SGA Fic - Hot Cross Buns - Bakery AU
Jun. 20th, 2007 09:45 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
annundrielThis came about because I was trying to distract ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
olivelavonne from her day-before-a-new-job jitters. What started as simply imagining John and Rodney in a Costco environment turned into imagining John in an apron and then John baking. Which has sort of become my new favorite image. Then ginnith got involved and I couldn't not write something. So comment fic. In which John owns a bakery. The whole conversation is here.
The newly added title makes me giggle.
Hot Cross Buns
One day, about a month after Rodney starts stopping at the bakery on a daily basis, he finds himself with a free afternoon. Instead of going straight to his apartment where he can kick off his shoes and begin taking apart Kavanagh’s latest attempt at science, he stops in at John’s bakery.
He’s only ever seen John in the mornings and evenings, coming at the beginning and ending of his official work day. The bell above the door jingles just as it always does when Rodney enters, but his heart beats a little faster for a moment when John looks up and his mouth curves into a smile of happy surprise.
“Hey Rodney,” he says as he helps an older woman Rodney vaguely recognizes as living in his building. “You’re here early. Did they use your genius brain up already?”
Rodney can’t help but snort. “Like that will happen any time soon.”
“Oh?”
“Not that you could ever comprehend the sheer magnitude of my genius.”
John rings the woman up, tells her he’ll see her tomorrow, and doesn’t look at Rodney again until the bell jingles after her. When he does, his eyes are intense, pinning Rodney where he stands as John comes around the counter. Soon Rodney might as well be physically pinned as John backs him against the glass display case. Rodney can’t help but think the reaction’s a little intense given that this time he only implied that John was less intelligent that he is, but he also can’t help the way his blood flows a little hotter, the way his breath comes a little faster as John leans in.
“I’ve told you this before, Rodney,” John says, voice low and intimate in the semi-public setting. “It’s all chemistry.”
Rodney gulps and says the stupidest thing that comes to mind. “Well, then I guess it can’t be that difficult.”
Which is how he ends up elbows deep in bread dough at three o’clock in the morning. He hates to admit it, but he’d kind of like to sit and cry in defeat. John finished hours ago, dough perfect. Rodney’s is unfortunately lumpy and refusing to do anything in his usually competent hands. It’s hot in the kitchen and even though the backdoor is propped open, the breeze coming through barely cools anything off, instead bringing in the heat of the day that’s been trapped by the asphalt.
Rodney’s pounding at the dough some, just to have a break from the kneading and relieve some of his tension, when John clears his throat. Rodney looks up to find John leaning in the doorway between the kitchen and the front of the store, arms folded across his chest, looking a lot amused and, thankfully, only a little smug. The blue short sleeve shirt he’s wearing has been unbuttoned, revealing a white T-shirt underneath that fits snugly to his chest. Rodney swears the temperature ratchets up another few degrees.
“Um,” he says, feeling himself blushing. “I can’t quite seem to make this work.”
John smirks at him. “Are you admitting defeat?”
Rodney sighs and rolls his eyes. “Yes. I admit that my genius brain cannot beat your genius brain when it comes to carbohydrates.”
The smirk shifts into a grin. “Good,” John says, moving across the room to stand behind him. “As long as we’re clear on that.”
Rodney moves to turn around, but John lays both hands on his shoulders and keeps him still. “Wait,” he says. “Let me show you how it’s done.” His hands slide down Rodney’s arms, firm and warm where skin meets skin. Despite the heat inside and out, Rodney shivers. “You have to have finesse,” John says, his voice gone quiet against Rodney’s ear, his chest pressed close against his back as he guides Rodney’s hands in the dough, pressing and pulling until the lumps are gone and the dough is perfect on the counter.
John’s slow to pull away, so he’s still close when Rodney turns around and meets his eyes. They’re slightly glazed and a little wild, his breath coming as fast as Rodney’s is. They stare at each other for a moment, still and silent except for their breathing.
Then suddenly it’s like someone has flipped a switch and they’re wrapped around each other. Rodney knows he’s getting flour in John’s hair and he’s pretty sure John’s getting flour in his, but he absolutely does not care about flour and salt and yeast and dough anymore because he’s got John hot and desperate in his arms.
He has time to think that he doesn’t need to be a food genius when he’s already got a hot food genius that seems perfectly willing to cater to him. Willing and eager. And then his brain switches off because John’s hands are sneaking under the hem of his shirt, teasing the waist of his pants.
In the morning, Rodney doesn’t stop by the bakery on his way to work. Instead, he calls work and tells the department secretary he won’t be in until his office hours later. John makes them both breakfast in bed. Freshly baked bread is involved.
olivelavonne from her day-before-a-new-job jitters. What started as simply imagining John and Rodney in a Costco environment turned into imagining John in an apron and then John baking. Which has sort of become my new favorite image. Then ginnith got involved and I couldn't not write something. So comment fic. In which John owns a bakery. The whole conversation is here.The newly added title makes me giggle.
Hot Cross Buns
One day, about a month after Rodney starts stopping at the bakery on a daily basis, he finds himself with a free afternoon. Instead of going straight to his apartment where he can kick off his shoes and begin taking apart Kavanagh’s latest attempt at science, he stops in at John’s bakery.
He’s only ever seen John in the mornings and evenings, coming at the beginning and ending of his official work day. The bell above the door jingles just as it always does when Rodney enters, but his heart beats a little faster for a moment when John looks up and his mouth curves into a smile of happy surprise.
“Hey Rodney,” he says as he helps an older woman Rodney vaguely recognizes as living in his building. “You’re here early. Did they use your genius brain up already?”
Rodney can’t help but snort. “Like that will happen any time soon.”
“Oh?”
“Not that you could ever comprehend the sheer magnitude of my genius.”
John rings the woman up, tells her he’ll see her tomorrow, and doesn’t look at Rodney again until the bell jingles after her. When he does, his eyes are intense, pinning Rodney where he stands as John comes around the counter. Soon Rodney might as well be physically pinned as John backs him against the glass display case. Rodney can’t help but think the reaction’s a little intense given that this time he only implied that John was less intelligent that he is, but he also can’t help the way his blood flows a little hotter, the way his breath comes a little faster as John leans in.
“I’ve told you this before, Rodney,” John says, voice low and intimate in the semi-public setting. “It’s all chemistry.”
Rodney gulps and says the stupidest thing that comes to mind. “Well, then I guess it can’t be that difficult.”
Which is how he ends up elbows deep in bread dough at three o’clock in the morning. He hates to admit it, but he’d kind of like to sit and cry in defeat. John finished hours ago, dough perfect. Rodney’s is unfortunately lumpy and refusing to do anything in his usually competent hands. It’s hot in the kitchen and even though the backdoor is propped open, the breeze coming through barely cools anything off, instead bringing in the heat of the day that’s been trapped by the asphalt.
Rodney’s pounding at the dough some, just to have a break from the kneading and relieve some of his tension, when John clears his throat. Rodney looks up to find John leaning in the doorway between the kitchen and the front of the store, arms folded across his chest, looking a lot amused and, thankfully, only a little smug. The blue short sleeve shirt he’s wearing has been unbuttoned, revealing a white T-shirt underneath that fits snugly to his chest. Rodney swears the temperature ratchets up another few degrees.
“Um,” he says, feeling himself blushing. “I can’t quite seem to make this work.”
John smirks at him. “Are you admitting defeat?”
Rodney sighs and rolls his eyes. “Yes. I admit that my genius brain cannot beat your genius brain when it comes to carbohydrates.”
The smirk shifts into a grin. “Good,” John says, moving across the room to stand behind him. “As long as we’re clear on that.”
Rodney moves to turn around, but John lays both hands on his shoulders and keeps him still. “Wait,” he says. “Let me show you how it’s done.” His hands slide down Rodney’s arms, firm and warm where skin meets skin. Despite the heat inside and out, Rodney shivers. “You have to have finesse,” John says, his voice gone quiet against Rodney’s ear, his chest pressed close against his back as he guides Rodney’s hands in the dough, pressing and pulling until the lumps are gone and the dough is perfect on the counter.
John’s slow to pull away, so he’s still close when Rodney turns around and meets his eyes. They’re slightly glazed and a little wild, his breath coming as fast as Rodney’s is. They stare at each other for a moment, still and silent except for their breathing.
Then suddenly it’s like someone has flipped a switch and they’re wrapped around each other. Rodney knows he’s getting flour in John’s hair and he’s pretty sure John’s getting flour in his, but he absolutely does not care about flour and salt and yeast and dough anymore because he’s got John hot and desperate in his arms.
He has time to think that he doesn’t need to be a food genius when he’s already got a hot food genius that seems perfectly willing to cater to him. Willing and eager. And then his brain switches off because John’s hands are sneaking under the hem of his shirt, teasing the waist of his pants.
In the morning, Rodney doesn’t stop by the bakery on his way to work. Instead, he calls work and tells the department secretary he won’t be in until his office hours later. John makes them both breakfast in bed. Freshly baked bread is involved.
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(no subject)
Date: 2007-06-21 08:05 am (UTC)So glad you liked it! It was so much fun to write. I'm torn between leaving this as is and writing more. At the very least, I think I'll probably end up writing snippets and scenes for it.
I feel like I haven't been writing much lately and I missed it, so it was nice to have this pop up.
Oh, baking. I'm really excited for the new story. And the end of Kate and Shaun. Send more!
I don't know about the motorcycle thing. I want to say no, but that's because I've read things where he gets picked up in the morning. And also because they won't let him do "extreme" things where he might get hurt, but I'm not sure they'd count that sort of thing as especially dangerous. In other words, that's my wordy way of repeating that I don't know. Why?
(no subject)
Date: 2007-06-21 02:34 pm (UTC)As for the J-Flan question... when we went to the studio, we parked across the street at the Accent Inn so we could take pictures and I walked up to the main entrance (which was Admin, I think) and asked the security guard if they ever have tours. As I was walking up to him, some guy on a motorcycle was leaving, but parked on the opposite side of the security booth and was just staring at me (and assumably my Save Carson t-shirt). He had Shep's eyes. So I was just curious.