“Ow!” They all feel McKay's flinch, the four of them lying tight together in their small, dark cave. “Okay, whose knee was that? Own up.” He flops around from his side to his back, his own limbs insinuating themselves into the crannies barely left between their bodies.
Sheppard grunts, a soft 'oof' on a breath from McKay's elbow implanting itself in John's middle.
“Perhaps if you were still, Rodney, we would not have need to rearrange ourselves,” Teyla suggests blandly, her words muffled against Ronon's chest.
“If I sleep like this my back will complain for days,” McKay objects, but it's out of habit; his words are slurring with his exhaustion.
“We'll get you a massage,” Sheppard promises on a whisper, as if his normal tones will chase sleep further away. He shimmies his torso around a few degrees to avoid McKay's elbow, leaving his hips and shoulders uncomfortably offset. He thinks the arm under his neck belongs to Ronon, and the lump beneath his lower back is either Teyla's sidearm or a rock. “And chocolate. And coffee.”
“Oh, right. Are you also going to bring Green and Blacks to the Pegasus Galaxy and turn single cell batteries into ZPMs?”
“I might,” Sheppard drawls. “After a good night's sleep.”
McKay sighs heavily. He has an outside position but they still all feel his chest fall – the space is cramped enough that their breaths reverberate through them all, bodies rising and falling like a four-moon tide.
“I hate this planet,” McKay grumbles.
“Shut up, McKay,” Ronon growls.
Teyla snuggles in deeper under Ronon's coat, and then lies still and quiet, breathing deep and evenly. They are all exhausted from their day's evasion of the planet's bovine predators and the sun will be up again in four or five more hours, but the anticipation of McKay's next bout of fidgeting staves off sleep.
McKay holds out for a few minutes before he wriggles, shifting slowly as if stealth could stop the others from noticing.
“Oh, for God's sake!” Sheppard mutters.
“Sorr- hey!” McKay yelps in surprise when Sheppard pulls him bodily over, draping McKay heavily over his own body. Sheppard ignores McKay's protests and rearranges them both until McKay's head is nestled into his neck, one hip canted up over John's thigh, one arm circling John's chest. The fight drains out of McKay with his surprise, and his weight settles, languid and lax.
“Go to sleep,” John tells him. And they do.