Summary: The sky is the inside of a china bowl.
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Word Count: 300
Rating/Warnings: G, established relationship
A/N: Written for mcsmooch.
It's been raining off and on for days and days, a light drizzle that's just enough to keep everyone inside. It's slacked up, for the moment, but it's still so overcast that the sky is the inside of a china bowl. Rodney doesn't mind; it makes everything soft and bright, like the day is overexposed.
They're on the balcony outside their quarters, sitting at the café table that John insisted upon buying the last time they were on Earth, despite Rodney's assertion that nothing from Ikea counts as real furniture. John is sitting across from him, one hand wrapped around his coffee mug, the other arm slung casually over the back of his chair. He's sprawled out, as usual, across one of the comfortable padded chairs Rodney insisted upon; one of his legs has stolen over to Rodney's side of the table, and he's tracing his socked toes up and down the inside of Rodney's calf.
John's smiling the way he does when there's no one else around, close-mouthed and fond and so warm; Rodney's almost certain he looks equally sentimental. When he picks up his coffee and takes a sip, he keeps his gaze on Rodney over the rim, still smiling with his eyes.
John sets down his mug and rests his hand on the table beside it. Rodney can't resist; he slides his own underneath it, just to feel how warm John's skin is. John obliges, folding his fingers over Rodney's and letting Rodney lift his hand and pull it closer.
Rodney has to lean over, sit forward in his chair, displace John's foot, almost topple the flimsy little table; but he gets close enough to brush his lips across John's knuckles, spreading a long, light kiss across them.
John ducks his head and grins.
It's worth it.