Hair Color for Men
by Lucy Gillam 

"You dye your hair."

Rodney's glee was almost a tangible thing, and John could tell he'd been waiting for just the right moment to say that. He didn't know whether to thank him for waiting until after the spectacular we've-been-apart-for-six-months-or-a-few-hours-does-it-really-matter sex or not.

"What?" He'd gotten used to Rodney's non sequiturs during and after sex. In fact, it turned out that the real burden of Don't Ask, Don't Tell wasn't sneaking around in the middle of the night (or day, for that matter), but being unable to share some of the things that came out of McKay's mouth while John's mouth was otherwise occupied. But this was a new one. "I do not!"

"You so do. Not only do you use enough product to pollute the entire ocean of the planet, but you dye, too."

John raised himself on his elbow. "Okay, one, product? And two, exactly where did you get this lame-brained idea?"

"Oh, good, let's resort to grade six insults," Rodney replied, his amusement undiminished. "Your beard - which, by the way, you looked remarkably stupid in - had gray in it. I'm surprised your girlfriend didn't point that out to you."

For a moment, John was rendered speechless by the number of things he needed to correct in that sentence. He decided that "She wasn't my girlfriend" was a can of worms he preferred to leave safely vacuum-sealed, and said instead, "Most men get gray in their facial hair before they do on their heads. My dad's whole mustache was gray before he ever had any gray hair."

"Likely story. What did you do, smuggle a dozen boxes of Hair Color for Men in your guitar?"

"Rodney, I do not color my hair!"

"Oh, please," Rodney answered, undeterred. "Of course you do. You're a total girl about your hair."

Okay, that was really over the line. "Don't make me start talking about pots and kettles, McKay, or I might be forced to bring up your moisturizers."

"Oh, please. Moisturizer serves a valuable function. Unlike hair, which is in fact dead, skin is a bodily organ requiring care for actual health." Rodney ran his hand through John's chest hair, which would normally have been pleasant and perhaps led somewhere even more pleasant, but was somewhat undermined by the expression on Rodney's face, a look normally reserved for odd bits of Ancient technology with no clear function. "I wonder when all this is going to turn gray, not to mention all the," he gestured downwards, "carpet on your legs. You're not going to dye that, too, are you?"

"I do not…" John took a deep breath. "At least I have body hair." It was aiming below the belt, of course, but then, what wasn't between them?

Rodney gave him a slight shove. "Okay, you can feel free to leave any time."

John grinned and leaned over, attacking the spot right below Rodney's right ear.

"Oh, no fair, that's cheating, that's, oh, yeah, keep doing that."

Two hours later, standing in Rodney's shower, washing away the evidence of their reunion celebration, John caught himself looking down at his chest as he watched. Worse, he caught himself searching through the hair.

No gray yet. Not that he was worried. Not worried at all.