Archive of Our Own

John is clinging to him like he's the only raft in a storm and Rodney can't seem to get his feet to stop sliding on the damp stone, and he keeps falling back to his knees.

"Look, this is ridiculous, Madam Torquemada only said we had to sweep the place, not play janitors all day," Rodney huffs. He tries to keep the bucket of water from turning over when John's skidding feet collide with it.

"Rodney," and he's surprised that John manages that exasperated drawl even while half sprawled over a wet stone floor and half hanging off Rodney.

"The nice Head Priestess of the local church said following their tradition is a show of respect," John explains while clambering back to his feet, sloshing more water out of the bucket and sending Rodney back to his knees and into said water in the process.

Rodney mutters under his breath about old hags and stupid superstitions and the irreparable damage to his joints, but John (the ever-stubborn bastard) ignores him, as usual.

"So, if it's traditional floor cleaning that will buy us some good cred with these folks we will sweep and mop with all due respect, McKay." And great, back to being Mister Macho Team Leader again. At least all the priestesses look like they are well over seventy or Rodney's mood would be even better. (And gee, being sarcastic in his own mind looks to be the highlight of his day.)

"We didn't even get proper mops, these are wet brooms, for God's sake," Rodney brandishes said wet broom a tad too close under John's nose, who backs away and promptly falls on his ass again.

"Son of a!" Taking Rodney with him, of course.

He feels more than hears John sigh under him. "Unless you've got a better idea and your 'one true love' hidden behind a corner ready to free you from the ritual," and isn't it fascinating how John manages to do finger-quotes and tumble them both into a semi-erect position (while Rodney attempts to choke on his own tongue at the thought) at the same time. Multitasking is something Rodney can really appreciate... (though he might have to attempt to drown himself in the bucket at this rate.)

"...You're stuck sweeping—"

"Moping," Rodney corrects.

"—Sweep-moping," John glares at him, and dangerous looks from dangerous men should not be a turn on – had the world no sense of decency and mercy left for wet and aching scientists? (Apparently none whatsoever, Rodney groans to himself.) "...the damned floor with me, so. Shut. Up. And sweep."

And it might be the fact that they've missed lunch while making their long introductions to the natives and Rodney's blood sugar has dropped lower than sanity requires, or it might be the ridiculously small amount of blood currently ending up in his brain due to his up close and personal proximity to John's body, or that John's breath had audibly hitched at Rodney's groan and he'd swallowed hard before continuing his rebuke, or it might be the best idea he's ever had, Rodney can't decide. For once he throws caution, and wet broom, to the wind. (And the floor, respectively.)

"Come on," he says briskly, pushing and pulling John and himself to their feet and shuffling them in a determined pace to where the head cult-people are gathered making what appears to be chit-chat with Ronon and Teyla who are busily polishing a doorknob each and sharing the odd laugh with their audience.

"Hold on, hang on a minute, McKay," John protests though he doesn't fight the firm grip Rodney has on him. "What do you think you're doing?"

"We, Colonel slow-on-the-uptake, are going to face the nice locals and announce ourselves to be 'only and truly' in love and seal the deal." And apparently Rodney can do finger-quotes while otherwise engaged as well.

John gapes at him in a rather unattractive way but Rodney barrels on anyway, hissing at him under his breath now. "You have until we get in front of them to decide who your kissing partner will be, and I hope you wrote your will in case it's Teyla because she will beat you to death with her sticks and Ronon, well, I'm sure there will be enough of you left over for a funeral once he's done with you, anyway."

John sputters and they trip over each other's feet when they hit another smooth as marble patch of wet floor. Rodney loses his momentum, clutching at John to stay upright and feeling himself blushing harder under the calculating, half-suspicious and half-amazed stare. In retrospect, it was probably the lack of food and a very, very bad idea, but before Rodney can do more than start to babble out his excuses and turn tail John growls – actually growls, Rodney didn't know anyone other than Ronon who could manage that without sounding stupid till this very minute – and yanks Rodney hard against him.

When he kisses him back, hard and rough and bitter with all the frustrated emotions trying to rise to the surface, Rodney isn't thinking of following stupid traditions or wet brooms or even his bruised, aching knees. His only thought is focused on giving John's kiss all the due respect it deserves, and trying his damned best to sweep (heh) him off his knees.