They've been on the slopes all day and John has fallen a little bit in love with Rodney all over again. Rodney's not a graceful skier and he's more than happy to mock snowboarding, but he powers down the double black diamond slopes on his skies as if daring the mountain to stop him. He rarely falls and when he does, he curses a blue streak; John's learned more filthy French words over the last two winters than he learned during four different vacations to France. Rodney's ability to swear in German is equally impressive.

"German was once the international language of science," Rodney explains as they ride the lifts back to the top. "Any scientist worth his salt should know at least some German."

"You see the word 'shithead' a lot in in German physics journals, do you?"

"After I've read through them with my red pen, yeah."

That startles a loud, honking laugh out of John and Rodney snickers happily as they slide off the lifts and make their way to the start of the run. "This'll be the last one for me," Rodney says and he actually sounds a little sad. "My thighs are killing me; I'm freezing and I think I might have strained a muscle in my ass."

"I don't think you can do that," John says.

"Maybe not, but do you really want to take the chance that it's not possible? I mean we don't want to have my ass out of commission for the rest of the week, do we?"

Looking at Rodney's ass in tight fitting ski pants, John finds himself thinking that Rodney really better play it safe.

Later that night, as Rodney makes some serious porn noises over the Duck Two Ways and John works through his Buffalo Hanger Steak, the snow starts up again, a heavy fall that drifts almost hypnotically down past the lodge's outdoor lights.

"We might want to skip dessert and drive back up to the cabin," John says, a little regretfully--tonight's cobbler is apple-rhubarb. "I don't think we could get a room here; they're pretty full up."

Rodney's surprisingly easy about missing dessert, but John's too busy driving the narrow road up to the cabin Rodney'd rented for the week to wonder what's up.

After John starts the fire, Rodney sends him off to turn on the heat in the bedroom. "And don't forget to turn on the electric mattress pad; it's there for a reason."

"Bitch, bitch, bitch!" John yells back.

He makes a quick trip to the bathroom and when he comes back into the living room, Rodney's got a tray sitting out in front of the fire.

"Homemade graham crackers," Rodney says, pointing to things on the tray. "Also, homemade vanilla cookies, homemade marshmallows, that Alter Eco fair trade moka chocolate that you like, along with some of their dark chocolate with mint and the dark chocolate with the cacao nibs."

"You made marshmallows?" John stares at Rodney in surprise. "Why not buy the gourmet ones from TJs?"

"Because I've been thinking of branching out into candy and I saw the recipe on foodgawker." Rodney holds out a toasting fork, and John puts a marshmallow on it and holds it out over the fire, muttering something about food porn that Rodney totally ignores.

"Don't let that marshmallow burn. If you want them blackened, there's a bag of regular marshmallows in the kitchen," Rodney says, holding his own toasting fork carefully over the fire.

The s'mores are the best John's ever had, and he and Rodney do their best to try every single combination. John finds that he's fondest of the moka chocolate/graham cracker version, while Rodney really likes the mint chocolate/vanilla cookie s'more.

"God, Rodney, that was fabulous." John leans back against the big pile of pillows in front of the fire and lets the warmth roll over him.

"You think that was fabulous, wait until tomorrow when we take a little trip back in time to the Seventies and you get a load of my version of fondue." He grinned a little ruefully. "Okay my three versions of fondue."

"Good thing skiing burns a ton of calories; if not, I'd go home and my wetsuit wouldn't fit."

"Oh please, you could eat cheese with butter on it and you wouldn't gain a pound."

"Cheese with butter?"

"Yeah, I worked with this guy who did that; he'd spread a layer of real butter on slices of cheese. He got it from his mom; they were German originally." Rodney shakes his head. "Bastard was even skinnier than you; it's not fair."

"Yeah, but you're happy now and he's probably still hating his job."

Rodney grins. "There is that." He squirms around on the pillows until his head is resting on John's shoulder. "And I have you."

"Mmmmmm...." John bends his head down and kisses Rodney's thinning hair. "Relax, because later on, I plan to check your butt muscles for possible strains."

"You smooth talker, you."

-end-

Where they ski: Alpine Meadows
Where they ate: Menu from the River Ranch

S'more fixings, Rodney Style:
Alter Eco Chocolate
From Foodgawker:
Homemade Graham Crackers
Vanilla Cookies
Homemade Marshmallows

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