peep
by Pares

While Rodney had publicly professed that he preferred the traditional yellow, John noted that his fingertips were covered in crunchy pink crystals.

"How many of those are you gonna scarf down, Rodney?"

There's literally a wall of Peeps stacked against the foot of Rodney's bed, and the guy's cheeks are bulging with pastel Easter treats.

Rodney makes some huffy, dismissive noise through his mouthful of sugar that John interprets as, "As many as I want." and also, "Get your own, Colonel Snack-Attack."

John just stares at him until Rodney relents, rolling his eyes, and tosses over two crinkly cellophane boxes of pink chicks.

Ripping them open, John chooses a likely candidate and crosses to the little bar built into the wall that Rodney uses as a little kitchenette, shelving his coffee maker and his microwave in the vague indentations.

He hears Rodney swallow noisily behind him and scoff. "I'm fresh out of Graham crackers, Colonel. You'll have to raid Ronon's stocks if you want S'mores."

Ronon has a love of Graham crackers that borders on obsession; he has, John knows, bricked the space under his bed and most of his closet with boxes of Honey Maid.

"Just come here, will ya?" He pops a Peep in the microwave and stamps a finger on the Start button.

"What are you doing?" Rodney demands. "I didn't give you two boxes of my private stock just so you could--" He trails away as the Peep mutates and ripples and swells to monstrous, bloated proportions behind the microwave's clear plexiglass door, writhing like it is horribly, painfully alive. John grins at Rodney who goggles back at him.

"Are they still edible?"

"Sure," John shrugs. "Just really sticky."

When Rodney opens the microwave door, the Peep shrinks and devolves into a puffy little hill of spun sugar. After a judicious period, Rodney prods it with his thumb, licking at the goo thoughtfully.

"Huh."

John smirks at him, filled with several brands of base satisfaction.

"We should put two in this time," Rodney decides.

John agrees.

END

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