In Waiting by Zinnith
For winter_elf and her wishes for sunsets, balconies or both.
413 words and unbeta'd, because I'm late as usual.
The evening sky is magnificent in shades of pink and gold. The sea reflects the colours, making it seem like Atlantis is floating among pastel coloured clouds.
John grips the balcony railing so hard that his knuckles turn white. Beside him, Rodney keeps shooting John expectant looks. They are standing as close together as they can without actually touching, and John wonders what would happen if he crossed that space between them, if he reached out for Rodney, if he gave in to the feelings that have threatened to burst out for over five years now.
”Pretty,” Rodney says, breaking the silence.
John turns his head to stare at him. ”What?”
”I meant the sunset,” Rodney says irritably. ”You look just the same as you always do. Skinny and stubbly and...” he stops himself with a sigh. ”Never mind.”
John's dizzy, his lungs feel completely empty of air, and he's quite sure that if he tried to move or speak or even breathe right now, Rodney would have to pick him up off the floor. He keeps his grip on the railing, needing the support to make his wobbly legs hold him up.
They're silent for a while longer, the air between them filled with unspoken possibilities.
”You know,” Rodney says after a while. ”I thought you'd be happy. You know, now that your backwards country finally joined the twenty first century.”
John keeps staring at the sky, how the colours melt together so it's impossible to see the slim border of the horizon between air and water. ”I am,” he mumbles. He doesn't dare meet Rodney's eyes, not right now. ”It's just. Difficult.”
Rodney makes a little hmpf noise in the back of his throat. Then his hand on the railing inches closer to John, and John watches it with a mix or horror and anticipation. Once their skin touches, John doesn't know what to do. Rodney opens his mouth again. ”Seriously,” he says. ”For a smart guy, you're surprisingly stupid.”
And John turns around and looks at Rodney, sees Rodney, with the sunset reflecting in his eyes and the corner of his mouth turned downwards in bitterness and disappointment and he knows that no matter how difficult things might seem, they're not, this was meant to be long before this evening and this sunset and this balcony, so he lets go of the railing and trusts Rodney to hold him up instead as their lips meet and the air around them sings with finally, finally, finally.
413 words and unbeta'd, because I'm late as usual.
The evening sky is magnificent in shades of pink and gold. The sea reflects the colours, making it seem like Atlantis is floating among pastel coloured clouds.
John grips the balcony railing so hard that his knuckles turn white. Beside him, Rodney keeps shooting John expectant looks. They are standing as close together as they can without actually touching, and John wonders what would happen if he crossed that space between them, if he reached out for Rodney, if he gave in to the feelings that have threatened to burst out for over five years now.
”Pretty,” Rodney says, breaking the silence.
John turns his head to stare at him. ”What?”
”I meant the sunset,” Rodney says irritably. ”You look just the same as you always do. Skinny and stubbly and...” he stops himself with a sigh. ”Never mind.”
John's dizzy, his lungs feel completely empty of air, and he's quite sure that if he tried to move or speak or even breathe right now, Rodney would have to pick him up off the floor. He keeps his grip on the railing, needing the support to make his wobbly legs hold him up.
They're silent for a while longer, the air between them filled with unspoken possibilities.
”You know,” Rodney says after a while. ”I thought you'd be happy. You know, now that your backwards country finally joined the twenty first century.”
John keeps staring at the sky, how the colours melt together so it's impossible to see the slim border of the horizon between air and water. ”I am,” he mumbles. He doesn't dare meet Rodney's eyes, not right now. ”It's just. Difficult.”
Rodney makes a little hmpf noise in the back of his throat. Then his hand on the railing inches closer to John, and John watches it with a mix or horror and anticipation. Once their skin touches, John doesn't know what to do. Rodney opens his mouth again. ”Seriously,” he says. ”For a smart guy, you're surprisingly stupid.”
And John turns around and looks at Rodney, sees Rodney, with the sunset reflecting in his eyes and the corner of his mouth turned downwards in bitterness and disappointment and he knows that no matter how difficult things might seem, they're not, this was meant to be long before this evening and this sunset and this balcony, so he lets go of the railing and trusts Rodney to hold him up instead as their lips meet and the air around them sings with finally, finally, finally.