[Flight of the Phoenix, 2 drabbles, Rodney/Davis]

y helo thar! I'm Jyuu, your new organizational mod. I've finished tagging all the entries up to current, so I'm letting myself post something before I get into organizing the memories hahahaha, I will never sleep AGAIN.

Everyone here is so awesome, btw. I love all the varied fandoms I saw while tagging and am glad to have been pointed in the direction of this comm.

Two small pieces, reposted to here from my personal journal.

Fandom: Flight of the Phoenix
Pairing: Rodney/John Davis
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 215
Note: Written at 3am for wrenlet in a comment on winterlive's journal. So random, omg. No spoilers. Idaho = where he and his mama moved after papa died. Yis.

Mongolia was nearly as far as you could get from anywhere, except for China, and that only counted insofar as you could get beer there, cheap, even if it was practically water. On the steppes you had airag, fermented mare's milk you traded for with the herders, and Rodney was shrewd enough to keep them happy; a pack of cigarettes for a couple jugs of the stuff, enough to get you drunk.

When John first tried it, he'd nearly choked, coughing so hard Rodney'd had to sit him down, getting his head down between his knees and beating at the thin back 'til he could breathe proper. Red-faced and panting, John had looked up and grinned so wide Rodney couldn't not do it back.

Barely twenty-two and the kid was out in the middle of nowhere, sending money home to mom in Idaho while he got a feel for the world. Rodney liked him enough to get completely shit-faced alongside him, and, later, when the sour tang of the liquor had settled against the back of his throat and John's mouth worked at his cock like it was something he'd been searching for all his life, he thought that Mongolia could be on the fucking moon for all he cared about the rest of the world.

Fandom: Flight of the Phoenix
Pairing: Rodney/John Davis
Rating: R
Word Count: 100
Note: For wrenlet [prompt] because she encourages me to write more of them, even if it's just a little at a time.

He knows it's not long now; there's no oil, no money, no reason to stay except the one that only matters to them. They don't talk about it, and Rodney almost thinks they should when John clenches his jaw and won't meet his eyes.

Then John smooths his hands down Rodney's back and pulls him deeper, groaning, and Rodney decides later, later-- And when they're curled together in tangled sheets, warm despite the Basin winds that batter at the window, and John's head rests heavy against the curve of his shoulder, the future seems too far away to risk all this.