This is emphatically not Rodney's kink. When this is over, he's going to sue for false advertising.

Rodney tries to kiss his way down the chest in front of him. Tries being the operative word. There's a forest of fur in his way. It's a dense, impenetrable jungle of dark hair. On second thought, Rodney thinks it qualifies as a pelt.

Yes, that's precisely what it is. A hairy pelt that gets in his teeth and feels rough against his tongue and has to be a throwback to when they were all monkeys. The nipple Rodney finds nestled in the darkest depths of the wilderness should offer some relief. Instead, Rodney's discovered a much grosser means of flossing. He does make a note of it for the next time he's imprisoned on some random planet whose people don't believe prisoners have a right to hygiene. He can use some to make a noose.

Rodney gives up with a disgruntled noise. It's too early to play Marco Polo when, really, all he'd wanted was some easy morning sex. That didn't require a hairbrush.

He rolls over right into something warm and large and, in Rodney's half-awake, half-aroused state, cuddly. Rodney wraps his arms around it, nuzzles his face into the soft expanse of belly and sighs contentedly. This is better, his own life-sized teddy bear.

That growls. And could snap him in half.

So 'grizzly' might be a more apt descriptor than 'teddy,' but at least he got the bear part right. He briefly thinks about resuscitating the morning sex idea, but Grizzly Adams is rumbling in discontent and by now, Rodney just wants to sleep in since, really, sleep's even more precious and rarer than morning sex.

A hairy arm wraps around his waist.

"Rodney," the Man-Monkey whispers against his shoulder. Rodney grunts noncommittally and makes a big show of going back to sleep. "Rhawd-ney," Man-Monkey drawls and great. Now he's losing his ability to talk; how many evolutionary steps were they from monkeys, again?

"We're descended from apes, Rodney, and you think my chest hair is sexy." Rodney whimpers and sends a hand out to blindly search for a pillow. His hand is intercepted and a strong (opposable) thumb runs along his knuckles.

"I could find a teddy if you want." No part of Rodney's tired or asleep anymore.

"You—wha?" Rodney asks. His mind is feeding him images of Ronon in lingerie, his thick dreads cascading over lacy silk. Delicate silk stockings stretched over well-muscled legs.

Ronon shrugs and runs his hand over Rodney's hair and down to John's arm, still wrapped around Rodney's waist. "Saw it in a movie. They're hot."

"I...that wasn't...yeah." Rodney swallows. "Hot." Morning sex is suddenly far more appealing than sleep. He presses a kiss to Ronon's collarbone, then turns to kiss John good morning. He doesn't really mind the fur all that much.

And Ronon's so getting a teddy on the next Daedalus run.

A/N: If you're watching my account and looking from updates from me, I'm going to suggest you either go to my personal website for future updates, or look me up on LiveJournal. (You can find a link to those sites from my bio profile.) I'm doing this because this place is a) a pit of despaire where bad fic comes to flourish and b) not a place that allows mature/adult content, and I'd like to not continue breaking their TOS, however badly moderated and policed this place is.