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this room

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The sex is great, of course: fantastic, unbelievable, mindblowing, a whole list of totally inadequate words. So fucking hot that Rodney can hardly believe he's this lucky, and sometimes he lies awake and tries to calculate how many brain cells he's probably lost to orgasms. But not often. Usually he's so wiped that it's more like plunging into a coma than going to sleep.

The sex isn't his favorite thing, though. He hasn't said that to them yet and he doesn't know if he ever will, but it isn't.

His favorite thing is after he gets up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom. He's usually sleepwalking through it until he washes his hands, reaching his most-awake point as he shuts off the water and gropes for a towel. Then it hits him, every time, no matter if he's exhausted or barely conscious: a tiny amazed thrill in the pit of his stomach, the knowledge that he isn't going back to bed alone.

Their new room has a lot of windows and there's always some dim light filtering in, either ambient white from the city or soft blue from the moon. Rodney loves it. That moment of padding barefoot into the bedroom and seeing them sleeping in a tangled mound of limbs and blankets.

Daytime is for worrying that this won't last, that they'll fall apart or drift away from each other, lose someone on a mission, lose whatever crazy dynamic keeps this thing going. Nighttime is for taking those few seconds of standing and looking, thinking mine, right there, they're mine.

He never climbs back into bed on the outside, even if there's room, even if he was sleeping there when he got up. Ronon is in the middle, always -- he insists on it, and even when Rodney makes fun he loves that Ronon's so unselfconscious about that, about wanting to be surrounded by them, because Rodney wants it too. He lets himself do it when they're sleeping, burrows next to Ronon with John or Teyla on his other side, nudging them over if he has to.

He loves the sleepy rumbling noise that Ronon makes, how he usually gets a big arm thrown possessively around him. Pressing his face into John's shoulder or Teyla's hair and sometimes they'll wake up halfway too, murmur something incoherent and touch him, roll a little closer. Their warmth and smell and the sound of their breathing all around him. Rodney doesn't ever want to fall asleep any other way.