A little Rodney/Ronon. Rodney had never looked twice at Ronon in a speculative way. He'd looked once. It was soon after the guy showed up and followed them home, after Rodney dealt with his distractions--radiation, hunger, irritation--and his immediate anxieties about Ford. For one moment during a team-building lunch when John was trying to explain the ridiculous concept of fantasy football, Rodney tuned out and focused on Ronon instead, and simply chewed and stared, taking him in. The bodice-ripper body and intense face, the leather-man gear and knife, the tense, ready way he held himself even during a meal, scrutinizing the room and people's movements with sidelong glances. Rodney could see him making tactical assessments, or whatever it was that military types did. He was incredibly hot, and that pretty much killed Rodney's interest. He wasn't stupid enough to make a move on someone who was guaranteed to laugh at him; it wasn't even worth it to fantasize. That was a slippery slope. First you did it while jacking off, then a day came when you found your mind going there as you tried to construct a wave packet to isolate non-baryonic particles in forming wormholes, and then you were staring at the person during meetings with a dopey expression and too many witnesses. So he continued to fantasize about Samantha Carter--still his perfect match, even if the odds of her coming around to his point of view were decreasing with time and distance--and made a point of keeping Ronon at arm's length, which wasn't hard. He had a knack for antagonizing people. He let them think it was an oblivious by-product of personality; when people knew it was deliberate, they weren't as easy to provoke. But it was a talent he'd honed since childhood; pissing people off drove them away, and he liked to be left alone. Most of the time. Unfortunately, crossing Ronon off his list of possibilities only worked for a while. There was a comfortable period of several months when Ronon ignored him back, aside from the occasional digs they exchanged, and then all of a sudden they were tripping over each other constantly. Rodney was bewildered. They bumped into each other coming around corners, and reached for the salt shaker at the same time. On Birqui some arboreal rodent sent a tree branch crashing down toward Rodney's head and he stumbled back smack into Ronon's own treelike body, and Ronon's hand landed on Rodney's hip, except further in, close enough to his dick to make Rodney yelp. Everyone else assumed it was because of the tree branch, but Ronon watched him afterwards with a predator's unreadable eyes. After three weeks of this, Rodney went to Ronon's quarters and confronted him.