Bedside Manner

"Hi Rodney." John tried to sit up, then winced at the sharp pain in his side.

Rodney hurried to his bed, placing a tray on the table. "Hey, hey, stop that."

Irritated, John waved Rodney away, but Rodney insisted on helping, a careful arm around John's waist for support, clucking with dismay as he tucked the pillow behind John's back.

"Why are you awake anyway?" Rodney tucked the blankets around John's waist. "You should be sleeping."

"I didn't feel like sleeping." John shifted his hips, pulling himself up straighter. "Ow."

"Yes." Rodney glared at him. "Funny thing about being shot. It hurts. I know this because I've been shot. Almost exactly in the same place, too. Now how did that happen again..." Rodney snapped his fingers. "Oh, right, you shot me."

"Rodney," John sighed.

Rodney flashed a bright grin, then leaned and kissed him.

"'S not funny," John grumbled, but by the third kiss he gave in and kissed Rodney back, because Rodney smelled good, heck, everything about Rodney was good--soft lips, scratchy chin, big warm hand resting on back of his neck. John reached a hand under Rodney's shirt, seeking warm skin.

"Hmmm." Rodney pulled back way too soon, straightening up and pressing one last kiss to John's forehead before seating himself on John's small couch. "Come on. I bought you a sandwich. You should eat something."

John scowled. Rodney was too far away. If he was going to sit all the way over there, he may as well sit in a different room. "Not hungry."

"Are you feeling okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine."

"No you're not, you were shot. Do you want me to get you something else? I think there was some chicken--should I call the infirmary? Are you feeling sick to your stomach?"

"No." John crossed his arms over his chest, manfully ignoring the sharp pain in his side as he did so. "No. And no."

"What are you, the worst patient ever?"

"You should talk."

Rodney rolled his eyes. "Right. What is with you?"

John shrugged.

"How very eloquent."

John wagged his feet under the covers, then plucked at the edge of his blanket. "I'm just bored, all right?"

"Seriously? You've only been out of the infirmary for what, less than a day?"

"I hate this." He hated everything about it--the tired, dragged out feeling, the dry mouth from the pain killers, the way his stitches pulled and itched, the way the bandage tugged at the hair on his stomach.

"I know. It sucks. Hey, do you want some more magazines? I can ask around. Or DVDs? I know we just got a fresh shipment in. Or we could play chess. Do you want to? I can get the board." Rodney leaned forward until he was sitting on the edge of his seat, an eager expression on his face.

John shook his head, running hand over the bandage beneath his shirt. What he wanted was to be better already. To not be stuck in bed. To be able to throw on his tac vest get back to his job.

With a huff Rodney sat back. "Well?"

John thought for a moment. "Want to fool around?"

"No." Rodney scrunched up his face as if John's suggestion was ridiculous.

"Why the hell not?"

"Hello? Gunshot wound? I don't think it's a good time for you to be bouncing around and having sex."

"We could have non-bouncy sex," John pointed out.

"Sex with you always ends up being bouncy," Rodney said. "It's fun. Remember that time I fell out of bed and bruised my hip? Still fun."

John grinned, remembering how Rodney had frantically scrambled back into bed, complaining as he grabbed John and pushed him down, licking and nipping at his chest.

Okay, maybe Rodney had a point.

"Plus, well--" Rodney wrinkled his nose. "When was the last time you showered?"

"Hey. Injured man here." John ducked his head and sniffed an armpit. "Do I smell that bad?"

"Nah. Just a tad ripe, that's all."

"So why won't you sit here with me?" John finally blurted out.

"Oh." Rodney looked startled. "Because you're hurt, I didn't want to, you know--bump you or anything."

"I can be bumped. On this side," John said, pointing to his non-injured side.

"True." Rodney nodded, then pointed toward the bed. "You want me to--"

"Yes." John carefully shifted over to one side, making room for Rodney.

Rodney stood, slipping his jacket off. "Wait. You're not going to try and have sex with me, are you?"

"Rodney," John snapped, then saw the hint of a dimple in Rodney's cheek, the one that meant he was biting back a grin. "Not funny, either."

"Yes, it was." Rodney sat on the bed and unlaced his boots, then kicked them off before easing himself next to John.

John scooted closer, then leaned against Rodney's warm body. Much better. Especially when Rodney slipped an arm around his shoulders and nuzzled his neck. "What did you bring me?" John asked, closing his eyes with a blissful sigh.

"Sandwich." Rodney kissed John's jaw. "Ham and cheese. Sorry, they were out of turkey. But I got cookies, too."

John's stomach rumbled, as if on cue.

Rodney grinned and reached for the sandwich. "Here, eat."

"Doc said I could shower tomorrow, you know." John took a bite.

"Thank god."

"You could help." John nudged Rodney with an expression he was sure was lascivious. "I might be feeling a little weak. Wouldn't want me to slip or anything."

"No, I wouldn't," Rodney agreed solemnly. "I think I definitely need to be there with you. For your own safety."

"Good." John took another bite. "Thanks for the sandwich."

Rodney kissed the top of his head. "You're welcome, Colonel Cranky."

"And you really are a much worse patient than me," John told him.

"Of course I am."

"Plus, I don't patronize you when you've been injured."

"Of course you don't."

John snorted. "Just get me one of those damn cookies."

Rodney laughed and reached for tray.

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