Rodney wakes up to bright sunlight and immediately pulls his pillow over his head to block it out. Of course, that's exactly when his alarm goes off. Luckily, it's also when the coffee maker - bless its automatic timer - starts gurgling. He takes a quick shower and finds a glorious double-strong pot of coffee waiting for him. He adds three spoons of sugar and exactly no milk to his first cup and drinks it all in one go before pouring the rest of the pot (and about half a cup of sugar) into his large insulated mug that has the Woods Hole Oceanographic Institute logo peeling off of it. The stupid sailboat one.

He pulls on a ratty pair of cargo shorts and a battered tee shirt and trudges to the door, coffee firmly in hand, where he sticks his feet into flip-flops and jams his floppy hat on his head and grabs the large satchel hanging on a peg. The house that the Institute rented for him is across the street from the beach, and Rodney trudges across the asphalt to the fine beige sand that leads to the sparkling blue Atlantic.

Thankfully, Spring Break has come and gone. During that beer bong and loud music fest Rodney'd had to get up before dawn to get his samples, and he's still frequently found copulating couples and passed-out drunks on the beach. School is back in session, and Rodney's glad of it. He kicks his shoes off at the lifeguard stand and opens up his satchel, removing several glass vials that he stows in the handy pockets of his shorts. He walks down to the tide line and starts scooping up water samples. When he's got what he needs, he goes back to the lifeguard stand and sits in its shade to carefully drip the chemicals and reagents into the vials, closing each one carefully.

"Whatcha doin'?" The sudden voice causes Rodney to fumble one of the vials, the seawater spilling onto his shorts and down his legs.

"Moron," Rodney snaps, then looks up to see the speaker. He winds up looking a long way up. A long way over tanned, hairy legs to the familiar red swim trunks that the lifeguards wear and then, even further up over a flat, toned stomach and a bronzed, hairy chest to a smirking face and very tousled hair. He also notes that the lifeguard is twirling his safety whistle by its cord, letting it wrap around one surprisingly slender wrist before flicking his hand to unwrap it again and spin it the other way. "I was working on a water sample." He hands the now-empty vial to the lifeguard. "Now go get me another one."

With a shrug, the lifeguard takes the vial and trots down the beach, giving Rodney a great view of his tight little ass. Rodney presses both hands to his eyes and swears under his breath. When the lifeguard returns with the filled vial, Rodney takes it with a terse "thanks." He opens it, then again carefully drips the appropriate reagent into the water. He then arranges the vials in a special case and tucks it into his satchel.

When he looks up, the lifeguard is still standing there, smiling at him in a disconcerting fashion. "I'm John," he says, holding out a hand.

Rodney shakes the hand and grunts when he's pulled to his feet. "Rodney McKay," he says, letting go of John's hand and brushing sand off the back of his shorts.

"So," John says. "What are you doing? I see you down here most mornings."

"Really?" Rodney says. "I don't think I've seen you before."

"I come down and surf before my shift, though the breaks here are crap." John looks out at the water like it has disappointed him in some deep and personal way.

"I'm a researcher for the Woods Hole Institute," Rodney says. "I'm doing some idiotic tests that someone much less intelligent than me could easily do to try and determine what the various algae in the water are doing."

"We're not looking at a red tide, are we?" John looks disturbed at the prospect.

"Red tide's a misnomer," Rodney says. "They have nothing to do with tides. We call them HABs - harmful algae blooms, and no, I don't think one is imminent for this area. Your surfing is safe."

John glances back at Rodney. "I was more concerned about the fish. A beach full of dead fish tends to keep the tourists away, and no tourists means no need for lifeguards and I like this job."

"Way to distill a complex environmental issue down to 'this affects me, how?'" Rodney says, deadpan, and John has the grace to blush.

"Okay, that sounded bad," he allows. "But I really do like this job - I get to surf and I'm off in time for class."

"Daytona Beach Community College?" Rodney guesses.

"Embry Riddle," John says. "MS in aeronautics."

"Sorry," Rodney grunts. "The whole surfer thing threw me off. Also the hair."

"Yeah," John says, running a hand through the tousled mop. "My ROTC commander doesn't like it either, but it just does this."

"Air Force?" Rodney asks, and John nods. Rodney tries to ignore the mental picture of John in crisp dress blues, and vows to watch much less military-themed gay porn. He shakes it off, grabs his now-empty coffee mug and hitches his bag onto his shoulder, scuffing his feet into his sandy shoes. "Well, I've got to go test these samples," he says, turning to leave.

"Good luck with that," John says, spinning the whistle again. "See you tomorrow."

[Montage wherein Rodney works in his makeshift lab (his dining room), only stopping occasionally to look out the window at the sliver of the sea that he can see through his optimistically named "ocean view."]

[Additional montage wherein John blows his whistle at some roughhousing teens, then hands the whistle off to a perky blonde girl before he leaves the beach in his ratty convertible, later showing up on the Embry Riddle campus in uniform with his hair somewhat subdued (incidentally, looking extremely hot).]

After an unsettled night where he most definitely does not watch military-themed gay porn and superimpose John's handsome, tanned face on the guy getting fucked, Rodney trudges out to the beach with his coffee and his bag, ready to repeat his daily ritual. He's slightly disappointed when John's not at the lifeguard stand. He finds him a few moments later when he goes down to the water's edge.

John is out past the first set of breakers, perched on a surfboard, expertly riding the unimpressive swells in the deep water. Rodney watches the graceful curve of John's body, the way he bends his knees to dig into the waves, popping up to skate along the edge for as long as they last, which isn't long. After a moment, John's head comes up, and he waves at Rodney before letting himself fall back into the water.

By the time the surfboard slides up the beach next to him, Rodney has all the samples he needs. John follows his board a few minutes later, shaking the water out of his hair but keeping enough distance so that Rodney doesn't get splashed.

"You looked good out there," Rodney says, nodding toward the water.

John grins and ducks his head. "Thanks. It's not exactly Diamond Head, but it's fun."

Rodney shrugs and turns to head up the beach. John tucks his board under his arm and trots after him. "Still no red tide?"

"Nope," Rodney says. "Just a small imbalance between caulerpa peltata and caulerpa scalpelliformis, but they can fight it out on their own."

They get to the lifeguard stand, and John rinses off at the showerhead installed on one side while Rodney drips chemicals into the water samples.

"If you don't mind my saying," John says while toweling himself dry. "This whole algae thing seems sort of small potatoes. I got the impression that you're some kind of smart guy."

"I'm a genius," Rodney says. "An actual genius."

John nods, as if that's what he expected to hear. "So, who'd you piss off?"

Rodney's shoulders slump. "Pretty much everybody. I'm not exactly employee of the month material."

"I don't know," John says. "I like you."

And with that, he climbs up the side of the tower, leaving Rodney gaping as he sets up a lawn chair and puts on the sunglasses that were sitting on the rail.

"John?" Rodney says, putting one hand on the weathered wood of the tower to steady himself.

John looks over the rail, and one eyebrow goes up, clearing the top edge of the sunglasses.

Rodney looks down and then back up again. "If you ever want to have lunch or something, I live across the street - the white house with blue shutters on the corner."

Rodney can't see John's eyes, but he can easily see the blinding smile.

"Okay," John says, and Rodney wanders home in a daze.

At 1:30, Rodney's very exciting work fixing small clusters of algae onto microscope slides is interrupted by a knock on his door. When he opens it, John is standing there, still in his red trunks and sunglasses, but with the addition of a RonJon Surf Shop tee shirt and a pair of ragged, rope-soled flip flops.

"Hey," Rodney says, blinking in the sunlight, harsh after the cool darkness of the house. He keeps the shades drawn and the air conditioner set to "snow."

"Hey," John replies. "What's for lunch?" He steps into the house and pulls off his sunglasses, hooking one earpiece into the neck of his shirt.

"Whatever you want," Rodney says, closing the door behind him. He nearly jumps out of his skin when John leans forward and kisses him lightly on the lips, pulling back too fast for Rodney to react. He tries to move away, but Rodney snags the hem of his tee shirt and pulls him in for another, slower, kiss.

"I wasn't sure if you were gay," Rodney says against John's lips. "There was the whole military thing, but the hair gave me hope."

"I got a clue about you when you asked me out," John says, letting his mouth slide down to Rodney's jaw.

"I asked you in." Rodney corrects, just before he has to moan because of the exquisite feel of John's teeth on his neck.

"I don't have classes today," John murmurs. "So I'm all yours."

Rodney shudders and starts walking backward, pulling John toward his bedroom. "I must be hallucinating," Rodney says. "Some sort of insanity-triggering algae."

"Why?" John asks, pulling off his shirt.

Rodney touches his chest gently, rubbing his fingertips against the hair he'd admired that first day and down along the trail that leads into John's swim trunks, where a tell-tale bulge is showing. "You're so hot," he says. "I wouldn't think I was your type."

"Smart is sexy," John says, grasping the hem of Rodney's shirt and easing it up and over his head.

"Then I'm the sexiest man in the world," Rodney quips, tucking his fingers into the waist of John's trunks just to feel the muscles of his abdomen flutter against his fingers.

"Cool," John says, stuffing one hand down the back of Rodney's baggy shorts to squeeze his ass.

"Naked," Rodney groans. "We need to be naked."

They separate to fumble their way out of the rest of their clothes, and Rodney makes a low noise when John strokes one hand lightly up and down his own erection while he waits for Rodney to step out of his shorts.

They come back together to kiss and caress each other. Rodney has John's hot cock in his hand when he remembers something.

"There's a perfectly good bed in this room." He pulls John to it and shoves him down, turning his body so that he's on his hands and knees.

John looks over his shoulder at Rodney, his eyebrows coming together in a frown. "I don't know if I'm ready for..."

Rodney slaps one perfect buttock lightly. "Don't worry," he says. "I've got something else in mind."

He gets onto the bed, kneeling between John's feet and drapes himself over John's back. He tilts John's head to one side so he can kiss and bite his neck, keeping the pattern of soft lips and hard teeth completely random, just to make John shake. He kisses his way to the nape of John's neck, his hands moving lightly down the muscles of his sides. John gasps when Rodney digs his teeth into the back of his neck, at the same time as he grabs his hips and presses his dick against the cleft of John's ass.

Rodney kisses the teethmarks he's made, watching as the white impressions he's left flush red. The mark is high enough up that John's hair will cover it, and it will likely fade within a day, but Rodney likes the way it looks.

He kisses his way down John's spine, stopping at the startling demarcation of John's tan line, his skin a beautiful bronze above and creamy white below. He brings his hands up to touch John's ass, kneading the muscle and pinching just a little. For his part, John simply moans and pushes back into the contact. At the first touch of Rodney's tongue to the top of his cleft, he crosses his arms and drops his head onto them, leaving his ass high in the air, giving tacit permission for Rodney to do anything he wants.

Rodney licks his way down, tasting salt from the ocean, then licking harder to get down to the taste of John's skin. He slides his thumbs down and gently opens John, teasing his tongue along the edges of the entrance to John's body.

"Oh," John moans. "Oh."

Rodney lifts his head. "Very articulate," he says.

"Don't stop," John whines, and Rodney's a little bemused that he finds the whine sexy. In any case, he dips his head and licks a hot stripe from the back of John's balls to the top of his ass before pushing his face in and really going to town.

"Oh, god - stubble," John yelps, but the sound turns into a long groan when Rodney shoves his tongue into him, fucking it in and out, reveling in the tight clench of John's ass. He pulls back a little and deliberately rubs his cheek against John just to make him cry out. Satisfied, he goes back for more, working his tongue into John as far as it will go.

Long minutes later, John is shaking like a leaf. "Can you come from this?" Rodney asks.

"I think so," John says, panting.

Rodney tongue fucks him again, over and over, and moves one hand off John's hip to rub and press against the soft skin behind his balls. When he finds the perfect place and pressure, John groans and comes, his ass clenching down rhythmically on Rodney's tongue. Rodney gentles him through it before pulling away to let John collapse down onto the bed. He rubs a hand up and down John's back, waiting for the frantic panting to stop.

When it does, John turns onto his side, red-faced and wild-eyed. He reaches for Rodney's cock, so hard and wet at the tip. "What do you want me to do?"

"Suck me," Rodney says instantly. "On your knees."

John pulls him into a sitting position on the side of the bed and slithers to the floor. He looks up at Rodney through criminally long lashes before bending his neck to take the head of Rodney's cock into his hot mouth.

"I'm not going to last," Rodney says, and John takes it as a hint to stop screwing around and suck, opening wide and pulling as much of Rodney's cock into his mouth as he can. He wraps one elegant hand around the base, sliding it up to meet his lips on the downstroke.

Rodney tries desperately to hold back his orgasm, succeeding for about ninety seconds before he threads his fingers into John's hair and comes hard, feeling John swallow him down before he pulls off gently, then rests his cheek on Rodney's thigh.

"Good god," Rodney says. He makes a hand gesture toward the head of the bed. "Come up here."

John stands and pulls Rodney with him up onto the bed, throwing one corner of the blanket over the wet spot he'd made earlier. He settles Rodney against his chest, lightly stroking a hand through his hair.

"So," he says casually. "You're here for the rest of the summer?"

"Yeah," Rodney answers. "The whole rest of the summer."

"Cool," John says.