Habituation
by lamardeuse
Rated: PG-13
Rodney’s not used to this.
It’s not the regular sex—well, all right, maybe it’s a little bit of that. He’s not so self-deluded that he believes he’s easy to live with, and Sheppard’s put up with him a lot longer than anyone else has, especially when you consider the nearly blowing him up part, which is a level of disaster he’d never attained in any other relationship. But still, that’s not what stops his breath for a moment when he wakes up in the middle of the night and finds John lying beside him.
There’s a faint glow coming from the wall sconce by his computer (John derives endless amusement from the fact Rodney feels more comfortable with a light on in this place), enough to make out the rough terrain of features and expression. On the rare occasions when Rodney’s seen John sleeping—staying the night is not usually an option unless they’re on the mainland, far from prying eyes—he’s never caught him drooling or heard him snore beyond a low, almost soothing rumble, like distant thunder. And of course, the hair looks the same as it always does, so John asleep is still more beautiful than any human being has a right to be. He’s just an even more inscrutable version of his waking self, because if there’s a time when John looks unintentionally vulnerable, Rodney hasn’t seen it yet.
What he sees now, though, flattens him, because Rodney opens his eyes from a dream starring (surprise, surprise) Wraith and finds John’s eyes are open and watching him. And for that one moment before John registers Rodney’s awake, Rodney reads more in those heavy-lidded hazel eyes than he’s managed to do in well over a year of focused and systematic study.
Just as in quantum physics, Rodney realizes, the act of observing John Sheppard alters the parameters. John is a being supremely aware of his own allure, and he sends out a cloud of charged particles whenever anyone glances in his direction. For someone as sensitive to radioactivity as Rodney, it’s a wonder he’s made it this far.
But now he realizes John watches him too, and at least this once without the intervening distance of genial affability, and just like that Rodney admits to himself that if there was a point of no return, he just went sailing past it in an X-302 headed straight for the nearest sun.
“Hey,” John says, his equanimity fully functional now. “Guess I fell asleep.”
Rodney doesn’t answer, and John hesitates before reaching out. His hand still bears the scar from his latest encounter with the Wraith, and Rodney’s hand shoots out to grip it in his. John’s hands feel deceptively fragile, bones close to the surface, and Rodney loves to touch them.
“I should go,” John murmurs, but he doesn’t sound convincing, and he sounds even less convincing when Rodney’s fingers stroke against John’s palm and he groans before leaning in and kissing Rodney messily and hungrily.
No, he’s not used to this, Rodney thinks as John rolls him onto his back and (mostly) covers Rodney’s body with his own.
But he’s going to do his damnedest to live long enough to try.
End
October 2005
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