3. The Flop
“Well, that was fun,” John said as he walked with Rodney along the corridor. They’d spent another hour playing poker before getting tired of losing all their chips to Teyla. Now it appeared they were heading toward the lab. “Where we goin’?”

“I don’t know where you’re going, but I’m going to the lab. I’ve got work to do,” Rodney said.

John stopped in the middle of the hall. This wasn’t working out as he’d hoped. “C’mon, Rodney, it’s Saturday night and we’re not under threat of imminent death. Lighten up a little!” he complained. He'd been hoping to spend the evening playing cards and hanging out with the team, but when Teyla started kicking their asses at poker, it had quickly stopped being fun despite Rodney’s presence.

“I don’t know about you, Colonel, but just the thought of creepy space vampires keep me up at night,” Rodney snarked back.

John laughed, seizing the opening. “Well, good. Since you’re going to be up anyway, you can entertain me,” he said casually, eyeballing Rodney sideways to gauge his reaction. Did the tips of his ears turn a little red? It was hard to tell. Maybe he was just hot. John was feeling a little warm. Or maybe he was nervous because he’d just laid his cards on the table and was waiting to see what Rodney would do.

He’d been thinking of Rodney on more than friendly terms for a while, but could never get a read on him. They were friends, absolutely, but did friends find it necessary to drop by and talk at all hours of the night? Rodney kept strange hours and seemed to think nothing of showing up at two a.m., kicking his feet up on John’s desk and talking about any number of things while he munched an MRE or powerbar. Luckily, John was often up late as well and didn’t regret that he’d never finish War and Peace if Rodney kept up his late night visits.

They didn’t talk about anything in particular; Rodney likely just needed to unwind a bit after long hours in the lab. The first time it happened, John thought Rodney was actually making the first move. But after an hour passed and Rodney had done nothing to indicate it was anything other than one friend dropping by for a friendly chat with another (albeit in the middle of the night), John dismissed that thought. He enjoyed the time with Rodney, but after all the talk of his torch for Samantha Carter, John wasn’t even sure they were both playing with the same deck.

Rodney finally looked at him with a narrowed gaze. “Well…I’ve got the latest Battlestar in my room. What say we go to my place?” he asked, eyes still narrowed at John.

John tried not to show his surprise. He wasn’t expecting that—he’d figured they’d hang out in the lab or go back to the mess. But Rodney had just upped the ante. What was going on in that big brain? Was this as casual as John had tried to make it seem or was Rodney trying to scare him off? Well, he was a gambling man.

“Sounds great.”

4. The Turn
Entering Rodney’s room, John saw that it was as cluttered as his lab. Papers and projects were littered all over. Not like John’s Spartan quarters, with few things beyond his skateboard and Johnny Cash for company. For all the times he and Rodney had hung out in his room, he’d never once been invited to spend time at Rodney’s. It didn’t occur to him that technically, he’d never actually invited Rodney to his place, either.

“Nice,” John said, looking around. He moved to study some of the framed items and smiled at the picture of Rodney receiving his first diploma.

“So, uh, make yourself at home,” Rodney said, shuffling a pile on his desk and meeting John’s eyes. John looked around the messy room, trying to find a place where he could make himself at home.

Looking at Rodney now, he saw him shifting on his feet, appearing almost nervous in sharp contrast to the easy invite back in the hall. What was going on behind those big blue eyes? Maybe Rodney wasn’t as confident as he first seemed, which meant maybe this wasn’t as casual as John had first thought.

“Okay…uh, hey, where’d you get a couch…thing?” John asked, spying the smallish, uncomfortable-looking, vaguely couch-inspired lump of furniture obscured by yet more stuff.

Rodney shrugged casually. “Was here when I got here.”

“So, shall we?” John suggested, raising his eyebrows and trying to read Rodney’s response. He got the same narrowed glare as before, as if he was studying John in return, trying to figure out what was on his mind. Not wanting to expose his hand early, John schooled his features into practiced coolness.

Rodney looked at the couch covered in stacks of things, then at John. “Hm. Too many important projects on the couch. Wouldn’t want to disrupt anything. How ‘bout the bed?” he countered evenly.

John considered. Either Rodney was feeling really confident and trying to get John into his bed or he was completely oblivious to the fact that John was trying to work him. Either way, John figured he was holding all the cards. He gave Rodney a meaningful smile and received an expressionless stare in return. Rodney didn’t even have this good of a poker face when he was playing poker.

“Cool,” he agreed, shucking his jacket and tossing it at the desk chair. Rodney busied himself with the laptop as John made himself comfortable on the bed, leaning back against the wall and crossing his legs at the ankle.

Rodney popped in the DVD and handed the laptop to John as he kicked off his shoes and clambered onto the bed. He shifted around, trying to get comfortable, jostling John in the process. The laptop slipped from its precarious perch on John’s knee and in the resulting scuffle to rescue it, he ended up elbowing Rodney in the head.

“Ow,” Rodney complained, sitting up and rubbing his abused temple.

“Oh, buck up and watch the show,” John joked, swatting at Rodney as he got the laptop readjusted comfortably. They watched in silence for a few minutes. John was enjoying the closeness, but Rodney kept fidgeting, and with a sidelong glance, John could see him squinting at the screen and pressing the sore spot on his head.

“Come on, it’s not that bad!” John said, feeling guilty though he was sure Rodney was just fishing for sympathy.

“It really hurts. My vision’s all blurry. You might have given me brain damage!” Rodney grumbled, holding his hand over his eye.

“Oh, you’re fine,” he said, ruffling Rodney’s hair. “Lemme see.” He pulled Rodney’s hand away and leaned in, looking for signs of actual injury. There was a slight red spot above the temple, but no bruising. He gently touched the area, checking for swelling. He didn’t notice Rodney holding his breath as his fingers brushed the sore place.