1.

"Ow! What are you, crazy?"

By the time John blinked, Rodney had already twisted away from him on the couch and scooted halfway across one of the cushions, as if he wanted to get as far from John as he could without falling off the other end of the sofa. The closing credits were still rolling, but neither of them was watching the tv now.

"What? I didn't even--"

Rodney talked right over him. "Seriously, are you some kind of sadist?" He was rotating his right shoulder, where John's hands had just been, and glaring.

"Yes, Rodney; you've finally figured me out." But the sarcasm fell flat; Rodney didn't even roll his eyes.

"Obviously."

"Oh, c'mon," John said, exasperated now. "You've been favoring that shoulder all day."

"Since that Neanderthal fired at me, yes, I have! That was a direction my body was never meant to turn."

"Ronon shot him," John pointed out, helpfully.

"Thank God for small blessings," Rodney said darkly. "Those people were a menace."

"And they don't even have technology worth cribbing from," John filled in -- they'd all heard a hundred variations on this theme on the jumper ride back to the gate. He could recite the rest of Rodney's rant himself. "I already said we're not going back there."

"We'd better not." Rodney's expression was still cranky, but his voice was mollified.

Still, he was sitting gingerly, and John could see that the whole right side of his body was out of whack. "I'll be gentle," John offered. "Just -- let me try? I won't hurt you."

"Heard that one before," Rodney muttered, but he settled himself beside John, facing away, and waited.

John put his hands on Rodney's shoulders and just let them rest, feeling the warmth and breadth of Rodney's back. John's body was on autopilot; his mind was hurtling a million miles an hour. Was there any other reasonable way to read what Rodney had just said?

I won't hurt you. Under what circumstances would someone have said that to Rodney? John had a sudden vision of Rodney naked, up on hands and knees, waiting. A wave of heat suffused John's body, and he was suddenly very glad Rodney was facing the other way.

"Are you going to do anything anytime soon, or are you doing some kind of weird Reiki thing -- which, for the record, strikes me as entirely unlike you, so --"

"Keep your shirt on," John said, wishing devoutly for exactly the opposite, and let his hands begin to move.

2.

"How do you think I'm doing?"

John shrugged. "Based on the mountains of Kleenex you've artfully crumpled --"

Rodney threw one at him half-heartedly; he ducked.

"--I'd say not so good. And don't throw those things at me!"

"Mm, yes, they're plague vectors," Rodney said sourly. "If you're so worried about catching my cold, what are you doing here?"

John ignored that as not worthy of a response, and sat on the chair beside Rodney's bed.

"How's Teyla? How's Torran?"

"She's good. They're good," John amended.

A gleam appeared in Rodney's eye. "You're afraid of him, aren't you?"

"What? Of course not," John said automatically.

"You are!" Rodney crowed. "You don't know what to do with something so... helpless."

"Oh, and you do?"

"I used to take care of Jeannie," Rodney said automatically.

"That was kind of a while ago," John pointed out.

"Whatever; babies are babies."

"Well, Teyla's is beautiful," John said firmly.

Now Rodney looked glum. "Torran's going to forget me."

"What?"

"I can't visit them until I'm well again -- are you kidding, there's no telling what kind of germs I'm carrying -- in fact, now that you've been in here, you probably can't either, why did I let you in the door, I should've--"

"Rodney," John said, "chill out. It's fine. I cleared it with Keller. They'll rinse me off with the Hazmat hoses."

"Really?"

John picked up one of Rodney's crumpled tissues and threw it at him, this time.

"Very mature," Rodney said.

"You should sleep," John said abruptly. "You need rest."

"I can't." Rodney's voice was weary. "I can't get my brain to shut up." There was a pause. "What, no mocking?"

"I've been there." The first days of John's first command, his brain had fired so constantly he hadn't slept at all.

"I guess," Rodney said, though he didn't sound convinced.

John spotted a book lying face-down on the bed. "Want me to read to you?"

Rodney looked at him like he was nuts.

"Here," John said, and reached for the book, which turned out to be a copy of The Astrophysical Journal from 2002.

"You'll be bored," Rodney protested.

John just glanced over the page the journal was open to, found the start of the thought, and started to read.

After a paragraph, Rodney's eyes fluttered closed. By the end of the second page, his breathing had shifted to what John recognized as a sleep rhythm.

"How're you doing, there?" John asked quietly. No response.

"See you in the morning," John said. Rodney kept breathing.

John stood and looked down at Rodney. A wave of tenderness buffeted him and he felt as if he was sliding into a tailspin.

He bent and pressed his lips to Rodney's forehead -- just checking to see if Rodney's fever had broken; that was his story and he was sticking to it -- and then walked out of the room as fast as he could.

3.

"You'll feel better if you do," John said. "Trust me."

"Excuse me, are you aware who you're talking to?"

John ignored that.

"I'm not really sure how it's possible to confuse me with Teyla," Rodney said. "What with -- well, breasts, and a baby, and everything."

"She can still kick your ass," Ronon added helpfully.

"Oh, thank you so much for reminding me that even with a baby Teyla's approximately a million times more butch than I am," Rodney said.

"Shut up," John said, without rancor, and glanced back at Rodney to make sure he was wearing his tac vest and shooting glasses. "C'mon." He headed down the hall to the firing range, reassured by the two sets of footsteps following him.

"I suck at this," Rodney was saying as the targets slid into place at the far end of the room.

"Ear protection," John said automatically, and watched Rodney tug his on. John got his own on just in time; Ronon fired a full clip, blam-blam-blam.

John gestured with his head toward the targets, and Rodney gave an exaggerated silent sigh and firmed up his stance and pulled out his P-90. His footing was steady and his rhythm was good.

John fired off his own shots without really thinking about it, then pressed the button that would bring the papers hurtling their way. Ronon had blown a neat hole through the center of his target; John's shots were clustered around the heart; and Rodney had blown the head of his target clean off.

"Not exactly where you're supposed to aim," John said, "but--"

"Effective," Ronon said approvingly.

"Pretty obvious you don't actually suck anymore," John said.

Rodney's cough sounded forced, and his face was turning red.

Oh, fuck, that came out wrong. "Want to get off another round?" John asked, and then had to make an effort not to wince, because that was even worse! Jesus. What was the matter with him?

When Rodney looked back at him, there was defiance in the way he squared his shoulders. "Sure," he said. "I'm game if you are."

John told himself there was no way that meant what it sounded like it meant. He reloaded.

4.

"Ronon and Teyla will get us out of here in the morning," John said.

Rodney was pacing the length of their small cell, again. Step-two-three, turn, step-two-three.

"You're driving me kind of crazy," John warned him.

"You'll survive," Rodney said. "I don't see how you can sleep under these conditions."

"What, this?" John made a show of looking around the cell. "It's not so bad."

Rodney snorted.

"We've shared tents smaller than this," John pointed out.

Rodney sat down on the pallet next to him, but made no move toward lying down.

"Get some sleep," John said. "Trust me -- busting out of this place is going to be exciting. You want to be well-rested."

"Oh, thank you, Colonel I've-Been-In-This-Situation-A-Million-Times," Rodney said. "Got any military secrets for falling asleep in captivity?"

John did, actually, but they weren't the kind of thing he was about to suggest to Rodney. It seemed unlikely that the friendly handjob was part of Rodney's repertoire.

"What was that," Rodney said.

"What was what?"

"You had a look on your face."

"I always have a look on my face," John said, hoping obnoxiousness would throw Rodney off the trail.

But there was a glint in Rodney's eye. "You were thinking of something. Spill."

"Five billion, nine hundred and fifteen million, five hundred and eighty-seven thousand, two hundred and seventy-seven."

Worth a try, but Rodney didn't take the bait. "Obvious," he said.

"Go to sleep, Rodney."

"You had an idea for how to get me to sleep," Rodney said, triumphant now.

"Never mind," John said desperately.

"Did it involve hitting me over the head with a blunt object or something?"

"What? No! And I'm offended that you'd even think that."

"What was it, then?"

John sighed. There was no way this was going to go well. "You really don't want to know."

Rodney just looked at him.

"Sex," John said, finally.

Rodney went wide-eyed and swallowed hard.

"See? I told you you didn't want to --"

But then Rodney was pinning him to the thin mattress, kissing the spot just beside his mouth, and John shifted just enough that they were kissing for real.

And oh, God, Rodney was hard against his thigh. Halle-fucking-lujah. The kiss felt like they were still having a conversation. John tried to make his mouth say yes.

5.

"You're going to like this," John promised.

"You keep saying that," Rodney muttered, muffled by the pillow, "but you haven't--"

John's thumbs parted his cheeks and he blew a puff of breath against Rodney's hole.

"Hey," Rodney said, sounding indignant.

"Hey," John replied, and bent to lick. Rodney's next remark turned into a gasp, and then a gratifying hitch of breath, as if he was trying not to make noise.

Told you you'd like it, John thought, and kept going. Little even strokes. Rodney squirmed, ass flexing under his hands.

This time when John pulled back and blew a stream of air, Rodney whimpered. All the blood in John's body rushed directly to his cock.

John sucked on one finger and then slowly slid it inside. Rodney shifted a little, and when John licked right next to his finger Rodney moaned, ass flexing around him. Rodney was rubbing his erection against the sheets now, tiny thrusts like he couldn't help himself.

"Yeah?" John asked -- not like he couldn't tell, but he wanted to hear Rodney say it.

"Oh God," Rodney gritted out, "fuck, John, please--"

"You want me to fuck you?" John murmured.

"Would you -- your mouth again --" Rodney managed, voice low like he was embarrassed to ask for it. Which really turned John's crank.

John pulled his finger free, spread Rodney wide, and licked.

"Oh fuck," Rodney gasped. "Oh. Fuck. I can't--" He strained under John's hands and then John felt him freeze, shuddering, coming.

John felt light-headed, as if Rodney's orgasm had left him without enough air to breathe. He pulled back and rolled Rodney over. Just the sight of him -- lax with pleasure, eyes half-closed and cock lolling against his hip -- made John clutch at his own dick, coming suddenly and without warning all over Rodney's belly and thighs.

"I like your methods of stress relief," Rodney muttered sleepily against his neck, some long minutes later.

"You'd better," John said. Rodney, already asleep, didn't respond.

The End