By the time Rodney was awake enough for clear thought, he realized that the whispers of "John!" and the motion of the bed had been going on for a while.
"Teyla," he grunted, half-muffled in his pillow, "if you have to molest the fine colonel all night, can you do it quietly? I won't be as brilliant as usual if I haven't had any sleep."
"I am not molesting him," Teyla hissed, and Rodney cracked an eye open. She was glaring at him over Ronon. "He took both of the blankets again."
"Oh," Rodney said sleepily. "That sucks."
"Thank you, Rodney."
There was a dangerous note in her voice that he probably shouldn't ignore, but it had been a long day. "Come sleep over here, then," he suggested, closing his eye again. "Plenty of blanket. I don't steal."
"No," Teyla snapped. "He does this all the time, and I am sick of it."
The bed shifted again, more violently. Ronon mumbled something incoherent before falling silent. He never woke up unless someone next to him climbed out of bed, so Rodney knew he wasn't getting any help from that quadrant. He opened both eyes reluctantly and rose up on one elbow.
He was just in time to watch Teyla lean backward and pull with both hands, her knee braced against John's hip, and to see John roll bonelessly off the bed when the blankets came free.
The thud made Rodney wince in sympathy. It was followed immediately by a startled yelp and some flailing sounds before John's head reappeared above the edge of the mattress. His face was puffy with sleep and surprise and pain, and his hair looked even more like a hedgehog than usual. "Hey... what?" he said in a blurry voice. "Ow. What's going on?"
Rodney sighed and pushed himself up to a sitting position. "All right, come here."
John blinked at him. "Huh?"
John got up carefully, rubbing at his left elbow and his ass, and made a slow circle around to Rodney's side of the bed. Teyla had already wrapped herself in the liberated blankets and curled against Ronon and was ignoring both of them. John eyed her warily as he crawled in with Rodney, who lifted his own blanket and tugged John down beside him. "She threw me on the floor," he said resentfully, still blinking, looking to Rodney for confirmation.
"Yes," Rodney agreed.
"That was mean."
"Uh-huh." He hooked an arm around John's neck, hedgehog-hair tickling his cheek and soft under his fingers as John burrowed closer.
"Really mean." He sounded like a plaintive five-year-old.
"Horribly mean. Go to sleep. Don't steal my blanket."
"I don't steal," John mumbled, and pushed his face into Rodney's shoulder and fell asleep almost immediately.