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They make it through the drive home on small talk and observations about Ronon's latest girlfriend; even manage to chit-chat pleasantly with Ada, smiling in all the right places when she tells them how Finn behaved for her that night.
"Good party?" she asks eventually.
"Great," John says, but he can feel his smile's flat and thin. Rodney's squinting at him, but it's not the moment, and he's damned if he's giving an honest answer at half-past midnight with Ada in the room.
Ada leaves, and John makes excuses about checking on the chickens, does a quick round of the garden and the pasture, as if he might magically get his head in order or fend off an attack of killer bunnies by the act. It doesn't help – when he heads inside he's still as scrunched up and cranky as he was at the party, and things don't get better when he finds Rodney still awake and waiting for him upstairs.
"What's got into you?" Rodney asks, hands on his hips, an incongruous sight in blue-striped boxers and a 'Des Moines: Wave When You Fly Over!' t-shirt.
"Nothing?" John says sullenly, stripping out of his (favorite, black) t-shirt and throwing it on the floor near the hamper.
"This is not nothing," Rodney points out, waving a hand. "This is – this is something. This is – god, I don't even know, I've never seen you like this, all prickly and – " He makes a motion with his hands that either means John's suddenly grown breasts and Rodney appreciates them, or John's insides are crumpled sheets of brown paper. The latter's pretty close to true.
John sighs. "Look, let's just go to bed and – "
"Like hell," Rodney says, folding his arms. "C'mon. Spill. Explain."
John grimaces. "Why don't you ask your new friend Jeremy to explain?"
Rodney stares at him. "You're – I . . . what?" He blinks, flustered, and stares again. "You're – are you suggesting . . ."
"You seemed pretty cozy," John mutters, tugging off his boots, skinning out of his jeans. Rodney sucks in a breath and holds it for so long John can't help but look up at him. "What?"
"You're jealous!" Rodney says, agog.
"I am not."
"You are too!"
"Am not."
Rodney continues to gape. "You really think I'd - Jeremy? He was standing by the good beer and wouldn't let me get past!"
John stares at the floor for a minute, stomach twisting with nerves; risks a quick glance up from beneath his eyelashes. "He wouldn't?"
"Oh my god, you are the stupidest man alive!" Rodney yelps. "JEREMY?"
"Keep your voice down," John hisses. "You'll wake . . ."
But Rodney takes him rather more at his word than he'd planned – crosses the room and kisses hime hard, then dope-slaps him up the back of his head. "I don't know where you get this hair-brained idea that I'm going to throw you over," he whispers viciously, arms wrapped awkwardly around John's torso. "But it's one of the more ridiculous concepts in the universe. Right up there with . . . god, I don't even know." He kisses John's temple. "You big, dumb fuck."
John sags a little, memories tumbling in to fill in the gaps of what Rodney doesn't understand and he can't explain He lets his arms rise up, hugs Rodney back. "Sorry," he mumbles.
"It's never going to happen, okay?" Rodney murmurs. "I promise."
"Yeah?" John asks.
"Yes," Rodney says, and smacks him up the head again. "Now kiss me. You need a dose of my intelligence, and I hear that saliva is an adequate means of transferring . . . "
John snorts. "Shut up," he smiles, but kisses him all the same, feeling dumb but a whole lot grateful.