Rainy Day
It's ridiculously late, no matter the time zone (1am for me), but one last kiss that I couldn't not write. These have all been beautiful, so glad people shared them. I'm way behind on feedbacking, will do that tomorrow (sorry!). This John and Rodney as part of an AU I'm writing (John teaches kids, Rodney harasses teaches college students), but really? It's just the boys in bed. Enjoy!
Rainy Day
*
John was disappointed to find that while he had been innocently sleeping only moments before, he was now awake. Awake, and desperately trying not to be. Somewhere close by he could hear the tap of rain against the bedroom window, but it wasn’t here; here he was warm and dry and… awake. Because of a noise, close to the patter of rain on glass but not quite. Damn.
He pulled the blankets tighter, burrowing deeper to keep cold out and sleep in. He debated sticking his whole head in there, but decided that it wasn’t worth breathing through the muggy stale air. Besides, the bed felt big, too big. Sighing, John stuck his head out to see Rodney seated in the armchair by the bookshelf, one foot tucked up under him as he rapidly typed on the laptop.
“...” John tried, then swallowed and worked on actual words. “’S Saturday, Rodney.”
“Yes, yes, beauty sleep and all that, but there was this idea I had, remember I was telling you about Vareck’s total incomprehensibly idiotic theory about black holes and the way that the gravity… well, I just had to write it down because I swear, he shouldn’t even be allowed to come within twenty miles of the university, let alone teach there and…”
“Rodney,” John said, then paused, waited, and whatever he’d put in there along with Rodney’s name made him stop typing, though John had smile when he could hear Rodney compulsively hit save.
“Yes?”
“Come back to bed.”
“But-“
“It’s Saturday,” John said again, and something in Rodney’s face softened as he murmured, “okay, I’ll,” but then stopped, slowly set the laptop down, tugged at the blankets and curled himself around John before he could whine about the cold.
“Saturday,” John mumbled, and could feel Rodney nod against his neck. “No thinking on Saturdays,” John said, and now Rodney was laughing.
“That might be impossible, if you count the subconscious types of muscle movement and when you-” but by then John had shifted, turned and found Rodney’s mouth. It was the kind of kiss they had time for on Saturdays, a lazy, reflective one that meant no rushing for the door, no appointments or lectures or school-age emergencies, only the passage of breath past teeth and tongue, the haze of pleasurable non-thinking, no matter what Rodney said, if he could say, that let them be, just be, for once.
Rainy Day
*
John was disappointed to find that while he had been innocently sleeping only moments before, he was now awake. Awake, and desperately trying not to be. Somewhere close by he could hear the tap of rain against the bedroom window, but it wasn’t here; here he was warm and dry and… awake. Because of a noise, close to the patter of rain on glass but not quite. Damn.
He pulled the blankets tighter, burrowing deeper to keep cold out and sleep in. He debated sticking his whole head in there, but decided that it wasn’t worth breathing through the muggy stale air. Besides, the bed felt big, too big. Sighing, John stuck his head out to see Rodney seated in the armchair by the bookshelf, one foot tucked up under him as he rapidly typed on the laptop.
“...” John tried, then swallowed and worked on actual words. “’S Saturday, Rodney.”
“Yes, yes, beauty sleep and all that, but there was this idea I had, remember I was telling you about Vareck’s total incomprehensibly idiotic theory about black holes and the way that the gravity… well, I just had to write it down because I swear, he shouldn’t even be allowed to come within twenty miles of the university, let alone teach there and…”
“Rodney,” John said, then paused, waited, and whatever he’d put in there along with Rodney’s name made him stop typing, though John had smile when he could hear Rodney compulsively hit save.
“Yes?”
“Come back to bed.”
“But-“
“It’s Saturday,” John said again, and something in Rodney’s face softened as he murmured, “okay, I’ll,” but then stopped, slowly set the laptop down, tugged at the blankets and curled himself around John before he could whine about the cold.
“Saturday,” John mumbled, and could feel Rodney nod against his neck. “No thinking on Saturdays,” John said, and now Rodney was laughing.
“That might be impossible, if you count the subconscious types of muscle movement and when you-” but by then John had shifted, turned and found Rodney’s mouth. It was the kind of kiss they had time for on Saturdays, a lazy, reflective one that meant no rushing for the door, no appointments or lectures or school-age emergencies, only the passage of breath past teeth and tongue, the haze of pleasurable non-thinking, no matter what Rodney said, if he could say, that let them be, just be, for once.