To Each His Own by Nny
To Each His Own
~500 words
It wasn’t, admittedly, his favourite way to wake up. He’d thought about it - at length, actually, because sometimes the aliens weren’t attacking and there was nothing more pressing than slow-running simulations and slow-unfolding daydreams. Nothing better than imagining the gentle weight of an arm across his chest gradually becoming known as the combination of warm sun on his face and the scent of Kona drifting in from the kitchen charmed his eyes open. (His fantasies were detailed, of course; why do something half way?)
This was definitely in the top ten, though, if only for the sense-memories of how, er, enthusiastic John could be when he was impatient enough to risk waking Rodney up for sex. Rodney screwed up his face at a particularly enthusiastic lick; his skin was sensitive enough that it felt cat-tongue rough, and oh wow. Morning breath.
“That is noxious, Sheppard,” he mumbled as he forced his eyes open, “even for - yeargh!”
The goat-creature blinked slit-pupilled eyes and backed away unhurriedly. Rodney flung himself to his feet - faster than Ronon would ever credit - and wiped the stiff material of his uniform jacket over his face.
“Oh just kill me,” he moaned, trying to remember how far away the stream was from where they’d set up camp, “kill me now. I’m done with this life.”
And then he froze, at the low and hastily smothered laugh to his left.
If it had been Ronon, one of them would have had to die. Probably Rodney, frankly, from the humiliation. John could, naturally, have been bought off with the promise of sexual favours - or the threat of withholding them, of course. But sat in the shade of the jumper, composed and twinkly-eyed and quite indecently awake for the hour of the morning, was Teyla. Rodney wasn’t sure if he was saved, or doomed for all eternity.
“You saw nothing, right?” he asked with more than a little desperation. “Nothing happened, obviously, so you can’t have seen - " another thought struck him and he groaned, low. “And heard. Please tell me you didn’t hear - " the smile was spreading across her face and Rodney couldn’t prevent the small dance of anxious frustration. “I didn’t - you can’t - "
It wasn’t like he was under the impression that they didn’t know. Team was infinitely worse than inquisitive sisters, but this wasn’t something that could be teased about, not like John’s hair, or Ronon’s fear of anything furry and smaller than a rabbit.
“My people have a saying,” she said, the faintest notes of laughter still lending harmonies to her voice, “that no man is responsible for his dreams. It is forgotten.”
“Okay good.” Rodney breathed out. “Good. Fine.”
“The kabra, though?” she cast another glance at the goat thing, chewing now on Ronon’s discarded coat, and laughed. An evil, evil laugh.
Oh. Oh that was just going to suck.
***
Epilogue
“Wstfgl sheep!” Rodney complained, and batted with his hand before he was even close to awake. Batted at a familiar stubbled cheek.
“…sheep?”
Rodney blinked open his eyes, and winced at John’s expression, and hated the world a little more.
“The Athosians,” he said hopefully, “have this saying…”
~500 words
It wasn’t, admittedly, his favourite way to wake up. He’d thought about it - at length, actually, because sometimes the aliens weren’t attacking and there was nothing more pressing than slow-running simulations and slow-unfolding daydreams. Nothing better than imagining the gentle weight of an arm across his chest gradually becoming known as the combination of warm sun on his face and the scent of Kona drifting in from the kitchen charmed his eyes open. (His fantasies were detailed, of course; why do something half way?)
This was definitely in the top ten, though, if only for the sense-memories of how, er, enthusiastic John could be when he was impatient enough to risk waking Rodney up for sex. Rodney screwed up his face at a particularly enthusiastic lick; his skin was sensitive enough that it felt cat-tongue rough, and oh wow. Morning breath.
“That is noxious, Sheppard,” he mumbled as he forced his eyes open, “even for - yeargh!”
The goat-creature blinked slit-pupilled eyes and backed away unhurriedly. Rodney flung himself to his feet - faster than Ronon would ever credit - and wiped the stiff material of his uniform jacket over his face.
“Oh just kill me,” he moaned, trying to remember how far away the stream was from where they’d set up camp, “kill me now. I’m done with this life.”
And then he froze, at the low and hastily smothered laugh to his left.
If it had been Ronon, one of them would have had to die. Probably Rodney, frankly, from the humiliation. John could, naturally, have been bought off with the promise of sexual favours - or the threat of withholding them, of course. But sat in the shade of the jumper, composed and twinkly-eyed and quite indecently awake for the hour of the morning, was Teyla. Rodney wasn’t sure if he was saved, or doomed for all eternity.
“You saw nothing, right?” he asked with more than a little desperation. “Nothing happened, obviously, so you can’t have seen - " another thought struck him and he groaned, low. “And heard. Please tell me you didn’t hear - " the smile was spreading across her face and Rodney couldn’t prevent the small dance of anxious frustration. “I didn’t - you can’t - "
It wasn’t like he was under the impression that they didn’t know. Team was infinitely worse than inquisitive sisters, but this wasn’t something that could be teased about, not like John’s hair, or Ronon’s fear of anything furry and smaller than a rabbit.
“My people have a saying,” she said, the faintest notes of laughter still lending harmonies to her voice, “that no man is responsible for his dreams. It is forgotten.”
“Okay good.” Rodney breathed out. “Good. Fine.”
“The kabra, though?” she cast another glance at the goat thing, chewing now on Ronon’s discarded coat, and laughed. An evil, evil laugh.
Oh. Oh that was just going to suck.
***
Epilogue
“Wstfgl sheep!” Rodney complained, and batted with his hand before he was even close to awake. Batted at a familiar stubbled cheek.
“…sheep?”
Rodney blinked open his eyes, and winced at John’s expression, and hated the world a little more.
“The Athosians,” he said hopefully, “have this saying…”