Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Pairing: John Sheppard / Rodney McKay
Rating: Explicit
Summary: When he was a kid, he remembered feeling like the sky was dipping down to meet him, and the harder it rained, the closer she was.
John loved to feel the rain on his face. When he was a kid, he remembered feeling like the sky was dipping down to meet him, and the harder it rained, the closer she was. He would spend hours outside in the rain, despite his mother’s dire warnings that he would catch his death of cold. Sometimes, he would just raise his face to the sky, spread his arms wide, and breath in the sweet ozone scent of fresh rain on warm asphalt, and freshly cut grass.
Everything seemed bright and new after it rained. Even the air was fresh, like it had never been breathed before. It was peaceful, and exhilarating. When thunder chased the lighting arcing across the sky, it felt like he was being reborn and John could do anything, be anyone he wanted to be, because he was all alone in this brave new world.
Maybe, that’s why he dreamt of flying. If he went fast enough, far enough, he could find that piece of sky that would settle down over him, like a lover, in the rain. He could feel the peace that he always longed for when the sky was clear, and the horizon was miles away.
He loved the irony that as an adult, he always wished for rain on Sundays. Elizabeth had established the idea of regular downtime fairly early on, not because of some religious notion of the Sabbath, but because the familiarity of a “weekend” would help everyone to adjust and keep burnout to a minimum. There was a rotating schedule for light duty, and an on-call schedule, but most Sundays were his own.
Luckily, since they had such a small population, or maybe because of it, they were a fairly social bunch. There was always something to do on Sundays: poker games, movie nights, even regular shuttles to the mainland for those who wished to get out of the city. Sometimes, John volunteered to ferry those himself, but mostly, he liked to spend the time alone, especially, if, like today, it was raining.
Rodney didn’t understand his fascination with the rain. He chided John for his penchant for standing out on the balcony, leaning over the railing, to feel the rain on his face. He echoed the long ago warnings of catching his death from the cold, interspersed with dire predictions of slick footing and very long drops to the wet sea, where he would surely drown.
Instead of deterring him, Rodney’s admonishments would make him smile, because no matter what pressing projects Rodney had in the works, or how many times he would grumble about John’s stupid habit, sooner or later, he would be there, right along with him, in the rain. He’d bring two cups of hot coffee, and press one silently into John’s hand, then settle back against the nearest wall, sipping against the chill, waiting until John was ready to go back inside.
He’d follow him back to his room, and help him to shed his rain-soaked clothes and warm the places that the coffee couldn’t reach. He’d kiss the rain from his eyelashes and his lips. Then, he would cover John’s body with his own and suck up the drops of water that would fall from his hair, down his neck and over his shoulders.
Then, for a moment, John was glad that he wasn’t alone, because he wouldn’t want to be anyone else, but who he was, wrapped in the embrace of his lover – but he still wished for rain.