Sniffles: Sanctuary, Helen / or & Tesla, After suddenly being de-vamped after over a century of being a vampire, Tesla has to deal with common human maladies again, such as the common cold.
"Oh, stop laughing, Helen; it's really unbecoming," Nikola snaps. Or tries to, at least; it comes out sounding like he's speaking through a hollow tube, and the vowels slide into the consonants, messy and unpredictable.
"Oh, Nikola," she replies with a smile that might be considered indulgent. "You've gone and caught a cold."
"I didn't mean to," he tells her, and it sounds petulant even to his stuffed-up ears. "This is perfectly horrid, Helen. My entire head feels like it's floating, and not," he emphasizes with a finger levelled in her direction, "not in that fun sort of way."
"It's just a cold," Helen says, and she's fully laughing at him now, eyes sparkling, lips drawn wide and happy. "Have you taken anything?"
Nikola snorts. "Please. Your little protégés all gave me something different for what ails me. Advil, Tylenol, Sudafed - no, I haven't taken any of it, not a single brightly-colored tablet."
"I'll make you some tea," Helen says kindly, slipping back out the door, and when she brings it back and he takes a sip, Nikola thinks that this might be the best medicine of all, hot tea and friendship.
Choice: John Winchester gen
It isn’t easy, this life that John has chosen. It’s not easy for him, and it isn’t easy for his boys.
He feels badly about that, on and off; it comes to him more when the kids are sleeping, Sammy burrowed into Dean’s side, clutching at each other with fingers that should be too small to wield weapons. He minds it less when Dean manages to shoot a ghoul that trapped John in a compromising position. It goes back and forth, his feelings about dragging his kids into this.
He always, always wishes that it had been a choice, though.
Egg Hunt: Hawaii Five-0, Steve/Danny + Grace + any, this whole Easter egg hunt thing is kind of foreign to Steve, but he puts in a good effort anyway
The thing is, Danny's learned to not be surprised at the things that Steve hasn't experienced in his life. At first, he'd been incredulous, had ridiculed him a little bit about it; back then, at the start of their friendship, he hadn't yet known how to read Steve, how to interpret the tightening of the skin around his eyes, the too-wide smile, the too-ready laugh. Now, though, he knows better, so when he mentions setting up an Easter egg hunt for Grace in the backyard and Steve quietly admits that he's never done one, well. Danny smiles at him as gently as he can manage and tells him that's about to change.
Steve does actual, honest-to-God research on egg hunts. He finds lists of things to stuff in plastic eggs - stickers, candies, toys, coins - and Danny vetoes half of it, too much sugar, or Grace being too old to be amused by rubber bouncy balls. Steve goes back to the computer with a frown, and that's where Danny finds him two hours later. He walks in just as Steve fishes a few papers from the printer and stands.
"What's up, babe?" Danny asks, moving to glance at the papers. "We got a new case?"
"No," Steve replies, tilting the papers so Danny can't see them. "Easter stuff."
"Easter - Steve, what's on the papers?"
There's a sort of tug-of-war in the office, mostly involving glares and eyebrows inching higher and higher, before Steve frowns and hands the papers over. Danny glances through them quickly and looks back at Steve. "This is poetry, Steven, cryptic Easter-themed poetry about your house, what the hell is this?"
"They're clues," Steve huffs, snatching the papers back from Danny. There's color high in his cheeks like there almost never is, like he's actually embarrassed, like he thought he was doing the right thing and just found out he got it both upside-down and backwards. "I thought - Grace is smart, okay, and that egg hunt thing, it's kind of for little kids. So I-" and now his voice drops low, and he mumbles the last few words.
"You what?" Danny asks, but his voice is gentler now, because he has a good idea of where this is going, and dear sweet mother of mercy, how did he end up with this giant goof, this absolutely adorable marshmallow of a man?
"I made her a scavenger hunt," Steve finishes, cheeks definitely red as he meets Danny's eyes. "I thought we could cut the clues apart, stick them in eggs, and then hide them in the places the clues lead to. She finds an egg, figures out the clue, finds the next one." He shrugs. "At the end, we give her an Easter basket with a couple of nicer things in it, take the money we would have spent on crappy toys and candy and put it towards something that's going to last a little longer."
Danny has a moment where he thinks, sort of hazily, that Steve's the only one who can render him speechless with both rage and this, this absolute overflowing of emotion, where he doesn't open his mouth for fear of what he'll say. Finally, he plucks the papers from Steve's hand and drags him down for a kiss.
"Sounds perfect, babe," he says as Steve smiles at him almost shyly, and he hopes that Steve can pluck all the meaning from those two words that he's trying to put there. "She's going to love it."
Cartoons and Pizza: Hawaii 5-0, Grace + Steve, sometimes she melts his heart
Steve will be the first to tell you he doesn't have a lot of experience with kids. His parents were both only children, so he hadn't had any cousins growing up; going from there straight into the military had pretty much ensured that he wouldn't have any exposure to other people's kids, either.
Danny knows this. Danny's experienced this, right at the beginning of their partnership, with the kid in the elevator - he's seen it firsthand, that Steve just has no idea of what to do with kids. That's why it's such a surprise when he shows up with Grace early one Saturday, plops her in front of the television with a bagel and a juice box, and drags Steve into the kitchen.
"Look," he says softly. "It's just a few hours - I have to go do this thing, that thing, you know, with the Lua case, the judge-"
"Yeah," Steve says stiffly. The case will get thrown out if Danny doesn't do some creative thinking, reword a few reports to cover some of Steve's unique brand of interrogation techniques. "Kono can't-"
"Surfing. Can't get in touch with her."
"-is with Malia. Look, if I drop her back at Rachel's, she won't let me take her back when I finish. Two hours, Steve, three tops. She'll watch cartoons the whole time if you let her. It won't be a problem, just, please-"
"Yeah," Steve sighs. "Sure, fine, okay."
Danny's face relaxes, and he doesn't quite smile, but a lot of the tension drains from his frame. "Thank you," he says quietly, before heading out to talk to Grace. Steve hears him murmur something, hears her respond brightly, and then the front door is shutting, and there's an eight-year-old on his couch and Steve is completely out of his depth.
"Steve," Grace calls after fifteen minutes or so in which Steve hasn't moves a muscle from his spot in the kitchen. "Wanna watch Spongebob with me?"
"Spongebob," Steve says back, making himself move towards the den. "Um. Sure, Grace, sounds good."
Grace giggles as he sits on the couch, watching a brightly-colored sponge chase a starfish wearing pants across the screen. She glances at him when he doesn't laugh as well, and he can see the frown cross her face. "You don't like Spongebob?"
"Um," Steve says, trying to think of a way to tell her that he has no idea what he thinks about Spongebob because he's never actually seen it before, when Grace smiles at him. She moves closer, squishing her tiny body against his side and grabbing his arm.
"That's Spongebob," she explains, and that's the one thing Steve's figured out about this show, but she keeps going. "That's his best friend Patrick. He has a pet snail named Gary, too, and he lives in a pineapple under the sea..."
As it turns out, there's some sort of Spongebob marathon on the cartoon channel, so an two and a half hours later, Steve's got the hang of it and is laughing along with Grace when Spongebob and Patrick visit Sandy and have to wear water-filled fishbowls on their heads. The episode winds down just as Steve's phone rings, and Grace shifts away from him automatically as he flips the phone open. "McGarrett."
"Yeah, hey, look, there's this thing with the grenade launcher," Danny says without preamble. "The governor wants me to do an itemized-"
"It's fine," Steve cuts him off. "We're watching Spongebob."
There's absolute silence for about five seconds before Danny speaks. "You're watching Spongebob with my daughter?"
"They have to wear fishbowls on their heads when they visit Sandy," Steve informs him solemnly. Grace giggles beside him.
There's more silence, and then Danny says, "Put her on."
Steve hands the phone to Grace, who takes it and leans back into Steve's side, curling her feet under her. Steve hesitates a little awkwardly before draping his arm down along her side, but Grace rewards him with a beaming smile as she listens to whatever Danny's telling her.
"Love you, Danno," she chirps after a minute, and then she hands the phone back to Steve.
"She'll eat just about anything for lunch," Danny says when he puts the phone back to his ear. "You've got bread, I've seen it, and she'll eat peanut butter or cheese or whatever, tomatoes and lettuce, that's good, she likes sandwiches."
"Lunch," Steve says. "Check."
"Right," Fanny replies, and then he hangs up, just like that.
Steve tosses his cell onto the end table and looks down at Grace, who is now curled entirely into his side, looking back up at him with wide brown eyes. "Danno says I should feed you," he informs her, and she giggles. "What are you hungry for?"
"Whatever you have," she says promptly, like that's what Danny told her to say, and Steve almost rolls his eyes.
"Hmm," he says, pretending to think. "I think I have some fried zebra lips. How's that sound?"
"Ewwwwwww!" Grace laughs.
"That's not food!" Grace is giggling helplessly, shaking in his lap, and Steve's a little surprised to find that he's smiling right back at her. "What do you have that's real food, Steve?"
"Not much," he admits, and that's the truth. Saturday's when he usually goes to the food store. "Let's go out for lunch. How's that sound?"
Grace's eyes light up. "Can we go to Auntie Pasto's?" She drops her eyes. "Mommy doesn't like to eat at pizza places, and Danno always gets pizza from the place on the corner near his apartment, but I went there with Kaiei once and I really liked it."
"Auntie Pasto's it is," Steve says, and Grace squeals and throws her arms around his waist and squeezes and squeezes, and Steve's hugging her right back, and this is maybe the best Saturday he's had in a long time.
Gifts: Steve/Danny + Grace, Danny's heart grows three sizes watching Grace give Steve the birthday present she carefully picked out herself
Here's the thing, okay, the thing is that that somewhere along the way, at some point in her life, Grace has gotten this idea in her head that all grown men want ties for important occasions - birthdays, Christmas, what have you, she thinks ties are the appropriate gift for any male over the age of fifteen. Danny's never had a problem with this, nor had his father, nor his brother - hell, even Step-Stan appreciates ties, and so Grace is set in her ways.
And then she finds out that Steve's birthday is coming up and, well, Danny doesn't know how to break it to her.
She actually picks out a nice one - a medium sort of green with slightly lighter pinstripes, nice feel, good weight to it, one that Danny wouldn't mind wearing himself - and Danny buys it and a box and supervises as Grace folds it carefully and wraps it, too much tape and paper, and writes Steve's name on a tag. She puts way too much ribbon on the package, sticking it aimlessly on the box and curling it with the edge of the scissor blade, and the result is kind of hilarious, in a way that makes Danny insanely proud of this monstrosity that his little girl has created.
"Do you think he's going to like it?" Grace asks quietly as she reaches up to ring Steve's doorbell.
Danny prays that Steve's game face is in place, because yeah, no. Steve's not going to like it. "He's going to love it, baby. You picked out a really nice one."
Grace smiles as Steve opens the door, and she launches herself at him, flinging her arms around his waist. "Happy birthday," she yells into his stomach, and Steve's arms wrap around her automatically, a surprised smile breaking over his face.
"Thanks, Gracie," he says when Grace removes herself from his middle. She waves the beribboned box at him, and he takes it with a glance at Danny, who hopes his face is somewhere between 'happy birthday' and 'pretend you like it, asshole, I will kill you if you make my baby sad.'
Steve takes Grace's hand and walks them inside to the couch. Grace plops down right next to him, watching anxiously as Steve removes every last bit of ribbon. Danny watches as he looks at the jumbled mess in his lap. He carefully picks the tape out of it and brings it up to wrap around Grace's ponytail, smiling as she giggles and shakes her head, watching the ribbons fly around.
"Open it," she urges, and all her nervousness from before is gone. Danny's is ramped up, though, as Steve slides his thumb beneath the tape and pulls the box from the paper. He takes the top of the box off and smiles at Grace, smiles like he means it, as he pulls the tie from the box.
"Wow, Grace, this is a really nice tie," he says, holding it up and inspecting it closely. "I like the color a lot."
"It matches your eyes," Grace says, a little shyly, and hey, look at that, it sort of does. Steve's smile gets s little wider, and he loops the tie around his neck right there on the couch, right over his tee shirt, knotting it quickly. It looks ridiculous, nice green tie against a white shirt that clearly came out of a three-pack, but Grace is smiling and Steve is smiling and Danny, Danny's smiling so hard his entire face hurts, watching the two people he loves most in the world smile at each other on the couch.
Fitting: Steve/Danny, Steve watches as Danny gets measured for a suit fitting and can't help himself after.
"What the fuck are you-" Danny clamps his mouth shut and regains his footing, which isn't easy with six-foot-something of handsy SEAL pressing into your back and forcing you to take an unannounced detour into a bathroom. "Care to explain?"
"You're just," Steve says right into Danny's ear, which doesn't clear anything up at all, but then he leans in a little further and flicks his tongue against Danny's neck, and Danny decides that maybe full explanations are overrated.
"You get turned on by the weirdest things," Danny complains, but he's already turning around to get his hands on Steve, already tugging Steve's mouth towards his own.
"Pulling that fabric tight," Steve says against Danny's lips. "Hands all over you-"
"Tell me this is your way of, what, staking your claim or something," Danny says, pulling his head back so Steve can appreciate the full effect of Danny narrowing his eyes. "Are you - is this jealousy, Steven? Is that what I'm witnessing here?"
"No," Steve replies immediately, but the tips of his ears are turning red. Danny grins.
"Carry on, then," he says, slipping his hands under Steve's tee shirt and pulling him back in.
Bruises: Steve/Danny, a paintball excursion turns into kissing the bruises better
"I'm just saying," Danny complains as he peels off his paint-splattered - well, everything, to be honest. "It wasn't necessary to shoot me three times. I would have gone down after one, McGarrett. I know the rules of paintball."
"I had to be sure," Steve says seriously, but Danny can read the smirk in the lines of his face anyway, the bastard. "One shot is just sloppy, and two isn't enough to be certain."
"Three is showing off," Danny informs him, wincing as he bends his shoulders to drop the vest to the floor. "Three is overkill, Steve. I feel like they invented that term just for you."
"Three is making sure," Steve insists, a frown appearing on his face. "I'd rather use an extra bullet and make sure my guy stays down than risk-"
"Whoa, whoa," Danny replies, lifting his hands in a calming gesture. "In the field, you go ahead, buddy. Shoot them full of holes if it makes you feel better. I, however," and here he gestures to himself, "am not the enemy." He can't help wincing again as he drops his arms to his sides.
"Hey, are you okay?" Danny raises his head and meets Steve's eyes. He's still frowning, but it's more Bad Things Happened On My Watch face than Why Are You Yelling face.
"It's nothing," Danny says quickly, because admitting that the bruises on his torso are actually pretty painful is not a conversation he'd enjoy. "I'll take some Tylenol and forget about it."
"No," Steve insists, closing the distance between them and slowly peeling Danny's shirt up. He pulls in a quick breath when he gets the shirt under Danny's arms, and Danny glances down and grimaces. It's even worse than he'd thought - Steve had gotten him pretty good, and he'd hit a rock on his way down. This, he thinks as he ruefully surveys the purple spreading over his torso, is what he gets for letting himself be backed into a cave.
"Danny," Steve says quietly, hovering his fingertips over Danny's bruised skin. Steve stares at the mark for a few moments.
"Hey," Danny interrupts softly a minute later. "It's fine, babe. Like I said, a few Tylenol and I'll be good as new."
"Sure," Steve nods, but he doesn't sound like he believes it, and he doesn't stop looking until Danny manages to get a clean shirt on.
By the time they make it home a few hours later, Danny hurts everywhere. The bruise has spread and darkened, and it's now an ugly mottled thing that seems to take up far more than its fair share of Danny's torso. He takes a slightly agonizing shower and manages to climb into a loose pair of sweatpants before crawling into bed, but the idea of putting a shirt on makes him want to grit his teeth, so he skips it.
"Hey," Steve says as he makes his way into the bedroom. He stops as he catches sight of Danny's chest again. "Jesus, Danny. Are you sure-"
"I could use some more Tylenol," Danny interrupts, rather than hearing Steve ask him if he feels okay for the thousandth time in the past few hours. He knows the drill: analgesics, water, and sleep will be the most helpful right now.
"I'm sorry," Steve says when he hands the pills over with a glass of water.
Danny frowns. "For getting my Tylenol? That's not really an appropriate response, babe."
"For-" Steve cuts off and gestures to Danny's torso. "I shouldn't have gone so gung-ho in a training exercise. I didn't mean to hurt you."
"Don't," Danny replies tiredly. "I know you didn't mean to, and I blame getting old, not you." He pauses. "Also that rock I hit when I landed."
"Still," Steve insists, and that's I Don't Know How To Fix This face. Danny sighs and pats the bed beside him.
"Lay down and be your usual sauna self, and I'm sure the heat will help the muscles relax," he says, smiling a little as Steve sits. "What's with the face? Stop with the face. You didn't even get me shot by real bullets this time."
"I know," Steve says, but he sounds so subdued that it makes Danny's chest ache in an entirely different way.
"You want to kiss it better, too?" Danny asks, and he's joking, but Steve nods and leans down to brush the barest of kisses over Danny's chest, right at the edge of the bruise. Danny can hardly feel it, or the next kiss, slightly more to the center. Steve goes on, brushing feather-soft kisses all over the mark. It takes him a few minutes, but when he finally lays down and curls himself carefully around Danny, a lot of the tension has drained out of his frame.
"Better?" Danny asks softly, cupping the back of Steve's neck with a hand.
"Yeah," Steve says, kissing Danny's shoulder. "Is there anything I can do?"
"Sleep," Danny tells him, and they close their eyes and do just that.
Home: Steve/Danny cuddle fest
Danny had thought that getting Steve out would be the hard part.
It was plenty hard, no doubt about it, but it's nothing compared to the way Steve is when he walks through the gate, all sunken eyes and arms wrapped around himself in the car. He's quiet, so Danny fills up the silence with all the sound he can make, talking about sunshine and waves and Kamekona's new flavor of shave ice, reporting every detail he can wrack his brain to find. Steve doesn't reply, doesn't even nod, but he focuses in on Danny with every bit of concentration he has, and by the time they pull into the driveway, Steve's arms have loosened and fallen to his lap.
This is going to be the hard part, Danny realizes. Getting Steve out was one thing, but getting him back will be something else entirely.
Danny follows him into the house, asking about what Steve wants for supper, does he want to talk to Mary, does he want to go for a swim? Mostly, he's just running his mouth to fill up all the space that Steve isn't taking up, but he stops when Steve turns and grabs his arms.
"What?" Danny asks, softer now, looking up into Steve's face.
Steve studies him for a long moment before pulling him in tightly. "I missed you," he says into Danny's hair, and this, this is the first step, Danny can tell.
He wraps his arms back around Steve's waist and holds on just as tightly. "I missed you too, babe," he replies, and they stand in the entryway with the door open for a long time, holding on and on.
Hardest: Steve/Danny, drabble fest
Danny has a list of things he’s considered the hardest things he’s had to do. The first was burying his grandfather in high school; the next was leaving his girlfriend when they went to college. Explaining to his religious parents that he’d gotten Rachel pregnant without marrying her first is on there; so is watching Rachel and his baby, his world, get on that plane nine years later.
There have been bad things and worse things, things Danny thought he’d never recover from, but this? This is the worst, walking away from Steve and knowing he can never turn back.
Reunion: Steve/Danny, drabble fest
“I’m sorry,” Danny breathes into Steve’s stomach, his neck, his mouth. “God, babe, I’m so-”
“Stop,” Steve cuts in, gently, firmly. “I don’t blame you, Danny, not for any of it.”
Danny raises his head. “But I left.”
“You came back,” Steve replies evenly.
“I shouldn’t have-”
“You came back,” Steve says again, cupping Danny’s jaw in his hand. “I’m still here, and you came back to me.”
“I should never have left,” Danny mumbles, turning his face to press a kiss into Steve’s palm.
“Just don’t do it again,” Steve says.
“I won’t,” Danny vows, promise in every word.
Waiting: Steve/Danny, clock
Tick. Tick. Tick.
It’s maddening, that’s what it is, sitting in the waiting room while doctors and nurses walk by, always smiling, never giving an answer. Danny wants to scream, to work himself into a good head of steam and give them the rant of a lifetime, because that’s Steve in there, Steve who was bleeding, Steve who got shot, Steve who wouldn’t open his eyes. It’s Steve, and Danny’s heart is in his throat as he stares at the clock, counting off the seconds, the minutes since Steve fell.
Steve will be okay. He has to.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Precious: Danny/Steve, fortune cookie
“Come on, Danny, sign me out and take me home.”
“You’re not fine,” Danny grits out. “You have a hole in your side.”
“They sewed it up,” Steve says, hiding his wince as he pats the bandage. “It’ll feel better at home.”
“I see what you’re doing,” Danny says, pointing his finger at Steve, but he leaves to get the paperwork.
Later, after wonton soup and fortune cookies, after a game on TV and a shower together, they curl together in bed and Danny kisses him slowly, carefully, like Steve is something precious.
Steve knows that Danny thinks he is.
Left and Leaving: John Sheppard/Steve McGarrett, angst
It's tense - but what else could it be, with the two of them? It's almost a standoff, though, both of them standing stiffly on opposite sides of the bed, each waiting the other out.
John knows he'll win eventually. He's got years of experience.
Steve sighs a moment later and slumps down onto the bed. "I would really appreciate you thinking about not taking this posting."
"I kind of have to," John says, not for the first time. "Apparently I'm one of the only people who can, um. Do things." He wiggles his fingers, still pretty unsure of what, exactly, he does, or how he does it.
"Great," Steve says, still staring at the ceiling. "Send one of the other guys."
"It's not like we see each other that often, anyway," John points out, then winces, because that's the face Steve makes when he's shutting down, shutting off, pulling up the training that the Navy had beaten into him and hiding away. "Steve, sorry, sorry, I shouldn't have-"
"You're right," Steve says in that clipped, neutral tone that John hates. "I'll stay here and save the planet. You go on and save the galaxy or whatever it is that they want you to do."
"Steve," John tries, reaching out towards him.
"Don't expect me to wait for you," Steve adds, rising from the bed and walking around the end towards the door. He stops just after he passes where John's standing stock still, trying to figure out how to backtrack and apologize. Steve spins around and takes John's face between his hands, bringing their mouths together in something that's closer to a bite than a kiss, but it's wild, furious, and desperate around the edges.
"Good luck," Steve says as he pulls back, and John catches all the helpless broken parts of Steve before his eyes close off again, and as he makes his way out the door and down the street and out of John's life, John curses himself for being yet another person who's left Steve McGarrett.
Explanation: John/Cam, telling Dave
"Hey," John said, leaning over Cam's desk. "Are you free?"
"God, yes," Cam groaned, standing and stretching. "I don't even care what you have in mind, Sheppard, it has got to be better than reviewing mission reports."
"You say that now," John replies dryly. "Thank me later."
Cam wasn't sure how that translated to him accompanying John to his brother's house in Virginia, but he packed a bag and tossed it into the backseat of his Mustang and picked John up an hour later.
"So," Cam ventured at some point in Missouri. "Family reunion?"
"Sort of," John replied, staring out the window.
"Health problems?" he asked in Kentucky.
"Not so far," John said.
"You're going to have to tell me eventually," Cam pointed out as they crossed from West Virginia into Virginia. "Why are we going to your brother's?"
"Because I need you there for moral support," John finally said, but he wouldn't elaborate.
After four days in the car, it was nice to get out and stretch in the driveway, but John seemed determined to just walk up the path and ring the doorbell, stretching be damned. Cam sighed and followed.
"Dave," John said when the door opened. Dave looked out, clearly surprised to see them, which Cam guessed he shouldn't be so resigned to.
"John, I wasn't expecting you," he said, turning to face Cam. "And you are-"
"Look," John interrupted. "I know you mean well, but please stop asking women to get in touch with me. I'm not interested."
Dave's face changed into something along the lines of 'concerned brother.' "I want you to be happy, John."
John nodded. "I'm plenty happy."
"I want you to be happy and have someone to share that with," Dave clarified. "Look, just because things didn't work out with Nancy-"
John spun, took Cam's face in his hands, and kissed him full on the lips. Cam responded automatically, resting his hands on John's hips and leaning into it. He smiled when John pulled back and rested their foreheads together. "Subtle, Sheppard."
John snorted and turned back to his brother, who was looking anywhere but at the two of them, the tips of his ears bright red. "I am happy," he said clearly. "Can you stop giving out my email?"
"Ah," Dave said. "I suppose I can do that."
"Good," John sighed, stepping away from Cam and walking into the house. Cam and Dave stared at each other for a few seconds, until Cam shrugged and held his hand out.
"Cameron Mitchell," he said. "It's good to meet you."
"Likewise," Dave said faintly, taking his hand.
Dance For Your… Pants?: John/Cam
“So I hear you had a good time on M8D-385.”
John flushes and doesn’t roll over, choosing instead to stare at the ugly ducks on the trim around the top of Cam’s bedroom. He cam feel Cam’s grin against his shoulder, though.
“I just want a yes or no,” Cam wheedles. “I don’t need a full description. Just tell me if what I heard is true.”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” John mutters, and it takes a few seconds for him to translate the shaking of Cam’s body behind him with laughter, but he huffs and rolls out of Cam’s arms as soon as he does.
“No, hey,” Cam says, reaching for John and tugging him back in. “Don’t be embarrassed. You’re not the only one who’s had stuff like that happen offworld.”
“Yeah,” John replies, not at all placated. “I’m not the only one who’s been fed some sort of sacred meal and forced to do a ritual hula dance or whatever while wearing a skirt made out of strips of leather.”
Cam manages to hold off the laughter for a few seconds before breaking into it again. “A skirt,” he says, holding tightly to John as he chuckles. “I honestly thought that part was exaggeration.”
“Screw you,” John says smartly, struggling against Cam’s hold on his waist. Cam keeps his arm in place and nuzzles at John’s neck, grin still firmly in place.
“Hey,” Cam says lightly. “I hold the record for the number of times an SG team member has lost their pants offworld. You’re nowhere close to breaking it.”
John sighs and lets the fight drain from his body. “You do seem to have a knack for it.”
“It’s kind of my thing,” Cam agrees. “I’ve never had to dance to get them back, but I have had to sing a song in public while in my skivvies.”
“At least I got the skirt,” John says after a minute. “Nobody would have wanted to see that.”
Cam’s lips curl against his collarbone. “I wouldn’t say nobody.”
“You’re ridiculous,” John informs Cam as he starts laughing again, but John’s grinning this time too.