A Burning Thing

"What are you doing?" Rodney asked with one of those eye rolls that seemed to involve his entire head.

"Nothing." John positioned his guitar in his lap, and gave it a single strum. The A string was out of tune. Too bad he didn't have a phone handy. "You don't happen to have anything that sounds like a dial tone on you, do you?"

Rodney looked up from his laptop. "Why would I have something with a dial tone? And why do you need one?"

"It's a perfect A."

"You are not serenading me."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

"Good." Rodney looked back at his laptop, and John suppressed a smile.

Humming, he began turning the tuning head, his were Grovers.

"You're flat," Rodney said without looking up.

"I am not."

Rodney sang a scale, stopping at la. "That's an A."

"Do that again."

Rodney repeated the scale, while John tuned. As Rodney's voice trailed off, John strummed the guitar again. "Perfect. Thank you."

"You're welcome."

John ran through a few chords, enjoying the feel of the guitar in his hands. It had been too long since he'd played. He shifted, getting comfortable on the edge of the bed.

"You're going to play A Boy Named Sue, aren't you?"

John turned and glared at Rodney, leaning comfortably against the headboard. Rodney had sense enough to squirm, and John turned slowly back around, suppressing a smile.

Fingers finding the familiar frets, he began to sing.

Love is a burning thing

and it makes a fiery ring

bound by wild desire

I fell in to a ring of fire...

I fell in to a burning ring of fire

I went down,down,down

He continued singing even after the pillow hit him in the back of the head.