Title: Campfire Law

Author: ?
Pairing: John/Rodney

Rating: NC-17

Word count: 11,500

Summary: The summer before college, Rodney the camp counselor meets John the lifeguard at Camp Atlantis. Homesick kids, campfires, and Scooby Doo Mysteries ensue.

Notes: This is a total AU, set at a summer camp. Thank you to ? and ?, and I feel compelled to note that this entire thing is ?'s fault, but then I guess turnabout is fair play.

Worship God (mm-hmm-hmm).

Seek beauty, give service, and knowledge pursue.

Be trustworthy ever in all that you do.

Hold fast onto health and your work glorify,

and you will be happy in the law of Campfire.

-- Campfire USA Law

-----

"I hate this place!" Rodney yells, throwing himself onto the couch. "I hate this place, I hate this place, I hate this place!"

There's silence for a long moment, and Rodney buries his face deeper into the couch's cushions. Finally someone says, "Well, at least you didn't say it in front of the kids this time."

Rodney lifts his head out of the seat and glares. "Don't you have some place to be? Like, oh, in your stupid chair with your stupid whistle making sure my stupid campers don't drown?"

John grins at him and pops another M&M into his mouth. "Nope. On break."

"I'm on break," Rodney moans, sitting up on the stripped-down car seat that passes for a couch in the break room. He can't really see John, only the faint outline of him and his weird, spiky hair in the darkened room; the dingy windows are covered with heavy curtains, to make napping easier for sleep-deprived counselors. "I have forty sweet, glorious minutes before I have to pick my kids up from swimming, and in that time I have to shower, put out the makings for tinfoil dinners, gulp down lunch, and figure out some way to keep my h-bomb from losing his mind tonight. And I will inevitably be late to pick my kids up, and then I will suffer as Kavanaugh lectures me about time management. In front of my campers. I hate this place, I hate --"

"I know." John makes a sympathetic noise and offers him the M&M bag. "Sucks to be you."

Rodney grudgingly takes the bag and dumps a handful of candies into his palm. "Sucks to be me," he agrees.

"But hey," John points out, snagging the bag back before Rodney finishes it off, "at least you only have to see Kavanaugh for about ten minutes a day. I work with the jerkface."

"Oh, oh, oh no," Rodney says, and points a finger at John's silhouette. "You don't get any sympathy from me, mister nine-to-fiver. You get to go home at night."

"I don't, though," John says. "It's like an hour's drive to my house. You think I'm gonna commute? I've been sleeping on the back porch of the lodge for, like, three weeks. Since camp started."

"Yeah, 'cause you're a freak," Rodney says. "If I had the option for real showers and real TV and real food that I didn't have to wrap up in tinfoil and throw onto a fire, I'd have my foot on the pedal the instant the flag came down off the pole. And even though you're here just as much as me, you're not on-duty twenty-three hours a day. Your non-voluntary contact with the campers ends at flag-lowering."

John shrugs, and Rodney can see the gleam of his teeth as he smiles, even in the dim light from the window. "Hey, it's good to be a lifeguard. I wouldn't want your job for the world."

"I don't want my job either," Rodney mutters, and stands up. "Okay. Okay. I gotta get a shower."

John sniffs. "No kiddin'. Later, McKay."

"I hate you," Rodney says, and leaves.

-----

Zelenka drops another pile of sticks onto the campfire and says, "So how's your homesick kid?"

Beckett makes a high-pitched noise and Rodney throws a Skittle at him. "He's an h-bomb," Rodney snarls. "God, Zelenka, don't you know anything? Those kids have ears like radio antennae. One faint whisper of the h-word and I'll have seven crying twelve year olds on my hands in about fifteen seconds."

They're all silent for a moment, listening for the faint sound of distressed campers, but thankfully all three cabins remained quiet, and they relax back down onto the benches and dig into the pile of candy on the ground between them.

"I want to go home," Beckett whispers, over the crackling of a Snickers wrapper. "Every time I scratch myself, I see lines on my arm from all the dirt."

Rodney makes a disgusted noise. "Maybe if you showered during your break instead of calling your mom --"

Beckett punches his shoulder. "My mum likes it when I call. Says it brightens her day right up."

"And it has nothing to do with brightening your day?" Zelenka says sweetly. Rodney grins and Beckett crosses his arms over his chest with a huff. "Torturing Carson aside, Rodney, really, how is your camper?"

Rodney sighs and starts pulling at Twizzler apart. "Awful," he says. "Homesickness is usually gone by Tuesday, but this kid's really holding on."

"Y'know, when I was a camper here, I used to get really homesick." John drops down onto the bench next to Rodney and settles an arm around his shoulders.

Rodney yelps and flings the Twizzlers up into the air. "Holy shit!"

John pats his shoulders and grins. "Hey, Rodney."

"That was impressive," Zelenka says. "An eight-point-four for the approach, Sheppard, and nine-point-eight for the follow through."

"Only a nine-point-eight?" John frowns, and Zelenka shrugs.

"He did not scream like a girl and then choke half to death on his candy this time."

"Thank god for small favors," Rodney mutters.

"Thank god I knew the Heimlich maneuver, you mean," John says, and ruffles Rodney's hair. Rodney hunches his shoulders up and scowls. "But hey, yeah, I used to get homesick constantly. For no reason, really, because it wasn't like my parents and I got along. And during the year, I lived for these eight weeks. But once I got here, I'd just lie in bed and think about, you know, not having to poop in an outhouse, and video games, and baseball, and all the stuff that I was missing out on by being here."

"I do miss running water," Rodney says longingly. John nudges him with his shoulder.

"So you got a homesick kid?"

"H-bomb," all three of them hiss at once, and John throws up his hands.

"Okay, okay, okay." He steals a Milky Way right out of Rodney's lap, and Rodney's spine goes steel-straight as John's fingers brush over his thigh. "Anything I can do to help?"

"He likes shadow puppets," Beckett says, muffled by his chocolate mouthful. "Y'know, with the flashlight and the hands and the --"

"Y'know, Carson, despite spending all day every day in the lake, watching your campers while you're late every day to pick them up, I know what shadow puppets are."

"I went to Camp Genii when I was a kid," Zelenka says. "Was homesick constantly. Probably because Camp Genii is miserable."

Rodney's eyebrows shoot up. "Camp Genii? The people Elizabeth hates?"

"Because they copy us," John says. "Everything we do in our programs, in our activities -- hell, the food we serve, they copy. They think they're so much better because they get all that money from the government. But I've been there. I hate that place."

"When were you there?" Rodney steals the candy bar back from John and breaks it in half, and gives the smaller half to John.

"I worked there last summer," John says. "I tell you, there's a reason I applied here instead of back there. God. It's a gorgeous camp -- they've got something like a thousand acres and three lakes and man, it's amazing, but the camp director, whatsit -- Cowen. Spineless son of a bitch who lets the program director run the show." John shudders. "I never met a man I hated as much as Kolya. He made the lifeguards swim laps around the big lake in camp -- that thing was like two miles across. He said it was for training."

Rodney makes a strangled noise, barely restraining himself from making a comment about the effect it had had on John's muscles. John gives him a look, both eyebrows raised, and offers him a Milky Way. Rodney's Milky Way. Rodney sniffs haughtily, but takes the candy bar.

"I remember Kolya," Zelenka says. "He made flag-raising like a military operation. We had to sing the Camp Genii song and pledge allegiance to the camp flag."

"Creepy," Rodney says. John nods.

"Way creepy. I like Camp Atlantis much better. And Elizabeth is pretty hot, for a boss." John pops a chunk of candy bar into his mouth and chews thoughtfully. "Hey, you guys seen Ronon?"

Rodney hunches over and claps his hands over his groin on instinct. "Oh god, is he here?"

"Chill out, McKay. I have never met anyone so uptight as you." John pats Rodney on the shoulder and leaves his hand there. Rodney immediately begins to panic about what that might mean. "Just 'cause he kicked you in the balls once --"

"Once is more than enough," Rodney snaps. "He didn't have to swing the tire that wide!"

"It's a tire traverse, Rodney," Zelenka says. "That is what you do. Traverse on tires. By swinging."

"Not near my balls!"

Two hands, each as heavy as a Christmas goose, land on Rodney's shoulders. "Wear a cup, then," Ronon says.

Rodney buries his face in his hands. "Oh my god, oh my god, I'm going to die of a heart attack before I even get to college. Stop sneaking up on me, you imbeciles!"

"But it's freakin' hilarious," John says, and tosses Ronon Dex a bag of Skittles he stole from somewhere. The thieving bastard. "Should we get going?"

"Meh," Ronon says, jamming a handful of Skittles into his mouth. "Katie called the lodge and said there were weird noises out by Athos."

"Teyla can take care of it." But John stands up and stretches, and Rodney nearly faints at the sight of a golden strip of skin exposed in the firelight as John's shirt rides up. "Okay, gentlemen, we're off. Rodney, y'know how to make a snake puppet?" He claps his hands together and wiggles them, and Rodney scowls and gives him the finger. "Thought so. See you later."

"Wait a moment," Beckett says. "What are you guys doing out here, anyway? I thought you sleep in the lodge."

"Elizabeth asked us to walk the perimeter," Ronon says gruffly. The pocket of his hoodie is bulging with candy, and Rodney looks down at his lap. There's only a bag of Sour Patch Kids left. How did he --

"Why?" Zelenka looks puzzled, and John shrugs.

"You know how those canoes have been going missing from the waterfront?"

"We thought it was Lorne's idea of a prank," Rodney says. "A shitty one, but still."

John shakes his head. "You know the rules about pranks," he says. "Lorne swears he didn't do it, and so does everybody else. Another one went missing yesterday, along with a couple of kayaks. Elizabeth wants me and Ronon to work as security, just make sure people aren't sneaking onto the grounds at night."

Rodney stops chewing. "Sneaking in?" he says with a squeak, and swallows. "Um, I mean, who would sneak in? We're, like, a thousand miles from everywhere out here."

"Atlantis is stupidly remote," John agrees. "I don't really know what she expects. I told her it's just stupid kids --"

"Why you?" Zelenka asks. "Wait, no, I understand why Ronon, because he is massive."

"Thank you," Ronon rumbles, and Zelenka nods.

"But Sheppard, you are, what, one-thirty soaking wet?"

 

"I'm always soaking wet," John says. "Perk of the job. And it's one-seventy, thanks very much."

"Elizabeth just wants to make sure the kids are safe," Ronon says.

Rodney snorts. "The kids," he says. "I'm glad she's so concerned for our welfare."

"We're here for the kids too," John points out. "You should know better than that."

"Says the lifeguard who could go home at five pm," Rodney says with a sniff, but John just grins at him.

"Right," he agrees. "Could go home. But doesn't. I stick around."

"Can't imagine why," Beckett says mournfully. "What about showers?"

"I like a good stink," Ronon says.

John claps him on the shoulder. "And that, my friend, is why you work on the challenge course, the most remote place in camp."

"Thank god I'm only out there twice a week," Rodney mutters, and Ronon grins at him, teeth gleaming in the firelight.

"Worried 'bout your balls, McKay?" He lurches forward and Rodney squeaks and flings up his hands, nearly falling backwards off the bench.

John snorts out a laugh. "Okay, and that's our cue to leave." He takes Ronon by the bicep and starts to tug him away. "Thanks for the food," he calls back over his shoulder. "See you at flag-raising tomorrow."

"See you," Rodney says with an embarrassingly girly little wave.

Zelenka mercifully waits until they've disappeared into the woods to collapse with laughter. "Byeeee John!" he squeals, twiddling his fingers at Rodney.

Beckett's shoulders are shaking with silent laughter, his face buried between his knees. "Should we help you fake a drowning tomorrow?" he asks, gasping for breath. "We'll row you out to the lake, drop you in, you can flail around and yell for help and the amazing lifeguard Sheppard will come and save your life? There will be romantic kisses on the docks!"

"Shut the fuck up," Rodney says, and whips a bag of M&Ms at him. Zelenka catches it deftly and rips it open.

"God, I love camp," he says happily, and shoves a fistful of candy into his mouth.

------

Rodney hops the fence lining the swimming area and walks out onto the dock, one hand held up over his eyes to shield them from the setting sun. "Hey!" he calls, waving an arm, "where are my friggin' campers? Evening activity ended, like, five minutes ago!"

"McKay!" Kavanaugh bellows from the shallow end. "No shoes on the docks!"

Rodney turns and gestures to Kavanaugh in the American Sign Language for "bite me," then heads down the dock toward the deeper waters of the lake. "Seriously, Sheppard," he shouts, shuffling his feet a little to keep from slipping on the slick metal dock. "I thought you'd know better by now."

"Sorry," John calls from the raft. "Okay! Everybody grab your buddy and head back in!"

There's a chorus of groans from the mass of wet heads bobbing up and down in the water, but they all start swimming en mass toward the dock, and Rodney sits down, clutching at the ladder to keep from being flung off when they all climb on at once.

"Jake, please remember this time that your short go on over your swimsuit," he says to one of his campers, who chirps, "Got it!" and scampers toward the shore.

Rodney's digging in his pocket for a tube of sunscreen for his hourly re-application, when something grabs his ankle. He yells and yanks his knee up to his chest, and drops the sunscreen into the lake. "Dammit," he says, watching it sink of out sight.

"Camp appropriate language, McKay," John says. Rodney hasn't seen him for a few days, both of them busy with their respective jobs, and John hadn't come by the campsite with Ronon for several nights. He looks strange right now, his normally spiky hair soaking wet and plastered flat to his skull. He snaps his fingers at Rodney like crab claws. "Better watch out for the lake monster."

"Thank you, I have a lingering fear of crustaceans thanks to a traumatic childhood event," Rodney tells him. "And you owe me a tube of sunscreen."

"That must be rough," John says, bracing his arms on the dock and hauling himself up out of the water, kicking up a shower as he went. Rodney shields his face with his arms and scowls.

"I can't even walk past the tank of lobsters at the grocery store."

John smirks and sits down on the dock next to Rodney, jostling their shoulders against one another. He's dripping all over Rodney's clothes, but Rodney can't even make himself care, because John's warm and wet and there are rivulets of water running down the planes of his chest, and oh god Rodney can't breathe.

"Hey guys," John hollers, twisting around toward the shore. "Put your buddy tags in the box and write down who your buddy for today was, okay!"

"I got it under control," Kavanaugh yells back.

"The day you have it under control is the day I teach swim lessons in a Speedo," John mutters, turning back around and propping his chin in his hands. "Useless fuck up. He knocked a green tag off the dock and into the yellow section today. Thought it was funny. Poor kid freaked out. I had to do a passive rescue."

"Want me to write him up?" Rodney offers, and John sighs and shakes his head.

"Don't worry about it. I should do it, since I'm technically right above him in the chain of command, being Waterfront Director and all, but it's such a goddamn hassle to get anything to happen in the administration -- it'd be August before he got a letter of censure."  

"Yeah, but he should know better -- we make the green tag campers wear life jackets for a reason."

John shrugs. "I know. It's like a part of my job now, though. I watch him, I watch the campers, I watch Simpson -- who's great, by the way, props to whoever hired her. She's not totally incompetent."

Rodney turns his head away so that John won't see him smile. God, John is awesome.

John climbs to his feet and stretches, and Rodney stares resolutely at the water so as to not pass out at the sight of John's swim trunks slipping down over the lines of his hips. "We should get these kids back to the lodge for snack," he says. "Elizabeth's going to think I've drowned two dozen campers."

"She'll think Kavanaugh drowned the campers," Rodney says, getting to his knees and hauling himself up. "She knows you'd never do that."

"Hey, who knows, all this sun and water and warm summer weather, I might just fall asleep right here on the dock and snooze right through it." John ducks his head and grins, and Rodney feels his heart do a quick loop-de-loop. "Hey, how much would you hate me if I pushed you into the lake right now?"

"I would never forgive you," Rodney says. He pulls his cell phone out of his pocket. "I can't get this wet, my parents bought it for me for college and they'd kill me if it broke now."

"Cell phone for college, huh?" John looks up. "Is that the only thing you've got that can break?"

"Yeah, aside from my bones," Rodney says, and John lets out a whoop, snatches the cell phone out of Rodney's hand and drops it to the dock. "No!" Rodney yelps, but John, laughing, leaps forward and tackles him, launching them both into the water.

They hit with a splash and Rodney immediately starts to sink under the weight of his sodden jeans and sneakers. Holy shit, that's freezing, he thinks, shocked into inaction, but John's arms are still around his waist, holding tight. It's all bubbles and cold water and the weird swishing sounds of John kicking them toward the surface, and then suddenly they break into the air, both of them gasping and John laughing hysterically.

"You son of a bitch!" Rodney yells, climbing on top of John and dunking his head down. "I'm going to kill you! And then revive you! And then tie you to a bag of bricks and throw you in the lake and drown you!"

John shoves him off, spluttering, still choking out laughter and water. "Come on, that was awesome." He reaches forward and smacks the side of Rodney's head. "And don't swear, campers are watching."

Rodney can hear cheers and yells coming from the shore, and he swims toward the dock, making sure to kick John in the stomach as he goes. He's not really mad, and it had been kind of fun, but he's going to be coughing up lake water for a week. "At least the campers thought it was great," he says over his shoulder to John. "You utter lunatic."

John hops up onto the dock in one smooth movement, while Rodney hauls himself up until he can flop onto his stomach and roll over like a beached whale. "Campers love watching counselors act retarded and make fools of themselves," John tells him, and offers him a hand. "Come on, I'll give you my towel."

"You two are idiots!" Kavanaugh yells from the shore. "Certified, grade-A, class-act imbeciles!"

John turns and snaps off a salute to him. "Right back atcha, buddy," Rodney hears him mutter. 

Rodney coughs out a lungful of water and wrings out his shirt. "At least now the kids know a new synonym for 'dummy,'" he tells John, who starts to laugh.

"That's what I like about you, McKay," John says, settling a hand onto Rodney's soaking t-shirt and tugging him down the dock. "You can always find the bright side in everything."

"Clearly, you don't know me well at all," Rodney says, and John turns and grins at him. His skin is tanned and golden and his eyes are bright in the light from the setting sun, and for a dangerous half instant Rodney almost reaches forward and hauls him over, pulling him in for a kiss, but then a kid lets out a shriek on the shore and the sounds of Kavanaugh breaking up a fight ensue, and Rodney shakes himself free of whatever spell the sunlight and the warm air had wrapped him in, and pushes at John's shoulders. "Keep walkin', Aquaman."

"Whatever you say, McKay," John says, and saunters off down the dock.

-----

"He threw you into the lake?" Zelenka says, smothering a laugh behind his hand. "Good god, McKay, he may as well have pulled your pigtails."

Rodney's hand goes to his head self-consciously, and Zelenka throws a Starburst at him. Rodney bats it away. "Careful, I'm allergic to those things," he snaps.

Beckett rolls his eyes. "It's still in the wrapper, Rodney," he says, picking it up and pulling off the paper. "I don't think you'll go into anaphylactic shock from contact with the wrapper."

"Thank you, Doctor Pre-Med," Rodney mutters, and steals a Reeses from him. Beckett doesn't say anything, so Rodney scarfs it down as the well-earned spoils of war. "I still hate him," he says with his mouth full. "Him and his stupid hair and his stupid day job and his stupid throwing me in the lake and making me walk around in wet jeans for the rest of the day. I have sensitive skin! I chafe."

Beckett claps his hands over his ears. "Oh my goodness, Rodney, I can't know that."

"He does hang out with you an awful lot," Zelenka points out. "The rest of the day staff sort of avoid the counselors -- I tried to have a conversation with Kate Heightmeyer the other day during my break and she got up and left the table in the middle of it."

"Yeah, but that's just 'cause she's art director," Rodney says, and starts to fight with a bag of pretzels. "I've never met an art director who wasn't a total bitch." The pretzels are particularly stubborn tonight. He frowns and tugs harder.

"What about Bates?" Beckett says. "He runs the boating area like it's a military operation. Two canoes in! Two canoes out! One whistle means paddle check! Two whistles mean boats in! Goodness, it's like boot camp."

Zelenka waves a hand dismissively. "You can't compare Bates to anything military," he says. "He's nowhere as bad as Kolya."

"I like the military," John says, vaulting over the bench to land next to Rodney, who screams and rips open the bag, sending pretzels flying through the air. "Hey, Rodney."

Rodney buries his face in the plastic pretzel back. "Hate," he moans. "Hate, hate, hate."

"Shhh," Ronon hisses into his ear. Rodney nearly passes out as his heart triples its beat. "Rodney, your girly scream was crazy loud -- I think someone in your cabin woke up."

Rodney stands up and smacks John on the back of the head. "Thanks a lot, jerkface," he says. "It took me a whole friggin' hour to get them to calm down tonight, and now your Tom-Clancy-special-ops-night-vision-goggles-freakshow thing ruined it."

John lays a finger against his lips, quirks an eyebrow at Rodney, and stands up too. "It's okay," he says softly, and pulls his flashlight from the pocket of his sweatshirt. "C'mon, we'll go back in and check on them."

Rodney covers his face with his hands, but allows John to drag him toward his cabin. "I hate kids," he mumbles. "I hate kids, and I hate camp, and I hate my parents for making me take this job. 'It'll look great on your college applications!' they said. 'Leadership skills!' they said. 'Working with children!' they said. I said, 'I'm already accepted to college! Astrophysicists don't need to know how to work with children!' But did they listen? No! I should've run away when I was nine."  

John pauses at the door of the cabin and looks back over his shoulder. "Are ya done?" he drawls. Rodney nods. "Good. Buck up, soldier." He pushes the door in and flicks on his flashlight. The beam plays over seven bunks piled with lumps that, in daylight, pass for blankets and campers, but at night look like the weird imaginings of some hallucinatory wood-monster. Rodney watches the light pass over the beds, and none of the kids react. But that doesn't mean anything.

"Everything okay in here, guys?" John says softly. One of the lumps shifts a little, and John shuffles over to the bed. Rodney closes his eyes. That's James Jinto's bunk. The perpetual homesicker. "Hey, buddy," Rodney hears John murmur. "You doin' okay?"

James gulps down a sob. "I heard someone scream," he says hoarsely. Rodney slaps a hand to his forehead and drags it down over his face. "I want my mom."

"Hey, hang on a second, dude." John sits down on the edge of James' bunk and pats him on the knee. "You know who screamed? Your counselor." John points at Rodney with the flashlight and Rodney throws up a hand, glaring at the bright light. "You know why?"

"Why?" James asks.

"It's a really big secret, but I'll tell you." John leans down and whispers, "'Cause he's a scaredy-cat weenie."

James starts to giggle. "Weenie," he echoes. "Rodney's a weenie."

"A big, honkin' weenie," John agrees, and grins at Rodney. Rodney makes a face back at him and taps his foot. "And you should make sure that everybody in the whole camp knows it tomorrow. Okay?"

James bites the edge of his pillow to muffle his giggles. "Okay," he says. "You betcha."

"Awesome." John pats James' shoulder and stands up. "You gonna be able to sleep now, dude?"

"Definitely," James says, settling back into his sleeping bag. "Thanks, John."

"No problem." John turns off the flashlight and Rodney follows him to the door. "Night, guys."

Rodney pushes him out of the cabin and closes the door behind him. "That was lovely," he says, "truly heart-warming. You will make a fabulous father someday. Weenie."

John grins and bounces a little on the balls of his feet. "Hey, he's gonna sleep now, isn't he?"

"Yes, but at the expense of my dignity!" Rodney crosses his arms over his chest and tucks his chin in, sulking. John snickers and drapes an arm around Rodney's shoulders.

"Aw, Rodney," he says, steering them back to the smoldering coals of the campfire. "You never had any dignity to start with."

"I hate you," Rodney says. "More and more with every passing moment."

"I bet you tell that to all the girls," John says cheerfully. "Hey, gentlemen, what's the news?"

"We're out of Coke," Ronon says, and slurps down the last drops in his can. Rodney lets out a high-pitched whimper.

"My caffeine," he says brokenly. "My sweet, sweet nectar of life --"

"Can it, I'll make you coffee at breakfast tomorrow," John says.

Zelenka starts to snicker, and flutters his eyelashes at Rodney, who snatches the soda can out of Ronon's hand and pegs it at Zelenka's head. It bounces off and Zelenka just laughs harder. "I always knew you were brain-damaged, but this just seals the deal," Rodney tells him.

"Along with being out of Coke, we're also out of wood," Beckett says. Zelenka squeaks and his hand flies up to his nose, and at first Rodney thinks that he actually did some damage, before he looks around the circle of fading firelight and sees that Carson and Ronon and John all have their forefingers pressed to the tips of their noses, too.

"What the --"

"Nose goes," John says.

Rodney looks down at his hand. "Nose -- oh, dammit." He rubs the back of his hand over his nose. "God. I hate you all so much right now that I can't even express it in words. I may have to sing. Or I wish that I knew, oh, ballet so that I could possibly communicate my hate to you through the medium of dance, because there are not words -- wait, no, I have words: poison ivy! Mosquitoes! Thorn bushes! Little pointy sticks that poke out from trees and --" 

"Shut up, Rodney," Zelenka says. "John will go with you."

John stops, a handful of pretzels halfway to his mouth. "What? Why do I have to go?"

"Your flashlight is bigger than mine," Rodney says. John turns it up to his face and leers at him, distorted and yet, weirdly hot. God, Rodney hates himself sometimes. "Not like -- oh fine," Rodney says, and stalks off into the woods. John hurries after him.

They pick their way through the trees, arms piled high with wood, not saying anything much for a few moment, until Rodney remembers something. "You like the military, huh?" he says to John's shadow, which stops moving, then shrugs.

"Yeah," he says. "I'm doing ROTC in college. Air Force."

"Officer school, huh," Rodney says. "Don't they usually want you to, you know, have two brain cells to rub together for that?"

A twig hits Rodney on the shoulder. "Shut up, McKay," John says easily. "I'm double-majoring in mathematics and mechanical engineering. I think you'll find that qualifies as four brain cells."

Rodney's eyes flutter shut. The swimming, the propensity for wandering around shirtless at the waterfront, the tan skin and the weird hair and that sly, perfect smile -- he can handle all of that, convince himself that the forced separation of boys and girls divided by a huge lake is just taking its toll on him and turning him gay, but now -- oh god, mechanical engineering. "John, I want to--" he starts, but John has other ideas.

He's suddenly at Rodney's side, his armful of sticks nowhere to be seen. He grabs Rodney's wrist and hisses, "Don't move."

Rodney shakes him off and whips around. "What! What!"

 

John claps his hand over Rodney's mouth and slings an arm across his chest, pinning his shoulders back against John's front. His flashlight drops, clunks on the ground and goes dead. Purple spots dance in Rodney's eyes, and he can't see anything in the pitch-dark woods.

"Be quiet," John breathes into his ear.

Rodney is practically vibrating with tension. He drags in a slow, shaky breath that has as much to do with John's extreme proximity as his fight-or-flight instinct, and his eyes dart around the woods. He can see the firelight, but it seems suddenly incredibly far off, and he's very intensely aware of just how remote this place was. Oh fuck oh fuck oh --

Footsteps crunch through the woods, dead leaves and sticks crackling. Rodney hears Zelenka's voice -- faintly; they're still in the cabin site. Oh god --

"Sheppard?" a voice rings out.

Rodney sags with relief and John nearly drops him. "Ford?" Rodney yelps. "What the fuck!"

John shoves Rodney away and Rodney sees him fumbling in the pocket of his hoodie for something, and then -- blinding light as Sheppard flicks on a penlight and waves it around. Rodney flings up a hand.

"Your site's, like, half a mile away!" John says. "What the hell?"

"We got lost," Rodney hears Kavanaugh say, and winces. Fuck, Ford and Kavanaugh -- he likes Ford okay, he's really good with the young boys when they get homesick, but Peter Kavanaugh -- ugh. "It's going to rain tomorrow and we wanted to make sure to store dry firewood for the tinfoil dinner fires."

"So you walked half a mile?" Rodney flings his arms out, hits a tree, and scowls. "Without flashlights?"

Rodney hears a clunk. "Dead batteries," Ford says. "Sorry. We didn't mean to scare you. What are you guys doing out here?"

"Same thing as you," John says. He still sounds kind of breathless. Jeez, even Rodney's got his breath back already -- Sheppard must've been freaked. "If you guys are here, who's back with the boys?"

"Lorne and Bates. They can handle it." Ford shifts, leaves crackling under his feet.

 

Rodney's starting to feel a little sick from the adrenaline slowly making its way out of his bloodstream. "You should head back," he says. He can boss them, he's technically the Head Counselor of Boys' Side, which makes him their boss. Even if the chain-of-command chart they all got in their books at the beginning of the summer makes it clear that the counselors are all bottom-rung -- even the kitchen staff make more money than them. Rodney stomps on that train of thought before he gets back onto the "why god why am I doing this job" track that takes over his brain every time a kid starts to cry or gets a splinter or punches another kid. So, basically, ten times a day.

"We'll bring you some of our stored wood tomorrow," Sheppard adds.

"We don't have any stored -- ooof." Rodney doubles over as Sheppard's elbow collides with his ribs. "Watch it!"

"Wait a minute -- Sheppard, aren't you supposed to be staying in the lodge with the other day staff?" Kavanaugh leans into the light, peering at Sheppard.

"I was about to say the same thing to you," Rodney snaps, but John settles a hand onto his shoulder and digs his fingers in slightly, and Rodney's mouth shuts with a click of teeth.

"Rodney's got an h-bomb," John says smoothly. "He called me over to watch the other boys while Beckett and Zelenka put theirs to bed. Took a while, so I'm spending the night in his cabin's extra bunk instead of hiking all the way back to the lodge."

"Good plan. Hey, swing by my site tomorrow -- I've got an h-bomb that just won't quit." Rodney's a little surprised that Ford's asking for extra help -- usually he's wonderful with the homesick boys, and it's why they stuck him with the youngest kids.

"I'll try," John says. "Hey, you guys want a light for the walk back?"

"Please," Kavanaugh says, and John passes over the penlight. The beam dances over their faces and Rodney sees them all illuminated one-by-one -- Kavanaugh's pale skin, the bright gleam of Ford's habitual grin, and John, tanned and rangy and smiling easily. Rodney swallows hard.

"See you guys at flag-raising." Ford gives them a sloppy one-handed salute, and he and Kavanaugh turn back, crunching off through the woods.

 

Their footsteps fade as they pick their way down the hill, and slowly the only sound Rodney hears is his and John's breathing. "Well," John finally says. "That was an adventure."

"They shouldn't walk so far from their site," Rodney says. "Ford knows, I've written him up for it before. And Kavanugh's not even supposed to be out here -- and neither are you --"

John claps him hard on the shoulder. "Aw, leave it, McKay. They got lost. Kavanaugh probably got bored in the lodge alone. And we're pretty far from Arcturus, too." He nods at the firelight, barely visible through the trees. "I think we're closer to Athos than any other site, actually."

Rodney's throat seizes up with panic. "We're halfway around the lake? Oh god, we can't get caught near Athos -- Teyla will have my balls, and then give them to Elizabeth if she thinks you and me are skulking around Girls' Side after hours."

Rodney can't see, but he'd bet his last stash of Twizzlers and Doritos that John is grinning at him. "Mellow out," he says. "Elizabeth knows that I walk the perimeter at night when I can't sleep. You know that, she asked me to -- extra security."

"I don't like that we need security," Rodney mutters.

"You and me both."

"I thought it might be --" Rodney starts. "You know."

"Whoever's been stealing our shit? Yeah." Leaves rustle and Rodney can see the faint outline of John, kicking at the dead undergrowth. "This is freaking me out."

"Freaking you out?" Rodney's voice goes embarrassingly high-pitched. "You're our extra security! I can't be the brave guy here!"

"Hey, hey, it's okay," and John's hands land on Rodney's shoulders, sliding over his back a little -- John probably can't see Rodney very well either. "Seriously, I bet it's just stupid kids who ..."

"Stupid kids who live a thousand miles from known civilization?" Rodney squeaks.

John ducks his head and shrugs. "Okay. Okay. I can't explain it. But Ronon and I are watching out for you guys."

"More like, you're eating all our candy," Rodney mutters, but feels himself relax a little. A twig snaps and he stiffens, and sees John's head come up. "What --"

"Shh. Wait it out," John whispers.

 

More twigs cracking -- Rodney's shoulders are drawn up around his ears. He hauls in a breath to yell for Ronon, and John slaps a hand over his mouth. "Don't even think about it," John hisses in his ear. "You'll wake the whole friggin' camp, and I am not putting your damn h-bomb to bed again."

Rodney whimpers, low in the back of his throat. John is pressed up tight against him, hips snugged up against Rodney's ass. Rodney is about to pass out from fear and sheer hotness -- of course John's all about protecting Rodney, but does he have to do it so intimately? Rodney whimpers again, and John presses his hand harder against his mouth. The rustling gets louder -- those are definitely footsteps. "Fuck," John whispers, "my knife's back at the site."

"Knife?" Rodney tries to yelp, but it comes out as, "Aaeefff?!"

 

"Shut up, shut up! Okay, see the firelight? Don't talk, just nod." Rodney nods. "On three, I want you to run toward it as fast as you can. Tell Ronon I'm in the woods and to come find me."

Rodney shakes his head rapidly. "Mmmf!"

John gives his shoulders a good solid shake. "Don't argue with me," he hisses. Rodney jerks as another stick snaps, loud as a gunshot in the near-silent woods. He can hear John's breathing, rushing in gusts over Rodney's ear, and feel his heartbeat pounding against Rodney's back through the fabric of John's sweatshirt. John's just as freaked out as Rodney is. Somehow, that makes Rodney feel better. "On three, run. One, two --" He shoves Rodney away from him and hollers, "Three!"

 

Rodney takes off through the woods, blood rushing in his ears. He trips, staggers, falls, feels the knees of his pajama pants rip open. Behind him, there's a wet-sounding thud and someone grunts in pain. "Oh fuck oh fuck," Rodney whispers, "what am I doing?" He hauls himself to his feet, turns around, and runs back in the direction he came.

John is going to kill him. Rodney's going to kill John. He reaches down blindly and grabs the first solid thing that comes into contact with his hand -- a damp, rotting branch, but it'll do. He trips again, curses, drags himself to his feet and runs toward the only thing he can hear -- loud panting, heavy thumps and pained groans. Out of nowhere, two shapes loom up from the darkness, and he can just make out the silhouette of John's hair as he grapples with someone much larger than him.

 

"John, duck!" Rodney yells, and swings the branch as hard as he can. It cracks against the back of the other man's skull and they drop like a bag of wet cement. John goes down with them, letting out a pained noise. Rodney inches closer, holding the branch above his head like a baseball bat. "John," he hisses. "Are you okay?"

"Rodney, what the hell," John says. He shoves the other man off him and he flops to the side limply, and Rodney's thinks for one terrifying moment that he's killed him until the man groans in pain. John rolls to his hands and knees, panting, then stands up and plants a foot on the man's back, holding him down. "I told you to run!"

"I just saved your ass!" Rodney yells, then remembers the kids and quiets down. "You should be grateful," he hisses.

"Oh, I am, that guy had a mean right hook." John leans over and braces his elbows on his knees, panting hard. "I just didn't want him to get you."

 

Rodney drops the branch. "Okay, that was very noble and pointless of you," he says. "Let's drag him out to the site and call Elizabeth."

 

They manage to haul him out to the cabin site -- he's not putting up a fight, Rodney had apparently done some serious damage with the branch-to-the-back-of-the-head move. They pull him into the firelight and Zelenka lets out a startled noise. Ronon leaps to his feet and is at John's side in an instant. Rodney kind of wants to punch him.

John looks down at their captive and whistles under his breath. "He's an ugly motherfucker," he says.

Rodney's inclined to agree -- the man has a distinctly rat-like face, with greasy, slicked-back hair and thin lips. He's wearing some kind of weird uniform. "What is this shit?" Ronon asks, looming up over them both.

"Guy tried to attack me and Rodney in the woods," John says. He's holding one hand against his eye, and Rodney can see his wince, even in the dying firelight.

Ronon kicks the guy in the ribs, grunts, and then sits on him. The man groans in pain and Ronon jabs him in the stomach. "Shut up or I'll stand on you."

Rodney claps a hand over his mouth to stifle his slightly-crazed giggles.

"Is that what took you so long? We thought you were maybe making out," Zelenka says. Rodney jams an elbow into his ribs.

 

"Shut up and call the main lodge," he says. "I want to know what the fuck is going on."

"Wait." Zelenka grabs Rodney's arm. "I recognize the uniform -- that's the uniform they make the counselors at Camp Genii wear."

"Genii?" John peers down at the man, then jerks back. "Holy shit -- that's Ladon Radim."

Rodney shoves him away. "What? But Ladon --" He looks down at the man, who glares back malevolently, then whimpers as Ronon shifts his weight a little. "You used to work here," he says to Ladon. "You were a counselor here when I was a camper -- you were my counselor-in-training director!"

"Yeah, McKay," Radim says hoarsely. "And you wanna know something? You barely passed."

Rodney snarls and swings his foot back to kick Ladon in the ribs, but Ronon drops one melon-sized fist onto his chest and Ladon squeals, then passes out. "Nice," John says with satisfaction.

"Thanks," Ronon says, and Rodney decides not to be disturbed by how pleased with himself he sounds.

"This is all very fascinating," Carson says from behind them, "but as someone who has no idea what in goodness' sake is going on, I'd like to call Elizabeth."

"Tell her to bring an ice pack," John says, and sits down next to Ronon. Ladon flops limply, once, and lays still.

Rodney kicks him in the ribs anyway.

-----

"Let me get this straight." Rodney pushes his hair away from his forehead and props his elbows on the split-log fence surrounding the swimming area, and hunches closer to the travel mug of coffee John had handed him when he showed up at the waterfront to drop his campers off. He gets the feeling he's really going to need it to get through this day. "Ladon was pissed off that Elizabeth fired him three years ago for leaving his cabin site in the middle of the night -- an activity, might I add, that multiple counselors were engaged in just last night, myself included! -- so he went and got hired at Camp Genii, spilled all our trade secrets, whatever those are, to Kolya, and then was sent by Kolya to sabotage Camp Atlantis and Elizabeth by, uh, what, stealing our canoes?"

"And kayaks," John adds. "Don't forget the kayaks."

"Dear god, how thoughtless of me," Rodney says, and gulps down more coffee. "Did I forget anything else besides the kayaks?"

"Nah, that's basically what Elizabeth told me when I asked her this morning," he says. "But she said she wants us to keep it on the down-low."

"Word, homie," Rodney says. John stares at him. "What?"

John shakes his head and pushes his aviator sunglasses further up the bridge of his nose. His tanned, lightly freckled nose. Rodney dies a little inside. "Hey, did you ever get your kids back to sleep last night?"

Rodney slaps a hand to his forehead and drags it down over his face. "I am considering building an IV rig so that I can pump this coffee directly into my veins," he says.

"So, no," John says with a grin.

Rodney sticks his nose over the rim of the mug and inhales deeply. Elizabeth had roared into the cabin site in her ancient Jeep Wrangler approximately three minutes after Carson had called her on Rodney's cell phone, and if that had somehow failed to wake any campers up, twenty minutes later the two police cars with sirens blaring had definitely done the job. Rodney had spent the rest of the night trying to convince his campers that they weren't all about to be arrested for a crime they hadn't committed, and then he'd had to explain the concept of habeas corpus to them, and then James had started crying because he'd thought Rodney had said habeas corpses and that meant the police were going to kill them all, and then Rodney had just zipped James up inside his sleeping bag, turned out the lights in the cabin, and sat outside with his back against the door until the sun came up.

John, the bastard, had gotten to go to the police station in town. And he'd gotten a free coffee mug for giving his statement. He'd probably flirted with the cop on duty to get it. Rodney could not hate him more.

A little girl with hair that wouldn't have looked out of place on Shirley Temple runs up to them and latches onto John's leg. "Hey," John says, dropping a hand down and ruffling her curls.

"No running in camp," Rodney says automatically. She sticks her tongue out at him. He sticks his out back, and squinches his eyes up at her for good measure.

"Are you Rodney?" she asks.

"Yes," he says warily, and she beams up at him.

"You're a weenie," she says, and scampers off.

"No running in camp!" Rodney yells after her. John's collapsed onto his elbows on the fence and is laughing like a loon into his hands.  "Oh, yes, yes, you must be so proud of yourself."

"God," John says breathlessly, lifting his head up and swiping his thumbs under his eyes. Rodney suddenly wonders if John smiles this much during sex, then frantically tries to forget that thought. "I love kids."

"You're the only one," Rodney says.

John ruffles Rodney's hair and snickers a little. "Enjoy your coffee," he says. "And take a shower, I can smell you from here."

"You're right next to me," Rodney says. "That doesn't count. And you smell like lake."

"If by lake you mean awesome," John says, grinning, and snaps off a two-fingered salute to Rodney as he walks backward to his lifeguard chair. "See you in an hour or so."

"Hey, wait a second." Rodney climbs up over the fence, carefully balancing his coffee in one hand and pushing on his sunglasses with the other. He heads over to the lifeguard chair and John looks down at him from the top ladder rung.

"Yeah?" John says, leaning down and lifting up his own glasses. Rodney jerks, startled, and sloshes coffee all over his hand; John's got a truly impressive black eye blooming over one side of his face. No wonder he's wearing those stupid aviators. "Okay, now I'm way up here and I can still smell you. Is that what you wanted to know?"

"Shut up, Aquaman," Rodney says. "I was just wondering, uh, are you still going to be walking the perimeter, now that we know who was sneaking onto the grounds?"

John shrugs. "Dunno yet. We'll see."

"Okay." Rodney looks down at his coffee. "I just wanted to let you know, um, Caldwell, the kitchen guy? He accidentally got me Starburst instead of Sour Patch Kids on his last run into town. I can't eat them unless I'm in the mood for my throat to swell shut, so I guess you could have them if you wanted."

 

"Yeah, I guess," John says. "You have them here?"

"No, they're back at Arcturus." Rodney jerks his head up the hill. "You can grab them on your break, I guess. Or come by tonight after you're done playing Pictionary with the day staff, or whatever it is you guys do at the lodge after lights-out."

"It's usually a rousing game of Scrabble, actually, but Pictionary isn't a half-bad idea." John settles his sunglasses back onto his face and leans back in his chair. "Yeah, I'll be there. James Jinto, quit jumping off the dock!" he yells, and Rodney leaves the swimming area, smiling into his coffee mug.

 

-----

Rodney figures John's not going to show that night, Starburst or no Starburst. Carson's already gone off to bed (the weenie), and it's only Zelenka and Rodney still sitting out, poking sticks morosely into the dying embers of the fire. And since it's only Zelenka and Rodney, the conversation had already devolved to the lowest common denominator. "Okay, uh, Teyla, Laura, and Katie Brown," Zelenka says.

Rodney props his chin on the end of the stick and gazes into the fire. "Huh. That's easy on the surface, but ... I'd fuck Teyla, 'cause however scary she is I bet she'd be an animal in the sack, but Laura Cadman and Katie Brown -- Katie's okay, but I bet she's pretty boring. Laura's kinda mean, but lots of fun when she's drunk. I say, fuck Teyla, marry Laura, kill Katie."

"Same for me," Zelenka says. "Though I suspect Katie is not as vanilla as all that."

"Hmm." Rodney rocks his head from side to side on the stick. "Your turn. Who haven't we used already? Um ... lifeguard version. Kavanaugh, Simpson, Sheppard."

Zelenka makes a face. "You are only saying this because you are a twelve year old girl about Sheppard."

"Please feel free to shut up," Rodney suggests.

Zelenka shakes his head. "What I'm saying is, two guys in the mix? You are cruel. I suppose marry Karen, she is lovely in a swimsuit. But Kavanaugh and Sheppard ..."

"You seriously thinking about killing me and fucking that jerkbutt?" John drawls from right behind them, and Rodney leaps about a foot in the air.

"Holy shit," he says, clutching his stick in front of him like a quarterstaff. John laughs and takes it from him, spinning it easily in one hand. Rodney presses his hand against his sternum in a vain effort to slow his racing heart. "Don't do that! One day I really will have a heart attack and then you will be responsible for robbing the world of my immense genius at the tender age of seventeen."

 

"Sorry," John says insincerely. "I thought you'd be used to it by now."

"Rodney's higher-strung than a suspension bridge," Zelenka mutters. "Good luck with that."

John leans over Zelenka and steals a Dorito. "You guys are playing marry fuck kill?"

"Better than Scrabble," Rodney says.

 

"Who's been fucked the most times?"

"Tie between Teyla and Ronon," Zelenka says. "Rodney keeps marrying Sam Carter, though, which I say is unfair as she is camp administration and never on the grounds."

"But when she is, birds sing and flowers bloom," Rodney sighs. Zelenka flicks his earlobe and Rodney smacks him, and they quiet down.

"Of course it's Teyla and Ronon," John says, dropping down onto the bench beside Rodney, who sinks down slowly, his knees still shaking from the automatic fight-or-flight panic. He never would get used to John's freaky entrances. "I saw Ronon do the tire traverse for the first time today." He whistles softly. "I mean, I knew the guy was ripped, but he practically did it one-handed."

"That's all he does once the day program is done," Zelenka says. "Practice on the Mojo."

John snickers. "I love that it's called the Mojo."

 

Rodney casts a look sideways at Zelenka, who meets his eye, then stands up. "I should be getting to bed," he says. "My kids, they're very ... eh, rowdy?"

"Rambunctious," John supplies helpfully.

Zelenka nods. "There was some business with a toad earlier," he tells John. "Be glad you missed it." He saunters out toward his cabin, and Rodney doesn't relax until he hears the door close softly behind him.

"A toad, huh?" John says.

"I think it was more like a small, mutated dog," Rodney says. "It was monstrous. Carson screamed like a girl. So our campers named it after him."

"I don't envy your job," John says. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Hey, should we get more wood?"

 

Rodney tries hard not to bury his face in his hands. He hasn't been this horny since he was fifteen -- even the word wood just passing John's lips is enough to make his cock twitch with interest. And his pajama pants don't hide any sins. "If you want," he says. "I usually just let it die down when it's this late."

"Yeah, sorry it took me so long to come up, Elizabeth wanted to talk to me and the rest of the program staff about next week. Pirate week." John twirls a finger in the air. "Hooray."

"I hate programming," Rodney mutters. "I hate program staff."

"Hey," John says, affronted.

"Except for you," Rodney allows graciously. "You're very nice. It's just the rest of them, with their nine-to-five work day."

"I get that," John says. "That's why I try to help out. And hey, I think I've done more than my fair share."

 

"You're good with the homesick kids," Rodney allows graciously. "I mean, compared to me. Which isn't saying much."

"Weenie," John says, but he jostles Rodney shoulder, and Rodney takes it for the thank-you that it is. "Hey," John says suddenly. "You didn't say your answer."

"What?"

"To the marry fuck kill. Kavanaugh, Simpson, or me."

Rodney's face flushes to the tips of his ears. He's never been more thankful for the dim light of the fire. "What?"

"That's how the game goes, right? You name a group, and everybody says who they'd marry or fuck or kill. And you didn't answer." John's not looking at him -- he's nudging at the coals with the stick. Rodney looks at his slim fingers wrapped around the branch, then turns his head and closes his eyes.

 

"Simpson's really smart," he says slowly. "For a lifeguard, I mean. And Zelenka's right, she does look good in a swimsuit. Kavanaugh is ten kinds of awful -- he's mean to the kids, the staff, everybody, and thinks he's the greatest thing to ever happen. And you ..." Rodney hauls in a deep, shaky breath. "You're ... you're you. So I guess ... fuck Simpson, kill Bates, and ... and marry you."

John's silent, knocking around the coals with the end of his stick. The only sound is the wind in the leaves above, and the last crackles and pops of the wood on the fire. "Okay," he says. "My turn."

Rodney opens his eyes. "What?"

"You have to ask me a new group. Those are the rules."

"I don't know the rules," Rodney mumbles.

"Trust me," John says. "Or, okay, here. I'll name a group. Zelenka, Carson, Rodney."

 

Rodney lets his chin drop down to his chest and squeezes his eyes closed. His ears feel like he's clapped two hot coals against them.

"Carson's not a bad guy," John says thoughtfully, like he's really considering it. "He's nice, but kind of a wimp. Zelenka's really smart, and I like that a lot, but he's a little weedy and even for brains he's got nothing on you. And you ..." John snorts. "Well, like you said. You're you." Rodney turns his face away, twisting his hands together in his lap. "So, out of that ..." John pauses, and Rodney hears the stick drop to the ground. "Kill Beckett, fuck Zelenka, and marry you."

Rodney's hands go still. "Huh," he says.

John's hand slides over his shoulders, and his fingers settle into a curl around Rodney's bicep. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Rodney says, then looks over at John. His eyes are crinkled up in a smile, his face is strangely shadowed, and his hair looks like he styled it with a cattle prod. Rodney is utterly convinced that he's falling in love. "Yeah," he says again, then leans over and presses his mouth against John's.

John's fingers tighten around Rodney's arm and he pulls him closer, and Rodney grabs at the first thing he can reach, which happens to be the strings on John's hoodie. He yanks, trying to haul John closer, and John makes a strangled noise before laughing into Rodney's mouth.

"I'm so bad at this," Rodney whispers. "Zelenka kept saying you were flirting with me, but I thought you were just -- being you."

"You should listen to Zelenka more often," John says, pulling back and curling his fingers around Rodney's wrist. His hands are warm and dry and the only word that comes to Rodney's mind is safe. "He's a smart guy."

Rodney snorts. "No chance of that," he says.

"Really," John says, kissing him again. The tip of his tongue brushes Rodney's and Rodney inhales sharply, then pushes back against John, kissing him harder. John makes a pleased noise in the back of his throat and then that's it, Rodney's gone.

"Oh, fuck," he says a few moments later, as John's hand settles over his cock, wrapping around it through the thin layer of his pajama pants. He struggles not to cry out, but pushes his hips up, fucking himself with John's fist.

John presses his face against Rodney's neck and drags in a shaky breath. "God," he says, "that's just -- fuck, Rodney, you have no idea how much I've wanted you."

Rodney turns his head and laughs, a little crazily, into John's sleeve. "I think I have some idea," he says, slightly muffled. "If you knew how close I was to jumping you in the woods before Ladon showed up --"

"The woods?" John's hand tightens on Rodney's cock and he strokes once, hard, and Rodney swallows a yell and squirms underneath him. John laughs a little breathlessly and twists around so that Rodney's lying flat on his back on the bench, and John hitches up his hips, straddling Rodney's thigh. "Jesus, Rodney, the only thing that kept me from kissing you on the docks the other day was the fact that I knew Elizabeth would castrate me and wear my balls on a charm bracelet if I did anything in front of campers."

"Shit --" Rodney goes still. "My campers."

John drops his head to Rodney's shoulder and groans. His hard-on is pressing against Rodney's thigh, and Rodney can't help but push back against it a little. "Oh, fuck, Rodney, please."

"Camp inappropriate language, Sheppard," Rodney says, and lets out a slightly hysterical giggle. "Oh my god, this is insane. This is the most insane thing I've ever done."

"Me, not so much," John says, and before Rodney can ask him about that, he pushes his hand underneath the waistband of Rodney's pajamas and curls his fingers around the head of Rodney's dick, spreading pre-come down the shaft with his thumb. Rodney's eyes roll back in his head at the sensation -- warm and slick and oh fucking fuck that's John's hand on his cock. "Definitely up there, though."

"Good to know I rank -- oh, oh god." Rodney clutches at John's biceps and digs his fingernails in, and doesn't fail to note John's sudden shortness of breath. That's something to be used later, definitely. But right now, Rodney needs to come, and he needs to not be caught by adolescent boys, because there are several ways that can end and all of them are bad.

He slings his arm around the back of John's neck and pulls him close. "Listen," he mumbles into John's ear, a little breathlessly because John's hand is still stroking his cock and despite Rodney's frequent claims to the contrary, he is only human. "Later, I promise, we will get a day off together and then I will spend all day in bed with you, or possibly against the wall or on the floor with you because I am always open to new possibilities, and please don't have a panic attack at the fact that I think this should definitely be a more-than-one-time occurrence." He hauls in a lungful of air and tries not to hyperventilate as John groans into his ear, the bulge in his jeans rock-hard against Rodney's thigh. He pushes up against him again, tentatively, then harder at John's appreciative moan.

 

"God, yes," John breathes against Rodney's neck. "This is definitely happening more than once."

"I can't believe -- oh my god, okay, I'm a fourteen year old girl, I admit it -- I can't believe it's happening at all." Rodney turns and presses a kiss against John's jaw, then another to John's mouth as John ducks his head to kiss Rodney back. He digs his teeth in a little and feels John shudder above him, and presses his thigh against John's cock. John gasps, chokes out a laugh, and then they're kissing in earnest, tongues and teeth and lips and all those nice things about being a person that Rodney thought he'd trained himself out of.

John grinds down on Rodney's thigh and groans against his neck, and that's it, Rodney doesn't even bother with finesse anymore, just humps up against John and his hand and the searing heat between their bodies, clutching John's sweatshirt in his fingers and panting harshly between clenched teeth, trying not to cry out and wake up the whole camp.

John twists his hand once, hard, around Rodney's cock and Rodney comes with an embarrassing whimper, but John mumbles, "oh, fuck, that was hot, yes," and shoves his hips down on Rodney's, and comes with a choked-off moan.

"Fuck," Rodney says, and John collapses down on top of him. "Oof -- a hundred and seventy pounds, my ass," Rodney says.

John snorts. "Of course an orgasm doesn't calm you down," he says. "Why am I surprised."

"Shut up," Rodney mumbles. "Fuck, what time is it?"

John pushes his face against Rodney's neck and kisses the curve of his jaw. "Not enough time for the afterglow," he mutters, and pushes off Rodney with a grunt. "I need to get back to the lodge."

"Oh -- okay," Rodney says, propping himself up on his elbows and watching John pull himself back together. His pajama pants are getting sort of clammy. "Um, not to be a total girl about this, but --"

"No, yeah," John says, and catches at Rodney's hand. "I meant what I said. Whatever I said. All of what I said."

"Cool." Rodney hauls himself up with the aid of John's hand and slings an arm around his neck, then presses a fast kiss to his mouth. "There's an extra bunk in my cabin, if you want to spend the night."

John leans back and raises an eyebrow at him. "Man, I really want to, but I think knowing that you're, what, five feet away across the cabin and I can't touch you --"

"Right, not a good idea, I like being employed," Rodney agrees. "Have fun hiking back to the main lodge."

"Good times as always," John says cheerfully. "See you at flag-raising." He pulls up his hood and picks his flashlight off the ground, and salutes Rodney with it before heading off down the path.

"Later," Rodney calls, then looks down at his pants and grimaces. That's really quite the wet spot.

-----

"Bye, James," Rodney shouts, waving as the minivan bumps off down the dirt road of the site. "Hope I don't see you next summer!"

Zelenka pokes his head out of his cabin. "Is that it?" he calls.

"That's it!" Rodney throws up his arms and dances around in a circle. "That's my last camper! They're gone! It's over! It's over!"

"Until Sunday," Carson says gloomily, shoveling sand over the still-smoldering coals of last night's campfire. "And then we start it all over again."

Rodney looks around for something to throw, doesn't see anything but rocks, considers it, and decides against possibly concussing Carson, appealing as the possibility might be. "You, shut up. It's a Friday and a pay day and I'm going to --" He stops just before announcing that he's going to get laid, but his cheeks flame bright red just at the thought. "I'm going to shower for a thousand hours," he says, rubbing his hands through his hair. Dust flies up and hovers around his head, haloed in the fading sunlight. "And sleep. Sleep for two thousand hours."

"You really need two-point-seven months of sleep, Rodney?" John drawls.

Rodney spins around and jabs a finger into his sternum. "Ha!" he says. "I heard you coming. Your ninja-fu is gone."

"Also, we drove up here," Ronon says in Rodney's ear. Rodney yells, jumps, flails backward, and jams his elbow into Ronon's ribs on accident. Ronon just keeps grinning.

"You're made of fucking stone!" Rodney yells, rubbing his elbow. "Fuck, that really hurt my funny bone."

 

"That's never, ever going to get old," John says.

"Hate," Rodney grits out. "Hate, so much."

"I can live with that," John says. "You need a ride back to the city?"

Rodney looks over at Zelenka's cabin, then back to John. "Yeah, I do. I'd rather not get into Zelenka's rattletrap car for any longer than I have to. Every mile in that thing is another year off my life."

"Better not risk it, then," John says with a grin. "Let's get your stuff into my car."

John's car turns out to be a crappy maroon Volvo station wagon, and about the last car Rodney would've expected John to drive. "This is such an old lady car," Rodney says, slamming the trunk down on his duffle bag full of dirty clothes. "You should name it Bernice."

"It's Agnes, actually," John says, propping his elbow on the roof and grinning over it at Rodney. "Ronon, you cool to get back to the lodge?"

Ronon waves at them from the stoop of Zelenka's cabin, then disappears inside. Rodney watches him go and shakes his head. "That man is not human."

"Probably not," John agrees. He climbs into the driver's seat and Rodney hops into the passenger side, buckling himself in securely.

They stop by the main lodge to pick up their paychecks, and pull out of the grounds in a plume of dirt. Rodney rolls down the window and sticks his head out. "Freedom!" he yells, exhilarated even though John's barely pushing twenty on the two-lane country road. "Freedom and real food and sex! Lots of sex!"

"Lots of sex," John agrees, grinning, and reaches over to settle his hand on the back of Rodney's neck. "Lots of sex in a bed."

"This is going to be a great weekend," Rodney says.

John shakes his head. "I gotta disagree." Rodney shoots him a panicked look and he tips his head back, laughing. "Rodney, it's going to be a great summer."

Rodney turns on the radio and they drive onto the highway, the endless road stretching before them.

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