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Wrapped Up

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“Okay, wow,” said Rodney, stopping short in the doorway to John’s office.

“I know, I look like crap,” said John, tossing another crumpled tissue at the overflowing trashcan and hitching his infirmary-issue blanket over his shoulder.

It was just a head cold, Carson assured him. A particularly nasty and long-lasting head cold, but there was no medicine that would help, and nothing John could do except try to work through it. Well, no, he’d told John to keep drinking fluids and get plenty of rest, but with Lorne’s team taking most of the missions that John’s team had been scheduled, somebody had to finish the paperwork before tomorrow’s databurst.

“What?” said Rodney. “No, no – I mean, you do look terrible. Did Carson really let you out of the infirmary like that?”

“Yes.” John took a swig from his mug of tea – it was lukewarm by now, but drinking the liquid helped anyway. “I’m either gonna live or die, and there’s nothing he can do either way.”

“I told you medicine was mostly quackery,” said Rodney.

John snorted, which quickly turned into a cough, and he took another sip of tea, looking up to catch an odd look on Rodney’s face. “What?”

“Nothing,” Rodney said quickly. “I was – It’s just – That’s my jacket.”

“It was the first thing I grabbed,” said John, which was a complete and utter lie. He’d pulled several of Rodney’s science department jackets out of their closet before he’d found one that was clean, but still smelled enough like Rodney to make him feel better. He and Rodney were more-or-less the same size, but Rodney was much broader in the shoulder and his jacket was just big enough on John that the colonel felt wrapped up and cared for, even when Rodney was gone.

That was probably the sinus congestion talking, though.

“I just—” Rodney said again. “I take back a few of the terrible things I said about jocks and cheerleaders back in high school. Seeing you in that makes me want to—”

“—take me home and have your way with me?” John finished, trying for a suggestive leer and ending up with another coughing fit.

“I always want to do that,” Rodney assured him, coming around the desk to rest a large, warm hand between John’s shoulder blades. “But at the moment, ‘my way’ is going to involve a shower and a nap.”

At the moment, that sounded almost as good as sex, and John leaned into the touch, gratefully. Then, he sighed and straightened up again. “I really do have to finish these. But I’m almost done, give me… ten, fifteen minutes.”

Rodney pressed a kiss to John’s temple. “I’ll go make you a new cup of tea and something to eat,” he said. “Then maybe we can find you some of my pajamas to sleep in.”

“Okay,” John agreed, probably a little too quickly, but Rodney just gave a pleased sort of hum and kissed him again before he left.

It took John seventeen minutes to finalize the databurst, but by the time he got back to their quarters, Rodney was waiting with a pot of strong Athosian tea and a toasted turkey sandwich.

“Are you sure your way isn’t going to involve sex?” John asked, as he crawled into bed after his shower, still a little damp around the edges, but snug in Rodney’s slightly-too-big I’m with genius t-shirt.

Rodney snorted. “You’re going to be asleep in five minutes, Sheppard. Don’t make propositions you can’t keep.”

“Can, too,” John murmured, but he was asleep before he heard Rodney’s reply.