Plausible Deniability
Title: Plausible Deniability
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: not mine, dangit. Otherwise, Fridays would still be spent on Atlantis
Word Count: 1100
Summary: sleepy team, post-mission, John enjoys a little plausible deniability - until he can't.
ETA: now with adorableness from chkc: John's secret snuggle
John tossed a piece of popcorn into his mouth as another vehicle exploded on the screen in front of him. He’d had the bowl to himself a little over thirty minutes, since both Rodney and Ronon had dozed off. Teyla was well on her way to sleeping, but fought against it valiantly. Every now and again her head would bob down to her shoulder and she’d snap awake, shake her head, and refocus on the movie only to slowly nod off again.
“Teyla,” he whispered.
She inhaled deeply and glanced at him. “Yes, John?” she started to ask, but his name was interrupted by a wide mouthed yawn. He had to chuckle.
He found it comforting, oddly, that after tough missions, while he was wound up afterwards, his team couldn’t keep their eyes open. Rodney was usually the first to go. He and John shared the sofa and a bowl of popcorn - they’d long since learned not to try to share with Teyla since she was vicious in her defense of her own bowl - and usually before the opening credits were really finished, Rodney was gone. Head back against the sofa cushions, soft snuffling snores emerging from his throat. Ronon was next, and the big guy didn’t even fight it. He just stretched out on the floor in front of John and Rodney on the sofa, and within the first thirty minutes, his deep sleeping breaths could be heard. Teyla was last - always. She usually curled up in the chair to the left of the sofa, resting her head on her hand. John figured it might have something to do with maintaining dignity or her poise, but Teyla would fight off sleep, nodding off and jerking awake, before he called her on it and sent her to bed. Usually with Ronon in tow.
“Go home. You should get some sleep. Take Ronon with you. Put him to bed.” He nudged Ronon, stretched out on the floor in front of the couch.
“Mmm, what?” came the surly, sleepy response.
He nudged Ronon’s sleeping form again. “Hey, buddy. Get up, go to bed.”
Ronon slapped his foot away, but made the motions of getting up. “Yeah. Okay,” he said, his voice rough with sleep.
Teyla yawned again, but covered her open mouth with the back of her hand in some effort at decorum. “I am sorry, John. It has been a trying day.”
“I know.” He nodded, watching her stand and stretch her lithe body, joints popping lightly as they realigned themselves. He smiled. “Go on. Oh, and remember, day off tomorrow.”
“A well deserved day off, I believe,” she said, a grateful smile playing along her lips.
“We going?” Ronon asked, shifting his head from side to side, tendons in his neck popping loudly in the room.
“Yes,” Teyla said.
Right then, Rodney moaned out loud in his sleep, and his head rolled from the back of the couch to settle on John’s shoulder.
John gave a small smile and shook his head.
Teyla asked, concerned, “What about Dr. McKay?”
John waved her off. “I’ve got him. Good night you two.”
“Good night, John.”
“Sheppard. We still on for the shooting range in the morning?” Ronon asked.
“Yeah, buddy, with bells on. You guys go get some sleep.”
They both nodded at him, the markers of sleepiness visible on their faces then Ronon followed Teyla out the door.
John set the bowl of popcorn on the floor, careful not to disturb Rodney, who was almost to the point of drooling on his shoulder. Stretching his arm over the back of the couch, and letting it rest on Rodney’s shoulders, John considered just waking him up and sending him to his quarters to get some much needed rest.
He considered it for just a moment, then decided that he’d rather just…sit here…with Rodney warm and snug beside him.
It wasn’t something he’d ever do when Rodney was awake, this cuddling thing. He knew he’d never hear the end of it. But when Rodney was sleeping, had let himself in his unconsciousness drift closer to John’s warmth and solidity and rest his head on John’s shoulder, well. It was these little moments that John relished and hoarded - as they were few and far between.
As he’d done so many times before in moments just like this one, John turned his head to press his face gently into Rodney’s hair, breathing deeply to catch the sharp and tangy, uniquely Rodney smell. If his lips pursed a little, and pressed a little more firmly against Rodney’s scalp, then - with Ronon and Teyla gone and Rodney firmly entrenched in dreamland - no one was the wiser. Plausible deniability. John liked the sound of those words.
But this moment was different. Rodney let out a soft moan, then, took a breath. “John?” his sleep voice drifted up from the vicinity of John’s shoulder.
John pulled sharply away, eyes wide with panic, as Rodney shifted to sit up fully.
“Did you just,” Rodney started, shaking his head and rubbing a hand over his face. He cleared the sleep from his throat and turned his laser sharp blue eyes on John. “Did you just kiss me?”
John hated how quickly Rodney went from sleeping to waking lately. He missed the earlier days, when Rodney would be befuddled for a few minutes after waking like this. He swallowed, thinking silence was the better part of valor right then.
But something must have shown on his face or in his eyes, because Rodney’s gaze narrowed, and he said, “You did just kiss me. Or, rather, the top of my head.”
John felt the flush creep up his neck and into his cheeks. Damn Irish heritage. “Yeah,” he managed to croak out past a throat tight with unease.
“Hm. The top of my head, really? Do I look eight to you?”
“Huh?”
Rodney lifted one leg up onto the sofa, so he could face John fully, and reached up, turning John toward him with a hand on his cheek. “The least you could do,” he said, smiling, “is kiss me properly. You know, mouth to mouth.” Then he pushed his hand back a little, curled his fingers into the hair at the base of John’s skull and pulled him forward.
John watched Rodney’s tongue snake out and moisten his lips. He swallowed. “What are you-”
“Never took you for a coward, John Sheppard,” he said, then those mobile lips - the ones that could flay people alive or smile like the world was brand new - settled fully, gently, on John’s.
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: not mine, dangit. Otherwise, Fridays would still be spent on Atlantis
Word Count: 1100
Summary: sleepy team, post-mission, John enjoys a little plausible deniability - until he can't.
ETA: now with adorableness from chkc: John's secret snuggle
John tossed a piece of popcorn into his mouth as another vehicle exploded on the screen in front of him. He’d had the bowl to himself a little over thirty minutes, since both Rodney and Ronon had dozed off. Teyla was well on her way to sleeping, but fought against it valiantly. Every now and again her head would bob down to her shoulder and she’d snap awake, shake her head, and refocus on the movie only to slowly nod off again.
“Teyla,” he whispered.
She inhaled deeply and glanced at him. “Yes, John?” she started to ask, but his name was interrupted by a wide mouthed yawn. He had to chuckle.
He found it comforting, oddly, that after tough missions, while he was wound up afterwards, his team couldn’t keep their eyes open. Rodney was usually the first to go. He and John shared the sofa and a bowl of popcorn - they’d long since learned not to try to share with Teyla since she was vicious in her defense of her own bowl - and usually before the opening credits were really finished, Rodney was gone. Head back against the sofa cushions, soft snuffling snores emerging from his throat. Ronon was next, and the big guy didn’t even fight it. He just stretched out on the floor in front of John and Rodney on the sofa, and within the first thirty minutes, his deep sleeping breaths could be heard. Teyla was last - always. She usually curled up in the chair to the left of the sofa, resting her head on her hand. John figured it might have something to do with maintaining dignity or her poise, but Teyla would fight off sleep, nodding off and jerking awake, before he called her on it and sent her to bed. Usually with Ronon in tow.
“Go home. You should get some sleep. Take Ronon with you. Put him to bed.” He nudged Ronon, stretched out on the floor in front of the couch.
“Mmm, what?” came the surly, sleepy response.
He nudged Ronon’s sleeping form again. “Hey, buddy. Get up, go to bed.”
Ronon slapped his foot away, but made the motions of getting up. “Yeah. Okay,” he said, his voice rough with sleep.
Teyla yawned again, but covered her open mouth with the back of her hand in some effort at decorum. “I am sorry, John. It has been a trying day.”
“I know.” He nodded, watching her stand and stretch her lithe body, joints popping lightly as they realigned themselves. He smiled. “Go on. Oh, and remember, day off tomorrow.”
“A well deserved day off, I believe,” she said, a grateful smile playing along her lips.
“We going?” Ronon asked, shifting his head from side to side, tendons in his neck popping loudly in the room.
“Yes,” Teyla said.
Right then, Rodney moaned out loud in his sleep, and his head rolled from the back of the couch to settle on John’s shoulder.
John gave a small smile and shook his head.
Teyla asked, concerned, “What about Dr. McKay?”
John waved her off. “I’ve got him. Good night you two.”
“Good night, John.”
“Sheppard. We still on for the shooting range in the morning?” Ronon asked.
“Yeah, buddy, with bells on. You guys go get some sleep.”
They both nodded at him, the markers of sleepiness visible on their faces then Ronon followed Teyla out the door.
John set the bowl of popcorn on the floor, careful not to disturb Rodney, who was almost to the point of drooling on his shoulder. Stretching his arm over the back of the couch, and letting it rest on Rodney’s shoulders, John considered just waking him up and sending him to his quarters to get some much needed rest.
He considered it for just a moment, then decided that he’d rather just…sit here…with Rodney warm and snug beside him.
It wasn’t something he’d ever do when Rodney was awake, this cuddling thing. He knew he’d never hear the end of it. But when Rodney was sleeping, had let himself in his unconsciousness drift closer to John’s warmth and solidity and rest his head on John’s shoulder, well. It was these little moments that John relished and hoarded - as they were few and far between.
As he’d done so many times before in moments just like this one, John turned his head to press his face gently into Rodney’s hair, breathing deeply to catch the sharp and tangy, uniquely Rodney smell. If his lips pursed a little, and pressed a little more firmly against Rodney’s scalp, then - with Ronon and Teyla gone and Rodney firmly entrenched in dreamland - no one was the wiser. Plausible deniability. John liked the sound of those words.
But this moment was different. Rodney let out a soft moan, then, took a breath. “John?” his sleep voice drifted up from the vicinity of John’s shoulder.
John pulled sharply away, eyes wide with panic, as Rodney shifted to sit up fully.
“Did you just,” Rodney started, shaking his head and rubbing a hand over his face. He cleared the sleep from his throat and turned his laser sharp blue eyes on John. “Did you just kiss me?”
John hated how quickly Rodney went from sleeping to waking lately. He missed the earlier days, when Rodney would be befuddled for a few minutes after waking like this. He swallowed, thinking silence was the better part of valor right then.
But something must have shown on his face or in his eyes, because Rodney’s gaze narrowed, and he said, “You did just kiss me. Or, rather, the top of my head.”
John felt the flush creep up his neck and into his cheeks. Damn Irish heritage. “Yeah,” he managed to croak out past a throat tight with unease.
“Hm. The top of my head, really? Do I look eight to you?”
“Huh?”
Rodney lifted one leg up onto the sofa, so he could face John fully, and reached up, turning John toward him with a hand on his cheek. “The least you could do,” he said, smiling, “is kiss me properly. You know, mouth to mouth.” Then he pushed his hand back a little, curled his fingers into the hair at the base of John’s skull and pulled him forward.
John watched Rodney’s tongue snake out and moisten his lips. He swallowed. “What are you-”
“Never took you for a coward, John Sheppard,” he said, then those mobile lips - the ones that could flay people alive or smile like the world was brand new - settled fully, gently, on John’s.