No Thinking about It, by lavvyan
For argosy. Spoilers for 5x04 "The Daedalus Variations". ~450 words.
"I'll take him," Ronon says, and John just nods stupidly and doesn't resist as Rodney's weight is taken away.
Except-
"Sheppard," Ronon says, and John forces his fingers to release their clench on Rodney's shirt, feels Rodney sway as John stops holding him upright and Ronon picks him up.
Except-
There's a tug on John's arm, and Ronon sighs and gently disentangles Rodney's fingers from the sleeve of John's t-shirt. And then Rodney is taken away, and he murmurs something incoherent as Ronon hefts him up and carries him down the corridor, and John is left staring after them, still feeling the skin of his neck tingle where Rodney's lips had brushed against it.
~~~
Teyla's hand on his arm pulls him back to reality enough that he can stumble toward the Gate and through, and fake his way through the debriefing. His legs have carried him three quarters of the way to the infirmary before he realises that's where he's going; next thing he knows he's sitting on a bed next to Rodney, watching him sleep.
He looks… He's just Rodney, familiar and boring and nothing special, really; not on the outside. He doesn't look like a guy who would kiss John after almost suffocating in a mostly-broken Ancient research station, after saving John from that same fate. He doesn't look like a guy who would want to kiss John, period.
He doesn't look like a guy John would want to kiss back. He's drooling.
John's fingers twitch, remembering how it had felt to hold on to Rodney, smooth fabric and body heat, and maybe John should have Keller check him over for brain damage because there's this weird disconnect again, and then his fingers are on Rodney's wrist, pads resting lightly on soft, thin skin.
Skin, John thinks stupidly, and, warm as his hand shifts without his conscious decision, turning touch into caress. Rodney, he thinks, because that's what it comes down to, isn't it? This is Rodney; who is so goddamn smart he can figure out lines of code as complicated as the human DNA or bring them home from three universes over in less than a day; who makes John laugh one moment and whack him over the head the next; who is always, always there when the shit hits the fan.
He's the guy on the bed, sleeping, pulse thumping softly under John's fingertips. Who kissed John's neck, briefly, furtively, like John is now kissing Rodney's hand in the wrinkly spot between palm and hand after looking around to make sure they're alone.
Hell, Rodney's a genius. If he thinks they should be kissing, John isn't going to argue.
He's just going to kiss him back.
"I'll take him," Ronon says, and John just nods stupidly and doesn't resist as Rodney's weight is taken away.
Except-
"Sheppard," Ronon says, and John forces his fingers to release their clench on Rodney's shirt, feels Rodney sway as John stops holding him upright and Ronon picks him up.
Except-
There's a tug on John's arm, and Ronon sighs and gently disentangles Rodney's fingers from the sleeve of John's t-shirt. And then Rodney is taken away, and he murmurs something incoherent as Ronon hefts him up and carries him down the corridor, and John is left staring after them, still feeling the skin of his neck tingle where Rodney's lips had brushed against it.
~~~
Teyla's hand on his arm pulls him back to reality enough that he can stumble toward the Gate and through, and fake his way through the debriefing. His legs have carried him three quarters of the way to the infirmary before he realises that's where he's going; next thing he knows he's sitting on a bed next to Rodney, watching him sleep.
He looks… He's just Rodney, familiar and boring and nothing special, really; not on the outside. He doesn't look like a guy who would kiss John after almost suffocating in a mostly-broken Ancient research station, after saving John from that same fate. He doesn't look like a guy who would want to kiss John, period.
He doesn't look like a guy John would want to kiss back. He's drooling.
John's fingers twitch, remembering how it had felt to hold on to Rodney, smooth fabric and body heat, and maybe John should have Keller check him over for brain damage because there's this weird disconnect again, and then his fingers are on Rodney's wrist, pads resting lightly on soft, thin skin.
Skin, John thinks stupidly, and, warm as his hand shifts without his conscious decision, turning touch into caress. Rodney, he thinks, because that's what it comes down to, isn't it? This is Rodney; who is so goddamn smart he can figure out lines of code as complicated as the human DNA or bring them home from three universes over in less than a day; who makes John laugh one moment and whack him over the head the next; who is always, always there when the shit hits the fan.
He's the guy on the bed, sleeping, pulse thumping softly under John's fingertips. Who kissed John's neck, briefly, furtively, like John is now kissing Rodney's hand in the wrinkly spot between palm and hand after looking around to make sure they're alone.
Hell, Rodney's a genius. If he thinks they should be kissing, John isn't going to argue.
He's just going to kiss him back.