[Assuming there ever is a next time. This doesn't exactly bode well for the future of whatever it is that's going on between him and Poe.]
What does a sock on the door have to do with anything?
[ He can guess. He definitely guessed. He is definitely, definitely being a shithead. Poe leans against the counter, still wearing that smile, arms crossed over his chest.
It's cute, their mutual horror. He can't help it. The only time he's been mortified by being walked in on (it's happened, once or twice over the years; natural result of sex in occasionally odd places) was that time when he was seventeen and his dad came walking in. Now that took some recovery time.
There's so much untapped humor potential in John referring to them as co-pilots right now, but Poe has mercy. He has at least that much mercy. ]
[Rodney says it both as if it's a completely different word than it is, and as if it's the most distasteful thing he's ever said. John's apology does very little to assuage the discomfort he's feeling, and he avoids eye contact, very pointedly, as the two of them swarm into the kitchen looking rumpled and handsome and post-coital. For a moment, Rodney very strongly feels the lack of intimacy he's been dealing with, but he pushes it aside, because that's the last thing he intends to complain about right now.]
Well, I was going to have some herbal tea because I felt like, for once, I'd be able to actually sleep in this place, but no, that's ruined now. Now, I fully intend to make waffles.
[And if it seems like he's ignoring Poe well. Maybe he is. A little.]
The sock on the doorknob is a time-honored Earth tradition, but you know me and traditions. Never been much for them.
[The disgust in Rodney's voice hurts more than it should. John doesn't let it show, or tries not to, simply looking across the room at nothing in particular with only the briefest hint of a wince.
There's no explaining their relationship. It's complicated. Messy. Somewhere between brother, comrade, and friend, made up of all the best and worst parts. They don't get along, really. They don't even have much in common, other than an interest in remote controlled cars and a shared cause.
But that's just how family is. You don't choose them.
John's belly rumbles. He never did get around to eating dinner.]
[ Poe shifts from his place at the counter, sensing some change in John that he doesn't like. He brushes John's arm lightly with his fingertips, a reminder of where they were last night, a promise of where they'll be again. It's another twist of possessiveness that he has no right to feel. ]
I like waffles.
[ Said as blandly as anything, just like Poe's mmkay when John asked him not to leave. He's not going anywhere unless Rodney kicks him out. ]
[Rodney says it in the dryest, least amused way possible, and of course, of course the disgust has nothing to do with John or what John had been doing. Not really. It's more to do with the complicated tangle of emotions that comes up when he actually witnesses what it is he's always accusing John of. A strange mix of jealousy and envy and anxious admiration and maybe, just maybe a hint of arousal he'd rather not be feeling.
All of that boils down to a very, very vulnerable feeling that he certainly doesn't enjoy, much less in front of a complete stranger when he's exhausted and shaken and that stranger seems to have zero respect for privacy or common decency.
Huffing to himself, he avoids eye contact with either of them as he digs in the freezer for the waffles. In fact, he avoids making visual contact with any part of either of their bodies, having gotten enough of an eyeful of both of them earlier. Instead, he becomes deeply focused on inserting the waffles into the toaster, on getting out several plates to put them on, on making a pot of very, very strong coffee.]
Yes well, sit down then. They'll be done in a moment.
[John takes a seat at the table beside Poe. He slept more last night than he has in days, but he's still tired. This morning's drama killed any chance of him going back to bed, or relaxing, for the rest of the day.
He lays his head on his arms for just a moment, closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and sits up again. That's as much of a recovery as he'll allow himself for now. He glances over at Poe, smiles, and rests his elbows on the table.
The waffles do smell good, in that entirely synthesized, commercial American breakfast sort of way. The last time someone brought a package of Eggo waffles to Atlantis there was a riot.]
Poe debates where to sit, not wanting to force Rodney to sit next to him, not sure if sitting next to John would make Rodney more uncomfortable or less. He finally gives a mental shrug and sits down next to John, bumping shoulders with him before he gives John just enough space that they won't be jostling elbows. ]
I just want butter. [ He rubs his chin, the faint start of a beard. ] Thank you, Rodney. You want a hand?
[ Cavalier he might be, but his dad still raised him polite. ]
[Rodney continues to busy himself with breakfast, popping two of the waffles out and putting them on the first plate before putting in another two. Turning, he puts a fork on the plate and furrows his brows a little at the two men at the table (or, more specifically, their hands - he still can't bring himself to look at their faces) before putting the plate in front of Poe.
It's only proper manners to serve the guest first.]
Turning back to the toaster, he puts two more waffles on another plate, which he drops in front of John, then puts the butter and syrup on the table as well before popping in more waffles and pouring himself a cup of coffee.]
[John bumps Poe back as he sits, smiling down at his plate. The whole Rodney catastrophe wasn't how he'd imagined their morning after, but it wasn't the worst that could've happened. He's almost in a good mood, once the smell of coffee is stronger than the lingering shame.]
I'd like some. Please and thanks.
[John smears butter onto his waffle, followed by a drizzle of syrup. American style. He doesn't wait for Rodney to sit down before tearing into his breakfast with an uncharacteristic appetite.]
[ Yeah, he's in the nerf hut with this one. Poe sighs under his breath and goes to dress up his waffles, putting on far more butter than they need. There's really nothing he can say to make this whole situation better--probably anything he could say would only make it worse. ]
Yep, shuttle patrol today. [ That, at least, he can smile about. It's not much of a flight, but it's something. ]
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He wakes him with a kiss. Rolls him onto his back. Touches him all over, admiring the lazy sprawl of his body in the morning sunlight with his lips and hands. More kissing, relaxed, and slow. Sloppy half-asleep kisses.
John's still slick from the night before, albeit a little swollen, and it's easy to work himself open while Poe watches, straddling his hips. Then he takes Poe's dick into his hand, positions it, and sinks down, all the way down, until his ass meets Poe's pelvis, with a heavy sigh.
He looks down at Poe, gripping onto the headboard with both hands for support, because it's going to be a bumpy ride. John starts off slow and even, making adjustments to his preference, watching Poe's face. Watching Poe watch him. He moves quicker, harder, his thighs flexing, muscle rippling in his back with each rise and fall of his hips. Taking more and more, as much as he wants from him, because he knows Poe likes it. Loves it.
They're both warriors in that way, admirers of strength.
Sweat trickles down John's scarred back, following the curve of his spine.]
You like that?
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It feels good to have John around him. Then John takes hold of the headboard and Poe's heartbeat kicks up, his dick starts to harden, because sometimes Poe likes to be used. He likes being a tool in someone else's pleasure. The unbroken eye contact as John picks up speed, the flex of muscles seen just out of the corner of Poe's eye--he breathes in sharply, hips twitching upward without his meaning them to.
He grabs onto the headboard over him, thinking with irony about his teasing John for making noise when he's about to start himself. Poe's eyelids flutter shut for a moment; he opens them, then John rolls against him just right and Poe's head tilts back, and he follows John in an arch as the other man starts to draw away, wanting to stay in just that spot, just for a second longer.
A smile breaks across his face, and he gasps out, ] Four stars.
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Squinting into the sunlight as he goes up the elevator, Rodney sighs slightly, leans against the wall, stares into the woods, then pushes away from it and shambles his way to the apartment as if he were a zombie, most of the way asleep. He's already talking as he unlocks the door, voice slightly slurred.]
For once, I'm not going straight for a cup of coffee. You can have one if you want, but I'm having an herbal tea and straight to bed, it's been a very, very long ni-
[And it's then, when he lifts his head as he steps into the bedroom doorway, that he sees it. For a moment, he's completely aghast, blue eyes wide as he takes in the whole scene. A man in John's bed who looks vaguely familiar (for all that he can see his face from this angle) and John...arching...on top of him...completely naked.]
Oh my god.
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He loves the way Poe's body moves with him. His hands fall away from the headboard to grip onto the meat of Poe's shoulders, leaning down to claim a kiss from Poe's parted lips before driving himself harder, faster, deeper, because he's close and-
Oh my god. John grins wolfishly.]
Sounds like five stars to me-
[Something about that wasn't right. It takes John a moment to put two and two together, what with all the blood in his body flowing straight into his dick and away from his brain.
John's so close. He can ignore it. Ride this out, and think about it later.
But he feels a tingle at the base of his spine, the intrinsic knowing that something is wrong. A sixth sense, if that sixth sense were being half-aware of a door opening and someone talking in a perfectly normal voice. John looks back over his shoulder.
And makes eye-contact with Rodney Mckay standing in the doorway of their bedroom.
His heart stops. His jaw drops. He freezes like a deer in headlights. If that deer were doing the nasty in the middle of the highway with another deer, though since they're technically two stag, you could probably call it locking horns.
John's first instinct is to NOT be doing what he's doing, which means dismounting, but since Poe's still in him, he can't just roll off and to the side without breaking his dick in half. He attempts a vertical lift-off, like a helicopter, except helicopters aren't usually seconds away from orgasm, or slippery with sweat. And they usually have a bigger landing pad than a single bed already overcrowded with two full-grown men.
How terrible mistakes always happen in a split-second, but in slow motion, is something John doesn't have an answer to.
What John means to do is separate, roll to one side, and cover himself with a blanket. What John does is separate, fall to the wrong side, and land hard on his (already tender) ass on the floor.
He has no words.]
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Sounds like five stars to me, says John.
That wasn't me, Poe almost says, but John appears to have already figured that out.
Poe looks toward the door, sees Rodney, sees the look on his face. And then John rolls sideways and falls off the bed, and it's all too perfect. Way, way too perfect.
Poe cracks the fuck up. He manages to get himself under control long enough to say: ] Hey, mind closing the door?
[ And then he's back to laughing his ass off. ]
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John Sheppard is having sex with a man in their bedroom.
And then John is jerking upward like he's convulsing and toppling over onto the floor, and the other man is laughing (Dameron, he thinks his name was) and Rodney can't take it anymore. Stepping backward stiffly, moving like a robot, he grabs at the door handle, hands shaking.]
As you were!
[He yells it into the room then pushes the door shut and turns on his heel, making his way into the kitchen, where he sits down heavily on a chair and puts his face in his hands.]
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Not helping!
[John's past the point of embarrassed. Now he just wants to die. He covers his face with both hands, shaking his head. If there was a big enough hole for him to crawl into, John would be there, and he'd be taking his gun with him.
He'll never live this down. There's no way Rodney will let it go, and even if he doesn't mention it, which John knows he will, they'll both remember.
At least he doesn't have blue balls. John's amazed his dick hasn't crawled back up into his body and died there. Never to be seen again. By anyone. Ever.
He should've been more careful. Just because Rodney's been working well into the morning most nights doesn't mean he will every night, and John could've hung a sock on the door, or something.
Finally, John starts crawling around on the floor in search of his discarded BDUs, because he owes Rodney an apology, and he really isn't in the mood to be naked. He feels plenty exposed already.
He might be giving Poe the cold shoulder as he dresses.]
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He has his shirt in one hand as he comes up behind John, slinging his other arm around John's shoulders and kissing his temple before he lets go. ] Come on. That was at least a little bit funny.
[ It was a lot funny. A lot.
Poe is still pulling his shirt on when he comes into the kitchen. He sees Rodney as his head pops through the headhole and what-do-you-know, he's grinning again. ]
Morning, McKay.
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Lifting his head a little, he squints at Poe with a slightly squinted expression of distrust and sardonic unamusement.]
Good morning...what was it? Doe?
[Shaking his head, he sighs and pushes up to his feet.]
You ever heard of hanging a sock on the door?
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[The kiss helps. Not enough to make the walk down the hallway and into the kitchen any less painful, or shameful, but as much as John wants to turn tail and run, it's a walk he has to make.
John enters the kitchen fully dressed, as if that might undo some of his earlier nakedness, and starts making coffee. Strong coffee. He'd be tempted to slip some whiskey into it, if he and Poe wouldn't be going back to work in a couple hours.]
His name's Poe. He's on the shuttle team. We're... co-pilots.
[That's one word for it. Truthfully, John has no idea what they are. If they're anything. They haven't talked about it yet. John doesn't know if they will. Talking isn't something John does a lot of, pre or postcoital, but he doesn't have a lot of sex with people he knows well enough to want to talk to, either.
John scrubs his hand over his jaw. He needs to shave sometime before before work. So much for a shared shower.]
I'm sorry, Rodney. I didn't think you'd be back before noon. I'll hang a sock next time.
[Assuming there ever is a next time. This doesn't exactly bode well for the future of whatever it is that's going on between him and Poe.]
Wait, you wanted herbal tea or something, right?
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[ He can guess. He definitely guessed. He is definitely, definitely being a shithead. Poe leans against the counter, still wearing that smile, arms crossed over his chest.
It's cute, their mutual horror. He can't help it. The only time he's been mortified by being walked in on (it's happened, once or twice over the years; natural result of sex in occasionally odd places) was that time when he was seventeen and his dad came walking in. Now that took some recovery time.
There's so much untapped humor potential in John referring to them as co-pilots right now, but Poe has mercy. He has at least that much mercy. ]
And I kinda like 'Doe'.
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[Rodney says it both as if it's a completely different word than it is, and as if it's the most distasteful thing he's ever said. John's apology does very little to assuage the discomfort he's feeling, and he avoids eye contact, very pointedly, as the two of them swarm into the kitchen looking rumpled and handsome and post-coital. For a moment, Rodney very strongly feels the lack of intimacy he's been dealing with, but he pushes it aside, because that's the last thing he intends to complain about right now.]
Well, I was going to have some herbal tea because I felt like, for once, I'd be able to actually sleep in this place, but no, that's ruined now. Now, I fully intend to make waffles.
[And if it seems like he's ignoring Poe well. Maybe he is. A little.]
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[The disgust in Rodney's voice hurts more than it should. John doesn't let it show, or tries not to, simply looking across the room at nothing in particular with only the briefest hint of a wince.
There's no explaining their relationship. It's complicated. Messy. Somewhere between brother, comrade, and friend, made up of all the best and worst parts. They don't get along, really. They don't even have much in common, other than an interest in remote controlled cars and a shared cause.
But that's just how family is. You don't choose them.
John's belly rumbles. He never did get around to eating dinner.]
Waffles sound good.
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I like waffles.
[ Said as blandly as anything, just like Poe's mmkay when John asked him not to leave. He's not going anywhere unless Rodney kicks him out. ]
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[Rodney says it in the dryest, least amused way possible, and of course, of course the disgust has nothing to do with John or what John had been doing. Not really. It's more to do with the complicated tangle of emotions that comes up when he actually witnesses what it is he's always accusing John of. A strange mix of jealousy and envy and anxious admiration and maybe, just maybe a hint of arousal he'd rather not be feeling.
All of that boils down to a very, very vulnerable feeling that he certainly doesn't enjoy, much less in front of a complete stranger when he's exhausted and shaken and that stranger seems to have zero respect for privacy or common decency.
Huffing to himself, he avoids eye contact with either of them as he digs in the freezer for the waffles. In fact, he avoids making visual contact with any part of either of their bodies, having gotten enough of an eyeful of both of them earlier. Instead, he becomes deeply focused on inserting the waffles into the toaster, on getting out several plates to put them on, on making a pot of very, very strong coffee.]
Yes well, sit down then. They'll be done in a moment.
[He mumbles it. Quiet.]
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[John takes a seat at the table beside Poe. He slept more last night than he has in days, but he's still tired. This morning's drama killed any chance of him going back to bed, or relaxing, for the rest of the day.
He lays his head on his arms for just a moment, closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and sits up again. That's as much of a recovery as he'll allow himself for now. He glances over at Poe, smiles, and rests his elbows on the table.
The waffles do smell good, in that entirely synthesized, commercial American breakfast sort of way. The last time someone brought a package of Eggo waffles to Atlantis there was a riot.]
Do we have any syrup, chef?
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Poe debates where to sit, not wanting to force Rodney to sit next to him, not sure if sitting next to John would make Rodney more uncomfortable or less. He finally gives a mental shrug and sits down next to John, bumping shoulders with him before he gives John just enough space that they won't be jostling elbows. ]
I just want butter. [ He rubs his chin, the faint start of a beard. ] Thank you, Rodney. You want a hand?
[ Cavalier he might be, but his dad still raised him polite. ]
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It's only proper manners to serve the guest first.]
No, thank you. You've already done quite enough.
[It's curt, brusque - manners, he might have, but polite is not exactly Rodney's forté.
Turning back to the toaster, he puts two more waffles on another plate, which he drops in front of John, then puts the butter and syrup on the table as well before popping in more waffles and pouring himself a cup of coffee.]
Coffee anyone?
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I'd like some. Please and thanks.
[John smears butter onto his waffle, followed by a drizzle of syrup. American style. He doesn't wait for Rodney to sit down before tearing into his breakfast with an uncharacteristic appetite.]
Work soon. We're gonna have to dine and dash.
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[ Yeah, he's in the nerf hut with this one. Poe sighs under his breath and goes to dress up his waffles, putting on far more butter than they need. There's really nothing he can say to make this whole situation better--probably anything he could say would only make it worse. ]
Yep, shuttle patrol today. [ That, at least, he can smile about. It's not much of a flight, but it's something. ]