It started, John thinks, with Rodney's off-the-cuff remark about inferior educational systems, and ended up with an "I'll show you my graduate degree if you show me yours" standoff.

Teyla and Ronon had watched the argument as if it were a sport, all the way until John conceded he hadn't actually brought his diploma to Atlantis and, furthermore, he wasn't sure where it actually was. He had, however, mentioned he had a couple of textbooks hanging around. While Rodney had dismissed the comment, apparently Teyla and Ronon were interested, because after they returned to Atlantis, they followed John to his quarters.

While he digs through his box of "stuff that might be useful sometime" shoved in the corner, Teyla and Ronon drift around the corners of his room, examining the personal items he brought back from Earth after his last trip on the Daedalus.

Ronon strums idly across the guitar's strings, while Teyla touches the poster on his wall with a hint of reverence.

Finally, he emerges with an old biomathematics textbook. The corners of the cover are ragged, and there's a coffee stain on the first three pages. "Found it," he announces, and tosses it onto his mattress.

Teyla picks up the book, skims through a couple of pages with a puzzled frown. "This is what you studied?" she asks. "It seems…complex."

John leans against the wall, watches them as they peer at the equations. "Yeah, it is kind of specialized." Teyla nods, flips to another page. "What kind of education did they have on your world, Ronon?"

"What we needed, to fight the Wraith." Ronon shrugs, and John notices, for a second, how close he and Teyla are standing. "Math and science weren't really my specialty."

"Right." John stands and watches the two of them, and they talk about school, and customs, and home.

---

After Ford captures them, transports them to Never Never Land and drugs his team, John finds himself with a lot of time on his hands.

Time other than, of course, staring at Ford's diagrams and realizing the enzyme affected a lot more than Ford's ability to control his temper. McKay's usually off with Jace, puzzling out the Wrath dart. Teyla and Ronon, on the other hand, spend most of their time demonstrating just how much more superior their fighting skills are.

And John wanders around the complex, and wishes he had something to do.

One afternoon, he finds his way to the storeroom that also functions as a makeshift kitchen. Ford's men aren't much for formal dinners, but there's plenty of food to be had, if anyone wants to make salad, or stew, or a sandwich.

But when he turns the corner, he finds Teyla pressing up against Ronon, grins on both their faces, and much more of either of them he ever anticipated seeing.

He backs out of the room quickly, and finds somewhere else to be.

---

After that, he begins to notice the two of them more often. Not, he thinks, that he's seeking them out. Just that they're everywhere.

Late in the morning, he finds them sparring on the far side of the caves. Ronon feints, catches Teyla off-guard, and slams her to the floor. John starts to intervene, but then Teyla's legs snake around Ronon, and she twists, rolls roughly. Ronon's hands squeeze her hips, and John decides she's just fine.

At noon, over their meal, Teyla snatches Ronon's ale, or Ronon steals off her plate. They dance around each other with predatory smiles, and John leaves when Ronon catches her against the table.

As the sun sets, and John goes out to the fields to make sure McKay hasn't killed Jace, or vice versa. He sees them at the edge of the forest, hears the echo of their laughter, and he tries not to look too closely.

And at the evening meal, he watches them watch each other, and tries not to say anything. Every once in a while, Teyla will look at him with something suspiciously like a smirk off her lips. He'd think she was laughing at him, but that would mean she knows that he knows, and that's when things get much too complicated for him. It's easier to pretend nothing's happening at all.

---

Their sleeping quarters are in the open air, as Ford's men have long claimed the enclosed rooms for their own. On the other side of the cave, John can hear McKay snoring from behind his nightly fortress of crates and blankets.

Slightly less audible than the snoring, but no less distracting, are the faint moans John's hearing from Teyla and Ronon, the scrape of leather against stone, skin against skin.

They're only ten feet away from him, maybe less, but if he gets up and moves, that means he knows what they're doing, and he hates feeling embarrassed, even a little bit.

So he squeezes his eyes shut, and listens to them. He can see them in his mind's eye, the arch of Teyla's back, Ronon's fingers pressing into her flesh. The muscles in Ronon's legs straining, and Teyla biting her lip as he thrusts into her.

Under his blanket, John works his hand underneath his waistband, squeezes himself, and he manages not to hiss. He strokes in time to what he hears, the slap of their bodies together, the way their gasps overlap, ragged and urgent.

He comes, four seconds before Teyla does, and Ronon's grunt echoes a minute after that.

John holds his breath and keeps his eyes closed, and hopes that they'll go to sleep, instead of continuing to another round.

"Colonel Sheppard," Teyla says, and she sounds amused.

John opens his eyes, blinks as sleepily as he can, and looks over. She and Ronon are watching him, their limbs still entangled, and he tries to keep his eyes to areas designated acceptable.

"Yeah?" he finally answers. His voice is hoarse.

She smiles, and her hand drifts against Ronon's chest. "You might do more than just listen, next time."

John clears his throat. And then again. "Uh, yeah." He smiles, and hopes he doesn't get another hard-on. "Maybe."

When he turns on his side, facing away from them, he allows himself a flinch.

And behind him, Teyla and Ronon begin to groan again.