A Puddle-Jumper Named Desire
Rodney's got a thing for blondes.
Layton---
"What is most important to you, Major?" the tribesman demanded harshly.
Sheppard winced a little. It's not like it washis fault he blew up their temple, and no one had been hurt, except for that one guy, and that didn't really count anyway—he only lost his eyebrows. He'd just touched the glowing handprint. Who wouldn't have? That looked to be the purpose, anyway, and how was he to know his ATA gene would cause an overload? Besides, if he had moved a little slower, Rodney would have touched it instead for sure. "Look, I'm really sorry, honest, it was an accident…"
"You must be punished," the leader said, shaking his head. "There is no way around it. We must destroy that which you love most."
Beside him, Rodney perked up, and Sheppard narrowed his eyes, a little wary. "Well, that's easy—" Rodney said, "it's his hair, no question."
"Rodney," John hissed through a smile. "What are you doing?"
"Shut up," Rodney told him, out of the side of his mouth, "I'm trying to save your ass here."
"By getting me bald?" he snapped.
"His hair?" the leader repeated dubiously. "His hair is most important to him of all things?"
"He spends hours on it every morning," Rodney said with a nod. "It's actually kind of sad."
"Not hours," Sheppard snapped defensively. "Twenty minutes, tops."
Rodney rolled his eyes. "It's like it's a separate being, his hair. Kind of remarkable, actually, the way it has a life of its own."
The members of the tribe all turned to look at Sheppard's hair. "It does seem rather well tended," the leader agreed warily, "in a kind of purposely disheveled way."
"He likes it like that," Rodney said with a smirk.
"Stop talking about the hair," Sheppard snapped.
"See?" Rodney said. "Look how defensive he is. And he calls it 'the hair'. It's not normal, I'm telling you."
"This must be one of those cultural differences," the leader says. "We don't really care about our hair."
"That's rather obvious," Rodney said, but his sarcasm was wasted on them as they turned to confer.
The leader turned back around after a moment, nodding. "It is settled. As punishment, we shall destroy the hair."
"Hey!" Sheppard snapped. "Just wait a damn minute!" John's fingers tightened around his gun, and he started to step forward. Ford placed a hand on his shoulder and held him back.
"Sir," Ford said quietly, "do you really want to get into a firefight over your hair?"
"I was thinking about it," John said sulkily, turning to glare daggers at Rodney.
"It's no more than you deserve," Rodney said primly. "You're always telling me not to touch things."
"Major," Teyla said soothingly, stepping between them. "Will your hair not grow back?"
"Yes," he snapped. "But—"
"And do the Terish not have food they wish to trade?"
"Yes," he said again, shaking his head. "But—"
"And did you not, Major, destroy their sacred temple?" Teyla asked, saving the best for last, and raising an eyebrow rather archly.
John winced and pulled his rifle over his head, handing it off to Ford. "Fine," he snapped, "but if I come back bald, I'm taking it out on the three of you."
"Oh, it would be worth it," Rodney said, grinning.
John glared at him, but with a sigh followed the guard that motioned for him to come his way, and disappeared inside one of the huts. Ford cast the others a conspiratorial little glance, and Rodney was still smiling. He had wanted to get a better look at that temple, and John had gone and blown it up, after an hour; him and his stupid supercharged ATA gene, and his stupid supercharged hair. It was no less than he deserved, he told himself again, and glanced at his watch.
Fifteen minutes later he was starting to think other things—things like Sheppard was being scalped as punishment, because of him and his big mouth, but he hadn't heard any screams or anything, which he took as a good sign. He started to pace. "What is taking so long?" he snapped.
"Well, he does have a lot of hair," Ford offered meekly.
"Perhaps we should check on him…" Teyla said a little unsettled. Rodney wondered if she was having scalping thoughts too.
FCOL---
At the thirty minute mark Rodney was ready to storm the hut, glancing at Ford and Teyla he knew they would be right beside him. The first scream had him nearly tripping over his feet running towards the hut—he would never forgive himself if Sheppard got hurt because of him. The three team mates entered the hut together, stopping mid step. Ford began snickering; Teyla was as always completely self composed with a slight smirk at the sight before her and Rodney's jaw dropped.
Sheppard marched towards his team, eyes only on Rodney. "You—this is all your fault!"
He tried for a snappy comeback but all he managed was, "You're blonde!"
John rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest, "Your observational skills are amazing, McKay." He turned his glare towards the still snickering Ford who quickly covered his mouth, diverting his eyes and trying to get himself under control. After all, it isn't the best idea to laugh in your CO's face.
"Your punishment has been met, now we are free to finish our negotiations for trade." The tribal leader bowed and led the way from the tent, Teyla and Ford on his heels leaving Rodney and John alone in the tent.
"You're blonde!" He knew he had already said it but in the face of all that wild blonde hair it bore repeating.
"Stop saying that! I know I'm blonde and did I mention this is all your fault!"
Rodney forced himself to stop gapping like a fish, crossing his arms in a mirror pose of Sheppard's. "What are you complaining about? You're blonde—you haven't been scalped!"
John scowled and stomped from the tent to join Teyla and Ford. The negotiations went smooth and were thankfully quick and before long they were heading back to the jumper and Atlantis.
Rodney slid into the seat behind John, eyes still riveted to the man's hair. John placed his hands on the controls, the jumper lifting into the air with ease. "Stop staring at my hair!"
Realizing John was talking to him; Rodney snapped his mouth shut, scowling at the back of the man's head. "It's like a car accident; you just can't help but look."
John swiveled in his chair to glare at the man behind him. Rodney didn't look the least bit cowed which pissed John off more. He turned back to the controls, snapping at Ford, "Dial the gate!"
"Yes Sir," Ford replied quickly, bending his head to the consol to hide his smirk.
John was just thankful they had taken the jumper. Setting the jumper down, Ford, Teyla and McKay all stood and headed towards the rear hatch, John sitting motionless in the pilot's seat. Rodney turned to glance behind him, frowning when he saw John hadn't moved. "Should we tell Elizabeth to come to the jumper bay for the debriefing so you can keep hiding?"
"Bite me, McKay!"
"What, are you twelve? So your hair is blonde, big deal! We'll tell everyone you're having a midlife crisis, I'm sure they'd believe us."
Wanting to forestall any further arguments Ford stepped to the front of the jumper handing Sheppard his ball cap. "It should hide most of your hair, Sir—at least until we get to the infirmary."
John grabbed the ball cap, placing it on his head before standing. "Thank you, Lt." With a parting glare at McKay he stormed from the jumper, his pace just shy of a run. The team hurried after him, in truth not wanting to miss the scene they were sure would erupt once John was forced to remove the hat.
They arrived to hear John's indignant, "You're not cutting my hair!"
"Just a wee snip, Major—we need to know what chemicals were used. We wouldn't want to chance you having a reaction now would we?" Carson's voice was laced with amusement as they stepped around the curtain.
John sat on the bed, the hat lying beside him as Carson poked at his hair, an ominous looking pair of scissors in his hand. "You can't cut his hair!" It was out of Rodney's mouth before he could tell his brain to shut up. Flushing slightly at Carson's raised eyebrow and smirk, he turned to see John still glowering at him. He crossed his arms and walked towards the bed. "I mean who knows what would happen if you cut it—it could throw off the space time continuum, bring about the apocalypse." He curled his hands into fists, fighting the urge to reach out and touch the blonde spiky tufts.
Carson grinned nodding, "Oh aye, that's true enough. We wouldn't want the city to sink again."
John turned his glare on Carson, who also looked far from repentant. "If you're finished, can I go now?"
"You won't even miss them, Major." Carson spoke quickly as he reached out and cut off the small bit of hair he needed for his tests.
Layton---
"What's to miss?" John snapped. "It's blonde."
Ford snickered again and John turned around to glare at him. John put the cap back on. "I'm keeping this," he said. Ford knew better than to argue.
He still attracted a few glances as they all finished their standard physicals and headed towards the briefing room, but Atlantis was filled with the best and the brightest, so no one was stupid enough to stop long enough to say anything to him. "Do we have any hair dye here?" he asked, giving the hallway a paranoid once over.
Rodney snorted. "Why yes, Major, it was right up there with food and water on our list of essentials."
John glared at him. "This is your fault, you know, you could be nicer."
"So you keep saying," Rodney said haughtily, "but let's not forget who blew up the temple."
"God," John said, frustrated before marching off again. "You blow up one sacred temple, and no one let's you forget."
"Major," Weir said when they entered, reading a file and not glancing up. "Good. You're here. Were you able—" She looked up, and promptly lost her train of thought.
"Yes, my hair is blonde," Sheppard said darkly. "Now that we have that out of the way, do you think we could get this over with?"
"Major, what…how…?"
"He blew up a temple," Rodney said. "So they dyed his hair blonde."
Weir's wide eyes flicked to Rodney and then back to the hair. "You blew up a temple?" she asked disbelievingly.
"And then they dyed my hair blonde, yes," Sheppard said wearily. "It's not like I did on purpose."
"Of course not," Weir said quickly. "But why did they dye your hair blonde?"
"Ask Rodney," John said, giving a wide, obviously forced, smile.
Rodney shrugged innocently, and didn't say anything. Weir tried to collect herself, and cleared her throat. "Yes, well, dare I ask how the negotiations went?"
Teyla smiled. "They have agreed to trade with us."
"Really?" Weir asked, disbelievingly.
"They believed dying the Major's hair was suitable punishment, and have given him a clean slate," Teyla said, and Ford tried to hide a startled giggle.
"Well, good work," Weir said. "I guess."
John gave a clipped nod and started from the room. Teyla and Ford were laughing again, and remaining behind, probably to laugh with Weir and fill in the details, but Rodney came out hot on his heels. He glanced back angrily. "What do you want?" he snapped.
Rodney's eyes were a little wider than usual, and he shrugged. "Where are you going?"
"To get something to eat," John snapped, self-consciously adjusting the baseball cap.
Rodney nodded quickly. "Yeah," he said. "Me too."
John rolled his eyes but slowed down so Rodney could catch pace beside him. When he grabbed some macaroni and cheese Rodney sat down right beside him, scooting his chair a little closer than strictly necessary. He turned to look at Rodney with narrowed eyes. "What?" he snapped.
"Nothing," Rodney said quickly.
"You didn't get anything to eat," John said.
"Not hungry," Rodney said, still staring at him, fascinated.
John shifted uncomfortably. "Then you're here because…?"
"I'm keeping you company," Rodney said. "I doubt anyone else would want to be seen with you considering."
"Well, thanks a lot," John snapped. "I probably could have convinced them my walkie talkie was my prized possession if not for you, you know."
"What's the fun in that?" Rodney asked, stretching, kind of oddly, John noted, and when his arms came down one rested on the back of his chair.
"What are you doing?" John asked again, suspicious.
"What?" Rodney asked eyes still kind of lunatic-wide. "I'm not doing anything."
John signed but turned his attention back to his food. A moment later he felt a tickling on the back of his neck and shivered, shaking his head, trying to knock it off. He dropped his fork when it happened again, and turned to glare at Rodney. "Would you stop that?" he snapped. "What the hell are you trying to do?"
"There was a bug," Rodney said quickly. "In you hair."
"A bug?" John said slowly. "We don't have bugs in Atlantis, Rodney."
"It was a space bug," Rodney said, and then nodded like he was convincing himself. "I'm only trying to help."
"Well, stop," John said, pushing his food away, no longer hungry. He got to his feet and picked up the tray, dropping it off and started for the doors. Rodney was within arms reach the entire way, but he was trying to ignore him. "Don't you have things to do?" he asked finally, when he'd walked half-way around Atlantis and hadn't lost Rodney yet.
"No," Rodney said. "I have the rest of the day off."
"Really?" John asked, suspicious.
Rodney shrugged. "Yep. Gave myself the rest of the day off—just now, actually. What are you doing?"
"Going somewhere else," he snapped, and started back down a different hall.
Rodney started after him. "Can I come?"
FCOL---
John quickened his pace, Rodney hot on his heels. When he reached his own quarters he stopped and spun around to face Rodney, just managing to stop the man from walking right into him. "Alright, what the hell is going on?"
"What do you mean?"
"Why are you following me around like a lost puppy?"
"I'm not lost; we're at your quarters." Rodney answered, completely ignoring the question.
John narrowed his eyes. "Go away, McKay."
"Look, I uh—I feel bad for what happened."
"No you don't."
"Okay no I don't, but at least let me make it up to you."
"How?"
"Let me buy you a drink." Rodney grinned, bouncing on the balls of his feet, arms behind his back.
"Last time I checked, McKay, Atlantis didn't come with a bar." John folded his arms, the hairs on the back of his neck raising. Rodney was being—nice...and it was seriously starting to freak him out.
"No, no—I have a bottle of this great Russian vodka I took back from Siberia with me. I've been saving it for a special occasion but seeing as how there's not likely to be a special occasion anytime soon..." Rodney shrugged, giving John his best innocent smile.
John contemplated the far too pleased man in front of him, and then thought of his blonde hair—that was enough to convince him he needed a drink. "Alright," John nodded.
Rodney grinned again, snagging John's wrist and pulling him back down the corridor towards his own quarters. John tried to pretend he didn't see Rodney glancing at his hair out of the corner of his eye, tried to pretend that Rodney's thumb wasn't rubbing his wrist—the whole situation felt completely surreal and for a moment he wondered if there was something in the stuff they used to dye his hair making things seem so—hinky. Telling himself he'd check in with Beckett for the results of his tests, he didn't notice they had reached Rodney's quarters until he felt the man's hand on the small of his back pushing him into the room.
"Sit down, make yourself comfortable."
John sat on the couch in Rodney's quarters, eyes keeping a wary watch on the man's movements as he headed towards his closet. He relaxed when he saw the bottle of vodka in Rodney's hand, even managed a small smile as Rodney produced two shot glasses with large Canadian flags on the side of each. Rodney slid onto the couch beside him, his thigh pressing firmly against John's own as he handed over the brimming shot glass. "Here's to alien bleach!" Rodney grinned as he clinked his shot glass against John's.
Rolling his eyes, John downed the vodka reveling in the burning sensation in the pit of his stomach. He raised an eyebrow when Rodney filled the glass again but downed it moments after Rodney drank his own. By the fourth shot he was feeling slightly buzzed and no longer quite so upset over his hair. Truth be told when he was younger he'd contemplated dying his hair blonde to better fit in with his surfer friends. In the end his father had told him in no uncertain terms he would have John's head shaved if he so much as looked at a bottle of dye—even then the instinct to preserve his hair had been too great to risk his father's threat.
By the sixth shot John was feeling no pain, hat thrown on the table in front of them, and in fact had almost forgotten Rodney was in the room until he felt fingers slipping into his hair. Turning his head he frowned at the rapt look on Rodney's face. "What are you doing?"
Rodney pulled his eyes from John's hair, smiling a little drunkenly. "You look good as a blonde." John glowered; reminded of the fact that it was Rodney's fault he was blonde. "No, really," Rodney continued, thinking John's look one of doubt, "it suits you—I like it." He slid his fingers into John's hair, tugging gently, pulling John towards him as he leaned in to kiss him.
John felt himself responding to the kiss, his lips moving over Rodney's as if they were meant to be there. Suddenly pulling back he jumped up, swaying slightly as a wave of dizziness hit him. "I have to go." He didn't wait to give Rodney a chance to say anything as he stumbled from the room and headed straight for his own quarters, ignoring the looks of shock he met, no longer caring that his hair was even more disheveled thanks to Rodney's fingers, nor caring about the fact that it was platinum blonde.
Entering his quarters, his head still spinning, he flopped onto the bed, pulling a blanket over his head and telling himself when he woke up everything would be back to normal and this whole day would turn out to be nothing more than a horrible, horrible nightmare.
Layton---
"Major! Major!"
John closed his eyes, telling himself he wasn't hearing that, or that maybe it was some other Major in question, never mind that he was the only for light-years—the door slid open and the semblance was shattered. Rodney's manic silhouette was in the door way—hair sticking up, arms akimbo. For one insane moment John wondered if he should look for his gun, just in case.
Rodney hit the lights on and the door slid shut behind him. In the light, he looked a little less like a maniac, but not so much that John wasn't still considering searching for his gun. "What are you doing?" Rodney snapped.
John raised an eyebrow. "When I run into your quarters screaming like the lead in A Streetcar Named Desire, i then /i you can ask me what I'm doing."
"You can't just run out on me in the middle of our date!" Rodney snapped.
"What date?" John said, rolling his eyes. "You offered me a drink."
"Yes, yes, of course. I offered you a drink, you said yes, so why aren't we having sex yet?" Rodney crossed his arms, waiting for a response.
That almost made some kind of sense, so John shook his head, deciding he'd definitely had way too much to drink. "Rodney, are you even hearing yourself? You've been acting like a crazy person ever since—ever since…" John's eyes lit up and he jumped to his feet, pointing at Rodney in realization. "Oh my god, you've been hitting on me!"
"Well, obviously," Rodney said.
"You've been hitting on me because I'mblonde!" John snapped furiously. "Do you have no shame?"
Rodney tilted his head back. "That has nothing to do with it."
"The hell it doesn't," John snapped. "There aren't exactly that many blondes to choose from on Atlantis—and Heightmeyer won't date you because you're a patient. You're getting desperate."
Rodney huffed irritably. "That's just…wait, how do you know I'm her patient?"
"Everyone knows, Rodney," John said, crossing his arms.
Rodney frowns. "Yes, well how do you even know she's my type?"
"Of course she's your type," John snapped. "She's blonde. Apparently, that's all it takes."
"You're being a little melodramatic, don't you think?" Rodney asked, shifting uncomfortably.
"You probably planned this whole thing!" John snapped, and started pacing.
Rodney rolled his eyes. "Oh, yes, Major. It's all part of my evil plan. It's the only reason I'm here, actually—everything's just because I wanted to turn you blonde. Next on my list is conquering the universe."
"Yeah, well, I wouldn't be surprised," John said, rather haughtily.
"You look really hot when you're angry," Rodney tells him. "Hey, you want another drink?"
"Stop trying to get me drunk!" John snapped. "I'm very upset."
"I think we passed drunk already," Rodney said. Then he got a little a distracted by the hair. "God. You should see the way the light bounces off it."
John pointed towards the door. "Out," he said.
Rodney rolled his eyes. "You need to calm down," he said.
"I think you should leave," John snapped. "And stay the hell away from my hair."
Rodney's eyes widened. "You're not serious."
John tilted his head back. "At least until it grows out, I don't trust you near it. You have a problem, Rodney, you're sick."
"It's not a problem," Rodney said, defensive. "It's just…I just, come on, Major, it's so shiny…"
"They have support groups for things like this, you know," John told him.
"Emotional connections group," Rodney said promptly. "Yes, I know."
"You've been to a sex-a-holics meeting?" John asked, incredulous.
"Only the once," Rodney said primly. "I ended up sleeping with Marianne in the public restroom during the break, so they kicked me out."
"You need serious help," John snapped. "Heightmeyer's got her hands full with you."
"Oh, please, like you can talk—you're sex on legs, Major, puddle-jumpers turn you on."
John frowned. "Puddle-jumpers do not turn me on."
"You practically start glowing whenever you fly," Rodney said. "It's almost embarrassing, really, to watch. Hot, too, though." He paused, and then his eyes lit up. "Hey, you know what? We should go flying."
FCOL---
John pinched the bridge of his nose as he walked towards Rodney. He swatted away the man's hands as they reached for his hair again, placing a hand on Rodney's chest. Walking him backwards towards the door he mentally thought them opened and with a shove propelled Rodney out into the hallway. "Goodbye, McKay."
"Major, wait I--" Whatever Rodney was going to say was abruptly cut off by John's doors sliding closed. He locked them and walked slowly back towards his bed, stripping out of his BDUs as he went. When he finally slid between the sheets he sighed, hoping for the second time that night that things would be better in the morning.
-----
John stumbled from his bed in the morning, head pounding as he walked towards the bathroom, eyes barely opened. The previous night was a confusing blur, images of Rodney kissing him, showing up in his quarters and a rather disturbing conversation about sex-a-holics. Shaking his head he reached the sink, splashing cold water on his face, glancing blearily into the mirror before reaching for his toothbrush.
Quickly setting about brushing away the taste of vodka from his mouth, John paused, toothbrush hanging limp from his opened mouth as he stared into the mirror. Raising a tentative hand he touched the blonde spikes staring back at him, toothbrush slipping from his mouth as he chanted, "Oh god, no no no..." Practically lunging for the shower John scrubbed furiously at his hair, willing the blonde out, promising whatever god was listening that he'd be good from now on, no more thoughts about mutiny against Weir, no more staring at McKay's nipples, no more thinking about shoving Kavanagh into a forming wormhole if only the blonde was gone by the time he got out of the shower.
When he stepped from the shower to find himself still very much a blonde he swore silently. As he walked back into his room he contemplated staying there until the color grew out but didn't think Weir would go for it. When he couldn't find a hat anywhere, remembering he'd left Ford's in Rodney's room the night before, he mentally braced himself as he styled his hair. Maybe no one would notice the color if he added a little more gel than normal.
He walked through the halls, never meeting anyone's eye as they all gaped at him like fish gasping for air. Slipping into Carson's office he shut the door before turning towards the doctor—"Please tell me you've found out what they used and that you have something that will counteract it."
Carson smirked, steepling his fingers as he looked at the frantic man before him, "You better sit down, Major."
"Well that doesn't sound encouraging," John grumbled as he sank into the seat in front of Carson's desk.
"I've run tests on the chemical we found in the sample of hair we took from you." Carson spoke, trying not to laugh as John's hand absently sought the place where Carson had taken his sample.
John nodded, waiting for Carson to continue. When he didn't John leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. "Give it to me straight, Doc."
"I'm sorry, Major, but it appears the chemical is quite similar to the chemicals used on earth—I'm afraid you're just going to have to wait for it to grow out."
"But that will take months!" John jumped from his seat pacing the room. "I can't wait that long—"
"I'm sure the time will fly by," Carson interrupted. "Besides, you may even grow to like it."
John spun on his heel glaring at the doctor. "How the hell am I supposed to deal with Rodney!"
"Rodney?" Carson looked confused. "What does he have to do with this?"
"Aside from being the one responsible for me being a blonde! He's acting crazy!"
"Crazy?"
"More so than usual!" John folded his arms and began pacing again. "This is bad, really, really bad."
"I'm afraid I don't understand, Major."
"Rodney's a sex-a-holic!"
"Uh—" Carson wasn't exactly sure how he was supposed to respond, so settled for a raised eyebrow.
John just waved a hand dismissively as he headed towards the door mumbling, "Maybe I can make some dye."
So caught up in his thoughts John didn't notice Rodney until the man was practically attached to his hip. "Major, I've been looking everywhere for you."
"You found me," John answered wearily.
"I was wondering if you wanted to grab some lunch." He was bouncing on the balls of his feet again and John mentally slapped himself for thinking it was cute.
"Yeah I guess."
"Great!"
Rodney's hands reached for his hair and John grabbed his wrist. "On one condition."
"Anything."
"Stop touching the hair!"
Rodney actually pouted but lowered his hand, falling in step with John as he headed towards the mess. "I don't know why you're so upset—"
"My hair is blonde, Rodney."
"And as I told you last night—it's hot."
"Stop it!" John took a side step away from Rodney, sighing in frustration as Rodney took a step closer.
"Stop what?"
"Stop thinking that because suddenly I fit your little kink that you're going to get into my pants!"
Rodney rolled his eyes taking a step closer to John so that their arms touched. "I'm surprised you're fighting this so adamantly, Major—"
"What's that supposed to mean?" John snapped.
"It's not like I haven't seen the way you keep staring at my nipples."
"It's not my fault they're so damned perky!" Rodney hummed happily as his hand slipped under John's jacket, fingers tickling the small of his back. "No touching!" John wiggled out of Rodney's touch, glaring at the man as he reached the mess hall doors.
Rodney followed John into the mess, grabbing a tray and randomly picking out food without really taking his eyes off John's hair. John leaned over and hissed, "Stop staring at my hair!—you're making everyone notice it!"
Layton---
"It's kind of hard to miss," Rodney deadpanned. "I mean i really /i hard to miss. Everyone's noticed."
"Shut up," John snapped, "or you can eat with someone else."
"What are you so touchy for, anyway?" Rodney asked. "You like to put on a dumb act, you should be pleased—this will do wonders for helping bring it across. You look stupider already."
"Are you this charming with everyone you're trying to sleep with, or am I just lucky?"
"I'm only like this with the blondes," Rodney told him.
John rolled his eyes and pushed past him, marching all the way to the last table, and sitting in the farthest corner he could find. Rodney slipped into the chair next to him, and slid it over until it knocked into John's. "I'll give you a candy bar if you let me touch it," Rodney said.
John glanced at him suspiciously. "We don't have any candy bars left."
"I have a stash," Rodney said, flashing a wicked grin. "Five minutes of touching and it's yours."
"Five minutes?" John said, incredulous. "That's just creepy, Rodney, seriously. I'm not going to prostitute my hair for candy."
"It's Hershey's," Rodney said, wiggling his eyebrows.
"I don't care if it's Godiva," John snapped. "It's not happening." Rodney sat back with a pout, looking thoughtful, and John rolled his eyes again. "Stop trying to think of things to bribe me with."
"I'm not," Rodney protested. "But if I was…what would it take?"
"For the love of—" John cut himself off and turned to face him. "Why don't you go dye your own hair blonde?"
"What would—" Rodney glared at him. "Oh. I get it. Yes, very funny. You're implying I should—"
"Go screw yourself," John snapped. "Just so we understand each other."
"You're being rather rude," Rodney said. "I've been nothing but a gentleman about this."
"You tried to get me drunk so I would have sex with you," John hissed.
"Yes, well, a lapse in judgment to be sure," Rodney said. "I should have tried taking you out in the puddle-jumper first, obviously."
"Do you honestly believe I'm going to sleep with someone who only likes my hair?" John snapped.
Rodney's eyes widened. "I assumed that was how you got all your dates."
John got up, grabbing his half eaten tray. "Rodney," he said. "I think we should see other people—don't call me, I'll call you."
Rodney, as usual unable to take a hint, quickly followed him. "Are you actually upset about this?" he asked, disbelievingly. "I thought at the worst you'd simply be flattered."
"Just leave me the hell alone," John snapped as he stalked out into the hall. "I'm sure there's a little blonde scientist somewhere around here that would be flattered as hell—go find them."
"Major—" Rodney started, but John spun around, backing him up against the wall.
"I'm used to people coming after me for my looks, Rodney," John snapped. "I deal with it. I just expect better of you than wanting to put our entire friendship at risk over some stupid alien hair dye, so you'll excuse me if I don't fall all over myself trying to hop into bed with you."
John stalked away again, and Rodney stayed where he was, leaning against the wall—his eyes wide. "It's not i just /i the hair dye," Rodney called after him, a little desperately, but he was already gone.
Rodney stayed there for a moment before shaking his head clear and starting off for his lab with renewed determination. "Zelenka," he said as he flew through the doors, and over to his desk. "I need your help. Drop everything."
Zelenka ran to his side. "What is it? What's happened?"
Rodney looked over at him. "I need you to help me make some hair dye."
FCOL---
Rodney stood outside John's quarters, nervously pacing back and forth as he rehearsed what he would say to the man. When the doors opened to reveal Sheppard standing there, arms folded over his chest and glaring, Rodney smiled and held out the jar he had in his hands. "A peace offering."
John glanced at the jar, eyes narrowing in suspicion. "What is it?"
"Proof that I'm not after you for the color of your hair." When John still hadn't reached for the jar Rodney huffed impatiently and pushed passed him into John's quarters. "I had Zelenka help me, I'm not sure if we managed to get an exact match but it should be close enough that you won't notice much of a difference."
"McKay," John waved his hand in a 'get on with it' way and Rodney nodded.
"It's hair dye."
John's eyes widened. "Really?" He stepped towards Rodney, reverently taking the jar from his hands.
"We tested it on the hair Carson took from you yesterday. It came pretty close to what we thought was your natural color and it didn't—you know, hurt the hair or anything so we figure it should work."
"What do I do?"
"You should probably let me—" At John's incredulous look Rodney rolled his eyes. "I'm not going to try and get in your pants—promise."
John placed the jar on the table, "Why are you doing this?"
"I told you—"
"To prove you're not after me for the color of my hair—you said that yes, but—"
"But what?"
"You never mentioned being interested in me before—"
"Oh please, what was I supposed to say? Hey, Major, I think you're hot, wanna have sex?"
"Isn't that what you said to me last night?" John raised an eyebrow, fighting the smirk tugging at his lips.
"That's beside the point."
"Beside the point?"
"I claim temporary insanity—" Rodney replied as he began to pace.
"So you didn't mean—"
"Oh no, I meant it—all of it—I just mean I'd never have propositioned you...the blonde made me—" He waved his hand absently, trying to find the right words.
"Temporarily insane?"
"Exactly." He pointed towards John, nodding as he resumed his pacing.
"You know, you're really not winning me over here."
"Look can we just get on to the dying? Cause I'd kind of like to leave with what's left of my dignity and our friendship," Rodney pleaded.
"So what you're saying is you don't want to have sex with me now—so it really is all about the hair."
"Don't be ridiculous! I'd sleep with you in a heartbeat," Rodney snapped impatiently.
"Even if I didn't have blonde hair?"
"Have you not been listening to me at all? Didn't I say I wanted to sleep with you before your hair was blonde?"
"Just checking." John grinned as he stepped towards Rodney, snagging the collar of his shirt and dragging him into a quick kiss. Rodney stood speechless, mouth opened, eyes wide. John chuckled, shaking his head. "You mean all I had to do to shut you up was kiss you? If I'd have known that I would have done it months ago." Not waiting for Rodney's response, John leaned in and kissed him again, grinning against Rodney's mouth as his hands wrapped around John's waist.
When they broke apart for much needed air Rodney blinked, staring at John. "What are you doing?"
"I thought that was kind of obvious." John smirked.
"Uh—what about—" Rodney's eyes flicked up towards John's hair.
"I suppose it wouldn't hurt to be blonde for a few more hours—after all, I hear they do have more fun."
Rodney's eyes lit up and he hummed happily before pulling John into another kiss as he backed them towards the bed. "Oh believe me," he murmured against John's mouth, "you have no idea."
The End