Bedtime Story, PG
In which the boys babysit, and crushes are revealed. c. 1100 words.
Bedtime Story
by lamardeuse
If somebody had told John when he first met Rodney that someday he'd be listening to the guy read Goodnight Moon to a kid from another galaxy, he would have shit his spleen laughing.
“Goodnight light, and the red balloon. Goodnight bears. Goodnight chairs...”
He wasn't laughing now. In fact, he was listening so hard he could barely remember to breathe.
“Goodnight kittens, and goodnight mittens.”
Teyla and Kanaan were having a quiet dinner at home, and John and Rodney had been drafted to babysit. It had taken the four of them half an hour just to move all of Torren's stuff from their quarters to Rodney's. For all the toys and geegaws, though, Torren hadn't been interested in any of them; instead, he'd been fascinated by the pile of colorful children's books Jeanie had sent last week.
Or maybe he'd just been fascinated by Rodney. He'd sat happily in Rodney's lap while Rodney read one classic after another: Curious George and Babar and Flat Stanley and Green Eggs and Ham. Next up after this was Where the Wild Things Are, but John was starting to doubt either one of them would make it that far. Torren was already nearly asleep in his crib, and Rodney's eyes were drooping heavily.
“Goodnight clocks, and goodnight socks.”
Since John had finished feeding Torren and handed him off to Rodney for storytime, he hadn't been able to take his eyes off the two of them. He didn't think he was being too obvious - after all, he could've made a case that there really wasn't anything else to look at - but he also didn't care too much. The sight of Rodney reading with Torren in his lap, his head bowed over the book as Torren cooed and clutched a fistful of Rodney's shirt, was nearly enough to make John forget he'd decided not to be deliberately pathetic about Rodney anymore. Hell, he'd thought he didn't have a paternal instinct, but there was a crazy minute there - when Rodney lifted Torren and bounced him on his knee for every hop in Hop on Pop - where he wanted to have Rodney's babies. Hey, they were living in a sci-fi movie, so it wasn't out of the realm of possibility, just a sign he was losing the last shreds of his remaining sanity. No big deal.
“Goodnight little house, and goodnight mouse.” The last word ended on a jaw-cracking yawn.
“Rodney,” John said softly.
Rodney blinked a few times before raising his head from the book. “Hm?”
John nodded at the crib. “He's asleep.”
Rodney leaned over and peered in at Torren; John watched his face go soft and felt something inside him twist and clench. “Oh. Well.”
Fighting with himself and losing, John rose to his feet and took the book from Rodney's unresisting fingers. “You did good,” he murmured.
“Hmmm,” Rodney said again, moving to prop his stockinged feet up on the sofa. His eyes drifted shut as he folded his hands together on his chest. “Gotta finish t'story.”
“I'll finish it for you,” John reassured him.
“Y're a pal,” Rodney slurred. His eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks, and for a second John forgot what he was supposed to do next. With a silent curse, he shook his head to clear it and flipped to the last page Rodney had read, then sat down in the chair beside him.
“Goodnight comb and goodnight brush,” he read quietly, so as not to wake Torren.
Rodney's mouth curled into a smile and his head lolled against the arm rest. “G'night.”
“Goodnight mush,” John murmured. It took him three fumbling tries to turn the page. “And goodnight to the old lady whispering 'hush.'” Another fumble. “Goodnight stars, goodnight air. Goodnight noises everywhere.”
John closed the book. When there was no response, he glanced at Rodney, but he was fast asleep already, breathing evening out into a soft snuffle. Helplessly, John watched him for a few moments, thinking about all the opportunities he'd thrown away, all the times he'd told himself you shouldn't or you can't, what are you, crazy, and suddenly he knew he couldn't resist just this one small thing, that if he did this now it might keep him from bursting with it in the middle of a briefing or in Rodney's lab or in the mess with half of Atlantis looking on. He'd just do this once, and he could store the memory up in his bones while Rodney carried on, blessedly oblivious to John's inappropriate, idiotic crush.
Rodney didn't stir when John leaned down over him, didn't so much as twitch an eyelid as John watched him, still fearful but determined, and his breathing didn't alter when John finally leaned down and brushed his lips against Rodney's cheek.
A small, sleepy whine emerged from the crib, shattering the silence.
John lifted his head to check on Torren, but he'd quieted again, tiny fist stuffed in his mouth. When John turned back to the couch, he saw that Rodney's eyes were open and watching him.
Oh, Christ, John thought, heart trying to somersault its way out of his throat.
“Well,” Rodney murmured, a pensive frown creasing his forehead, “that explains a lot, really.”
“Rodney, I - ”
“Shut up,” Rodney said shortly, swinging his legs off the couch and rising to his feet in one smooth motion. “You - you're kind of a moron, you know that?”
This last statement was softened a bit by the fact that it was delivered in a whisper, but it still stung. “Thanks,” John rasped, trying to maintain an even strain and failing miserably, “thanks a lot.”
Rodney flapped a hand at him. “No, I mean - all this time, we could have - I'm assuming this has been going on for a while?”
John thought about watching Rodney disappear into that black cloud, the way his knees had wobbled as he'd barrelled down the steps to try to stop him. “Yeah. A while.”
“Well, that's - that's unacceptable,” Rodney whispered.
“Unacceptable?” John took a step forward, right into Rodney's space because hey, he was screwed anyway. Rodney didn't budge, just raised his chin and stared him down. “Then what would be acceptable?”
Rodney's answer was to lean into John, close that scant distance and bring their mouths together with a sweetness that made John's chest crack wide open. He stood there, frozen, hands at his sides, not quite believing as Rodney kissed him, because God, this had to be another fairy tale.
Then, “John,” Rodney whispered, and there was something in that hushed syllable that made him realize that it was real, or maybe just that it was okay to believe in magic. Whatever the reason, John raised a trembling hand to Rodney's face and turned to the first page in a new story.
End
Bedtime Story
by lamardeuse
If somebody had told John when he first met Rodney that someday he'd be listening to the guy read Goodnight Moon to a kid from another galaxy, he would have shit his spleen laughing.
“Goodnight light, and the red balloon. Goodnight bears. Goodnight chairs...”
He wasn't laughing now. In fact, he was listening so hard he could barely remember to breathe.
“Goodnight kittens, and goodnight mittens.”
Teyla and Kanaan were having a quiet dinner at home, and John and Rodney had been drafted to babysit. It had taken the four of them half an hour just to move all of Torren's stuff from their quarters to Rodney's. For all the toys and geegaws, though, Torren hadn't been interested in any of them; instead, he'd been fascinated by the pile of colorful children's books Jeanie had sent last week.
Or maybe he'd just been fascinated by Rodney. He'd sat happily in Rodney's lap while Rodney read one classic after another: Curious George and Babar and Flat Stanley and Green Eggs and Ham. Next up after this was Where the Wild Things Are, but John was starting to doubt either one of them would make it that far. Torren was already nearly asleep in his crib, and Rodney's eyes were drooping heavily.
“Goodnight clocks, and goodnight socks.”
Since John had finished feeding Torren and handed him off to Rodney for storytime, he hadn't been able to take his eyes off the two of them. He didn't think he was being too obvious - after all, he could've made a case that there really wasn't anything else to look at - but he also didn't care too much. The sight of Rodney reading with Torren in his lap, his head bowed over the book as Torren cooed and clutched a fistful of Rodney's shirt, was nearly enough to make John forget he'd decided not to be deliberately pathetic about Rodney anymore. Hell, he'd thought he didn't have a paternal instinct, but there was a crazy minute there - when Rodney lifted Torren and bounced him on his knee for every hop in Hop on Pop - where he wanted to have Rodney's babies. Hey, they were living in a sci-fi movie, so it wasn't out of the realm of possibility, just a sign he was losing the last shreds of his remaining sanity. No big deal.
“Goodnight little house, and goodnight mouse.” The last word ended on a jaw-cracking yawn.
“Rodney,” John said softly.
Rodney blinked a few times before raising his head from the book. “Hm?”
John nodded at the crib. “He's asleep.”
Rodney leaned over and peered in at Torren; John watched his face go soft and felt something inside him twist and clench. “Oh. Well.”
Fighting with himself and losing, John rose to his feet and took the book from Rodney's unresisting fingers. “You did good,” he murmured.
“Hmmm,” Rodney said again, moving to prop his stockinged feet up on the sofa. His eyes drifted shut as he folded his hands together on his chest. “Gotta finish t'story.”
“I'll finish it for you,” John reassured him.
“Y're a pal,” Rodney slurred. His eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks, and for a second John forgot what he was supposed to do next. With a silent curse, he shook his head to clear it and flipped to the last page Rodney had read, then sat down in the chair beside him.
“Goodnight comb and goodnight brush,” he read quietly, so as not to wake Torren.
Rodney's mouth curled into a smile and his head lolled against the arm rest. “G'night.”
“Goodnight mush,” John murmured. It took him three fumbling tries to turn the page. “And goodnight to the old lady whispering 'hush.'” Another fumble. “Goodnight stars, goodnight air. Goodnight noises everywhere.”
John closed the book. When there was no response, he glanced at Rodney, but he was fast asleep already, breathing evening out into a soft snuffle. Helplessly, John watched him for a few moments, thinking about all the opportunities he'd thrown away, all the times he'd told himself you shouldn't or you can't, what are you, crazy, and suddenly he knew he couldn't resist just this one small thing, that if he did this now it might keep him from bursting with it in the middle of a briefing or in Rodney's lab or in the mess with half of Atlantis looking on. He'd just do this once, and he could store the memory up in his bones while Rodney carried on, blessedly oblivious to John's inappropriate, idiotic crush.
Rodney didn't stir when John leaned down over him, didn't so much as twitch an eyelid as John watched him, still fearful but determined, and his breathing didn't alter when John finally leaned down and brushed his lips against Rodney's cheek.
A small, sleepy whine emerged from the crib, shattering the silence.
John lifted his head to check on Torren, but he'd quieted again, tiny fist stuffed in his mouth. When John turned back to the couch, he saw that Rodney's eyes were open and watching him.
Oh, Christ, John thought, heart trying to somersault its way out of his throat.
“Well,” Rodney murmured, a pensive frown creasing his forehead, “that explains a lot, really.”
“Rodney, I - ”
“Shut up,” Rodney said shortly, swinging his legs off the couch and rising to his feet in one smooth motion. “You - you're kind of a moron, you know that?”
This last statement was softened a bit by the fact that it was delivered in a whisper, but it still stung. “Thanks,” John rasped, trying to maintain an even strain and failing miserably, “thanks a lot.”
Rodney flapped a hand at him. “No, I mean - all this time, we could have - I'm assuming this has been going on for a while?”
John thought about watching Rodney disappear into that black cloud, the way his knees had wobbled as he'd barrelled down the steps to try to stop him. “Yeah. A while.”
“Well, that's - that's unacceptable,” Rodney whispered.
“Unacceptable?” John took a step forward, right into Rodney's space because hey, he was screwed anyway. Rodney didn't budge, just raised his chin and stared him down. “Then what would be acceptable?”
Rodney's answer was to lean into John, close that scant distance and bring their mouths together with a sweetness that made John's chest crack wide open. He stood there, frozen, hands at his sides, not quite believing as Rodney kissed him, because God, this had to be another fairy tale.
Then, “John,” Rodney whispered, and there was something in that hushed syllable that made him realize that it was real, or maybe just that it was okay to believe in magic. Whatever the reason, John raised a trembling hand to Rodney's face and turned to the first page in a new story.
End