[Fic] Sleeping Arrangements [PG13]
Title: Sleeping Arrangements [PG13]
Universe: Stargate: Atlantis
Characters: Rodney McKay, Elizabeth Weir, John Sheppard
Pairing: Sheppard/Weir/McKay
Warning: Vague sexual references and one bad word.
Category: Romance.
Summary: It was an unspoken agreement between him and John that Elizabeth slept in the middle.
Disclaimer: I own nothing from the Stargate world and do not profit from this.
Author’s Note: Wrote this in one sitting, spurred by the line in the summary, which is what began this.
Sleeping Arrangements
Rodney remembers teenage years spent up most of the night because his body refused to shut down. He remembers going through university on little more than caffeine and candy bars, sleep being a distant thing that would only keep him from his doctorate. He remembers that the majority of his adult life consisted of staying up all night puzzling over factors and equations and things that simply could not wait until morning.
Sleep was never something he enjoyed, but rather a necessary part of surviving as a human being and he learned early on to live on little of it. It was never something he was very good at either and Rodney despises all things he is not good at.
He’d heard the phrase ‘a good night’s rest’ and never understood it. Didn’t everyone wake up at intervals of half an hour and struggle to get back to their dreams despite being thoroughly exhausted?
He understands now. He sleeps easy now, relishes in the warmth of rest and the invigoration of his body after a good night of it.
It is an unspoken agreement between he and John that Elizabeth sleeps in the middle. Not because they need a woman’s skin between their own to quell any homophobic fears (that particular bridge had been burned quite some time ago in a rush of skin and stubble and muscle), but rather because they are both so very protective of her.
The center of the bed has been her place since the beginning, though before (he would always consider the times of before Elizabeth’s capture and after they brought her home in such terms) it hadn’t been a rule of any sort. Sometimes John would end up in the middle, sometimes he would, but it was mostly her.
After however, it became permanent. In those early days they had needed to know she was there between them, needed to be able to assure themselves, even while they slept, that she was in her rightful place. They’d needed to know that they hadn’t lost her completely as they’d feared for three terrifying months.
She’d needed it to. She never said anything, but John could read her so very easily and Rodney really was far more perceptive about such things than people gave him credit for. At least, he was when it came to Elizabeth and John.
The nights she had woken up screaming, aching for validation that they were beside her, that they were both real and that she was safe in their arms away from the horror she had endured had lowered in frequency over time, but even now, having had time to deal with her experience, she is able to sleep deeper knowing that they are beside her, that they have her.
John’s place is always closest to the door, the alpha-male urge he has that forces him to always be certain that he can protect his pack. Whether they are off-world, on Earth, or in the relative safety of their quarters at home, he is nearest the main point of entry, ready to defend against intruders in the night.
He even keeps a gun strapped to the side of his bedside table. He’s never mentioned it, but Rodney knows it is there and neither of them are about to inform Elizabeth of its presence. It’s bad enough that she knows about the knife he keeps in the top drawer, a reminder that even here in Atlantis, in their home, they need to take such precautions.
They both often tease John about his protective streak, but it is one of few baits he never takes. Once he’d simply told them, “As long as you two are still here to protect, I don’t care how much you mock me.” And though it's somewhat disconcerting, they sleep better knowing the lengths that John will go to for their safety.
It puts his mind at ease ensuring that he has the means to defend his lovers, his family, and so mostly, Rodney and Elizabeth let it go. Even in this room, their room, he is a light sleeper, waking disturbed if he can’t reach across and place his hand on Rodney’s chest, or bury his face in Elizabeth’s neck, taking comfort from the smell of her hair.
Rodney himself is most comfortable on the far side of the bed, closest to the desk in the room, so that he won’t disturb either of his lovers when he wakes with a brilliant idea in mind that he simply has to write down before he forgets it. Even John doesn’t notice when he leaves their bed, though Rodney figures it is because the other mans subconscious tracks them both throughout the night.
Elizabeth will roll into the warmth he leaves behind, and John will follow her, holding her close and snuggling himself so deep that it’s almost like he is trying to mold their bodies together.
And even though neither wakes when he gets up, it still frustrates them both of a morning when they see paper scattered across the desk covered in his small, scratchy handwriting. They fuss and snark over him not getting the rest that he needs, but he shakes off their concerns, telling them he is functioning perfectly fine, thank you.
What Rodney never tells them is that it only takes a few minutes for him to be finished with whatever he’d thought of. He writes down the basics then leaves it for the next day and makes himself comfortable on the armchair that usually has their clothes from the day thrown over it.
Watching them sleep is his favorite past-time and he often wastes hour upon hour doing so. He’s never needed much sleep anyway and feeling his chest constrict contentedly as he observes them is far better than any dream he could have while sleeping.
He often wonders, as he sits in the chair in the dead of the night, how he would go on if he ever lost one of them permanently. He and John had tried it, when Elizabeth had been left behind, but the empty space between them had been so painful, a constant reminder of what they had lost, what they needed to get back if they ever wanted to be whole again, that it had almost destroyed them.
They’d barely touched each other in those three months, except for the nights when the gaping hole had pushed one, or both of them, to breaking point and they clung to each other as if they were the only lifelines left, which, he supposes, they were.
Rodney’s never believed in any form of deity, has no faith in gods, but he’s spent every day since they got her back thanking the Ancients for her return. He’s pretty sure that John has as well.
So lost in their despair during that time, they’d almost given up on getting her back, even knowing that the end of her meant the end of them, that they’d never be the same men they had been, that they’d never feel anything as deeply, or smile as widely, or love so unconditionally. Even together, they weren’t whole. They couldn’t be two when all they knew and all they needed was to be three.
For three months the two men wandered the halls of Atlantis without a destination. It was worrying to those around them when McKay barely snapped at anyone, and Sheppard was practically growling at any poor sap that crossed his path. It had been worse when they were alone, ever aware of the missing piece.
And then miraculously they’d found her. She’d been moved from the Asuran home-world, to one of their isolated research facilities and somehow word had gotten to the Genii, who, allies that they were (mostly), had informed the Lanteans.
Ladon Radim had barely finished speaking when John had turned to Sam Carter, his stance unwavering, his eyes so determined that Rodney was sure the man would walk straight through her or anyone who even dared mention that perhaps they shouldn’t try to rescue Elizabeth (and Rodney knew he would follow without hesitation). She’d told them to go before the request had even been voiced.
Elizabeth had looked so fragile when they’d busted their way in that Rodney was sure she was already lost to them. She hadn’t believed they were real at first, had refused to take part in another “mind-fuck” as she’d called it, had raged against them in such an agonizing, devastated way that Rodney had felt his heart break.
She was dead-set against following them out, honestly believing that just when she thought she was safe and home, it would all disintegrate and she’d find herself back in her cell, or worse, on one of their examination tables.
John and Rodney had stood by, pained and unsure of what exactly they should do, how to convince her, how to get her to come with them. Ronon had been the one to do it, saying that they didn’t have time to waste, then picking her up and throwing her over his shoulder. She’d turned violent on his back, but he’d held firm, gripping her tightly as he blasted his way out of the building and all the way to the gate.
Rodney had never felt so useless. John had never looked so helpless. And though they didn’t understand what she meant, days later, when she murmured that it must be real because the ocean smelt different, both had almost collapsed in relief.
Once she was back in Atlantis he and Jennifer Keller determined that whilst the nanites were still there, they were harmless. They belonged to Elizabeth, had bonded with her in a way never seen before (probably why the Asuran’s were studying her) and not even the strongest replicator mind would be able to exert control over them against her will.
The fear was still there, though, that they’d found her only to lose her again. She was harmless, yes, but the IOA didn’t see things like the people who knew her did. They’d tried to recall her, wanted her back on Earth for a thorough debriefing and to see if they could use her to their advantage against the Asuran’s.
They’d failed miserably in their attempt to take her. The entire Atlantis Expedition was a force to be reckoned with when they dug their heels in and there was no way in hell they were letting her be a lab rat on Earth after they’d just rescued her from the same kind of fate at the hands of the enemy.
And so for almost six months she had been back with them, safe at home, and sleeping between them once more. Things were settling down, their professional and personal lives meshing nicely, and Rodney felt like he was free to breathe again, felt like for the first time in a very long time, everything was coming together for him.
There’d never be a way back now. They’d crossed too many lines, fallen too deeply, there was no way back. In a way they had always needed each other, but now their very souls depended on being together. Even something as necessary as sleep relied on their relationship.
Going back wasn’t something he’d considered anyway. He was well aware of a sign in his mind warning, ‘That way be misery.’ And he was confident enough to be sure the other two didn’t want to go back either.
He knew they felt it, what he did, that sense of completion that had been there since that very first night together, in Elizabeth’s bed back on Earth.
Somehow he’d been the instigator (in his fantasies it had always been Sheppard) and he can remember how in that moment, holding Elizabeth against him and staring into John’s eyes, he’d felt no fear.
It had started with a few beers between him and John not long after they’d been exiled from their home. Something had been missing and that led him to mention that he’d left a message for Elizabeth, inviting her to join them and was surprised she hadn’t shown.
John had snorted, hurt. “I’m not. I’ve left her dozens of messages since we got back. She hasn’t returned one.”
They’d looked at each other and both realized the reason, both knew instinctively in that instant of eye-contact with each other that the woman they both cared for so very much was drowning. They’d had their coats on and were out of the bar in record time.
She’d been startled by their appearance (and to be honest, they had been by hers as well; neither had ever seen Elizabeth looking so rumpled) and they’d practically had to force themselves through the door. It had pained Rodney to see her so hesitant with them, acting as if they weren’t her two best friends, but rather two guys she had just happened to work with for a bit.
He’d promised then that he wasn’t leaving until she was theirs again (though at the time he’d made the vow in his head he really hadn’t meant theirs in the carnal sense). An hour later he found himself to be the aggressor in the relationship.
(It surprised him then, but it doesn’t now. Both Elizabeth and John are wary of deep relationships, and Rodney wishes he knew the people who made them that way so that he could personally kick their asses through an open wormhole that leads directly to a Wraith infested world. Elizabeth seems certain that somehow it will all blow up in their faces, and John is sure that at any moment one or both of them will leave him. Rodney isn't worried, and that in itself tells him more than anything else could.)
Elizabeth had stood and started making excuses that not-very-subtly implied they should leave; it was getting late, she was very tired and crap like that and Rodney had just snapped.
Maybe it had been the beer, maybe it was that Atlantis wasn’t in the equation anymore, but something in her words had prompted him to step up behind her, grab her waist and pull her back against him roughly (every time he looks back the little undignified yelp she gave always makes him want to burst out into equally undignified giggles), sending the message clearly that they weren’t going nowhere, that they’d never walk out of her life, that she would have them if only because she needed them and they needed her.
He’d looked over at John, everything he felt in his eyes, all that needed to be said being conveyed in one heated look. John had been quick to act, moving in front of her and cutting off any escape routes she may have been pondering. She was startled, the look in her eyes positively terrified and though she’d voiced many protests, her body simply hadn’t been listening.
Working together, they’d thoroughly seduced her (the need to seduce each other was unnecessary, they knew what they wanted, needed no convincing) and both had more than enjoyed an Elizabeth Weir who could piece no more than two words - "Oh, God!” - together.
They’d fallen onto her bed afterwards in a sweaty mess, an exhausted Elizabeth between her boys, John close to the door and Rodney near a pen and paper and it had felt so damn right, like this was how they were always supposed to be, like some missing piece had fallen into place for each of them that they all knew then that they could never be anything less than what they had become together.
Three weeks later they were back in the city, their city, and after a few false starts - it was always difficult to get Elizabeth to stop worrying about something or other - the feeling of being complete with your lovers while being in the place where you belong had been so overwhelming that Rodney had actually cried the first night they made love in Atlantis.
He smiles at his memories now, shaking his head at the thought of acquaintances who would never in their life believe that Rodney McKay actually could be the happiest man alive.
Movement catches his attention from the space he’d been blankly staring at from his chair and he watches John reach over Elizabeth, searching for him, only to find the cool edge of the mattress. The man lifts his face from its place in the crook of Elizabeth’s neck and looks for his other lover.
Rodney loves seeing him like this; blinking owlishly into the dark night with his unmanageable hair even more mussed than usual. Just as he loves seeing Elizabeth like this; relaxed in sleep, the only time when she isn’t tense, the lines on her brow gone.
“McKay,” John says, his voice growling with sleep. Something in Rodney stirs at the sound; John’s voice is usually only that rough in the heat of sex. “Get back in here.”
“Go back to sleep, Sheppard,” Rodney tells him quietly, trying not to wake Elizabeth (out of all of them, she’s the one who needs the rest the most).
John glares over at him. “I’ll go back to sleep when you drag your ass back to bed.”
There is a slight rustle and both men turn their attention to it. Elizabeth is awake, somewhat. She rolls onto her back, out of Rodney’s spot, Sheppard rolling with her so that she’s nestled in his arm and sighs, flinging a hand over her eyes.
“Come back to bed, Rodney.”
Desire sparks again; even though the words are slurred, a testament to just how exhausted she’d been when she’d crawled in between them, the command in her voice is unmistakable. Rodney loves it when she’s commanding.
How is he supposed to resist the two of them? He stands and slowly makes his way over, still watching them, enjoying the image of them until the last possible moment. Sheppard lifts the blanket for him so that he can easily slide into his place, kept warm by their combined body heat while he indulged in his favorite pastime.
He curls himself around Elizabeth, taking a deep breath through his nose. He completely understands why John is so drawn to the smell of her hair, as even though one of his lovers is all male musk, there is just something about the flowery warmth of a woman’s scent that appeals to both of them on a primal level.
A calloused hand runs up his side and he shivers, smiling to himself as he closes eyelids that the warmth and comfort of his bed makes heavy. Yes, this was where he was supposed to be. This was where his entire life had been leading him; not to Atlantis, though he’s finally found his home, but to this bed with the two people who mean most to him in all of three galaxies, in a place from which he can easily reach a pen and paper.
As long as John Sheppard is closest to the door, and Elizabeth Weir is safe between them, Rodney McKay can sleep easy for the first time in his life.