Rain May Come (But I Don't Care) (1/1)
Title: Rain May Come (But I Don't Care)
Author: somehowunbroken
Fandom: SGA/SG1
Characters: Cam/Evan
Word Count: 1,068
Rating: PG/sweet and fluffy and nice.
Notes: For rubygirl29. Hope things get better, dear :)
Leave is precious; it’s something Evan has learned during his tenure in the Air Force at large, and in Atlantis specifically. Leave is what you get when things aren’t going to hell in a handbasket, and when the look like they won’t be for the foreseeable future; it’s either that, or leave happens when the IOA arbitrarily decides that it needs to. This is the former, surprisingly enough, so it’s Evan’s third morning in a row waking up on Earth, waking up with a warm body curled around his own, waking up and rolling over and looking into eyes like the sky.
“Morning,” Cam says, leaning down to kiss the tip of his nose.
Evan grins and tilts his head up for a real good-morning kiss. “Morning,” he says when they part. “What’s plans for the day?”
Cam tilts his head up on the pillow, looking over the top of Evan’s head out the window. For the first time, Evan hears the thin whine of wind and the soft tapping of rain; when he twists back around and looks out the window, the sky flashes bright for a second before fading, and the thunder rolls in the background a few seconds later.
“Stay in bed?” Cam suggests, pulling Evan back into him. Evan grins and settles back into the taller man’s embrace.
“For a while,” he agrees, twisting to meet Cam’s mouth, already turning to his for a kiss.
It’s slow and lazy, with no pressure for it to go anywhere, become anything. It’s different from what they’ve been reduced to over the past few years; between SG-1 and Atlantis, they haven’t had time to just relax together. It’s nice, Evan thinks as he strokes his thumb slowly back and forth on Cam’s hip. It’s really, really… nice.
“Hungry?” Cam asks him some time later. The clock on the bedstand says 11:14. It’s way past breakfast and quickly approaching lunch, but he’s kind of in the mood for-
“Eggs?” Evan asks hopefully. Cam’s good at eggs. Cam’s good at a lot of things, actually, but eggs on Atlantis either come from a box or a sherven, neither of which come anywhere close to the way Cam can flip an omelet.
“And pancakes,” Cam promises. “Help me?”
It’s a continuation of their lazy morning; Evan mixes pancake batter while Cam chops things for the omelets. “Stop stirring,” Cam chides with a grin. “You gotta leave some lumps in.”
Evan frowns doubtfully at the mix. “Are you sure?”
Cam grabs the bowl away from him before Evan can stir the batter smooth. “Yes, I’m sure. Put some water on,” he directs, padding to the stove and expertly pouring four enormous-yet-identically-sized pancakes onto the heated griddle. The eggs go into a frying pan, and Evan sets the kettle on the stove as Cam expertly turns the cakes over. The bottoms are perfectly golden-brown.
Evan grabs the butter out of the refrigerator - neither man believes in maple syrup - and sets it on the table. Plates and forks and knives and napkins; he grabs two mugs from the cabinet and fills them with boiling water and chocolate mix as Cam flips the pancakes from griddle to plate. The omelets follow, and they’re soon seated at the table with breakfast and cocoa, and they sit and talk about nothing while they eat. The food is good; it tastes like it hasn’t been frozen or dry-packed. It tastes like home.
They leave the dishes in the sink for later and wander into the living room. Cam’s got an overstuffed old sofa, deep and wide enough for both of them to flop into without touching, but they do anyway. Cam stretches himself out against the back of the sofa and Evan fits himself in against Cam’s body, holding both of their cocoa mugs while Cam tugs the large hand-knit afghan from the back of the couch and tosses it across their bodies. The storm is howling just outside the window, and they stay tucked under the blanket, sipping cocoa and stealing chocolate kisses until both mugs are empty.
“Refill?” Evan asks, taking the mugs and heading to the kitchen. He’s back a minute later, mugs filled with creamy chocolate, and he hands both to Cam as he slips back beneath the blanket. Cam hands one of the mugs back, and Evan pouts up at him. “You stole mine.”
“You took all the marshmallows,” Cam counters, slurping at the gooey mess half-melted into the top of Evan’s mug, which he had indeed taken.
“Share?” Evan grins, leaning in to kiss the sticky mess from his lips. Cam’s mouth is warm and sweet and familiar, and Evan sets the mug he’s holding down, arguments about whose is whose no longer important. Cam does the same and they turn into each other, fingers flicking over skin marked with stories that both men know intimately, mouths and lips and tongues moving together, bodies rocking in a rhythm that’s just as unhurried as everything else about the day. It’s easy to just lie together on the couch, Evan thinks afterwards, tucked into each other, holding without clinging, touching without rushing, just being together.
The storm appears to be dying down by the time they get around to showering. The water is warm, and it’s enough to just be with each other, rinsing soap and shampoo away and wrapping up in the oversized towels that Cam swears by. The worn sweats and old tee shirts they pull on are soft and warm, and it’s too early for bed but they fall into it anyway, fitting to each other like they always have.
Evan sighs as he rests his arm on Cam’s, right where it’s draped across his stomach, and threads their fingers together. “Four more days.”
“Mhmm,” Cam agrees, stroking his thumb along the side of Evan’s. “Tomorrow’s Saturday. We can find a game, toss some nachos in the oven, crack open a few beers.”
It sounds pretty much like heaven. “Works for me,” Evan says aloud. “Cam?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks,” Evan says quietly, and it’s a thousand things that he means but could never say all in one. Cam pulls him in more tightly and presses a soft kiss right behind his ear.
“Thanks,” Cam says back to him. It’s all of those same things reflected back at him, and Evan smiles as he squeezes Cam’s hand and drifts off to sleep.
Author: somehowunbroken
Fandom: SGA/SG1
Characters: Cam/Evan
Word Count: 1,068
Rating: PG/sweet and fluffy and nice.
Notes: For rubygirl29. Hope things get better, dear :)
Leave is precious; it’s something Evan has learned during his tenure in the Air Force at large, and in Atlantis specifically. Leave is what you get when things aren’t going to hell in a handbasket, and when the look like they won’t be for the foreseeable future; it’s either that, or leave happens when the IOA arbitrarily decides that it needs to. This is the former, surprisingly enough, so it’s Evan’s third morning in a row waking up on Earth, waking up with a warm body curled around his own, waking up and rolling over and looking into eyes like the sky.
“Morning,” Cam says, leaning down to kiss the tip of his nose.
Evan grins and tilts his head up for a real good-morning kiss. “Morning,” he says when they part. “What’s plans for the day?”
Cam tilts his head up on the pillow, looking over the top of Evan’s head out the window. For the first time, Evan hears the thin whine of wind and the soft tapping of rain; when he twists back around and looks out the window, the sky flashes bright for a second before fading, and the thunder rolls in the background a few seconds later.
“Stay in bed?” Cam suggests, pulling Evan back into him. Evan grins and settles back into the taller man’s embrace.
“For a while,” he agrees, twisting to meet Cam’s mouth, already turning to his for a kiss.
It’s slow and lazy, with no pressure for it to go anywhere, become anything. It’s different from what they’ve been reduced to over the past few years; between SG-1 and Atlantis, they haven’t had time to just relax together. It’s nice, Evan thinks as he strokes his thumb slowly back and forth on Cam’s hip. It’s really, really… nice.
“Hungry?” Cam asks him some time later. The clock on the bedstand says 11:14. It’s way past breakfast and quickly approaching lunch, but he’s kind of in the mood for-
“Eggs?” Evan asks hopefully. Cam’s good at eggs. Cam’s good at a lot of things, actually, but eggs on Atlantis either come from a box or a sherven, neither of which come anywhere close to the way Cam can flip an omelet.
“And pancakes,” Cam promises. “Help me?”
It’s a continuation of their lazy morning; Evan mixes pancake batter while Cam chops things for the omelets. “Stop stirring,” Cam chides with a grin. “You gotta leave some lumps in.”
Evan frowns doubtfully at the mix. “Are you sure?”
Cam grabs the bowl away from him before Evan can stir the batter smooth. “Yes, I’m sure. Put some water on,” he directs, padding to the stove and expertly pouring four enormous-yet-identically-sized pancakes onto the heated griddle. The eggs go into a frying pan, and Evan sets the kettle on the stove as Cam expertly turns the cakes over. The bottoms are perfectly golden-brown.
Evan grabs the butter out of the refrigerator - neither man believes in maple syrup - and sets it on the table. Plates and forks and knives and napkins; he grabs two mugs from the cabinet and fills them with boiling water and chocolate mix as Cam flips the pancakes from griddle to plate. The omelets follow, and they’re soon seated at the table with breakfast and cocoa, and they sit and talk about nothing while they eat. The food is good; it tastes like it hasn’t been frozen or dry-packed. It tastes like home.
They leave the dishes in the sink for later and wander into the living room. Cam’s got an overstuffed old sofa, deep and wide enough for both of them to flop into without touching, but they do anyway. Cam stretches himself out against the back of the sofa and Evan fits himself in against Cam’s body, holding both of their cocoa mugs while Cam tugs the large hand-knit afghan from the back of the couch and tosses it across their bodies. The storm is howling just outside the window, and they stay tucked under the blanket, sipping cocoa and stealing chocolate kisses until both mugs are empty.
“Refill?” Evan asks, taking the mugs and heading to the kitchen. He’s back a minute later, mugs filled with creamy chocolate, and he hands both to Cam as he slips back beneath the blanket. Cam hands one of the mugs back, and Evan pouts up at him. “You stole mine.”
“You took all the marshmallows,” Cam counters, slurping at the gooey mess half-melted into the top of Evan’s mug, which he had indeed taken.
“Share?” Evan grins, leaning in to kiss the sticky mess from his lips. Cam’s mouth is warm and sweet and familiar, and Evan sets the mug he’s holding down, arguments about whose is whose no longer important. Cam does the same and they turn into each other, fingers flicking over skin marked with stories that both men know intimately, mouths and lips and tongues moving together, bodies rocking in a rhythm that’s just as unhurried as everything else about the day. It’s easy to just lie together on the couch, Evan thinks afterwards, tucked into each other, holding without clinging, touching without rushing, just being together.
The storm appears to be dying down by the time they get around to showering. The water is warm, and it’s enough to just be with each other, rinsing soap and shampoo away and wrapping up in the oversized towels that Cam swears by. The worn sweats and old tee shirts they pull on are soft and warm, and it’s too early for bed but they fall into it anyway, fitting to each other like they always have.
Evan sighs as he rests his arm on Cam’s, right where it’s draped across his stomach, and threads their fingers together. “Four more days.”
“Mhmm,” Cam agrees, stroking his thumb along the side of Evan’s. “Tomorrow’s Saturday. We can find a game, toss some nachos in the oven, crack open a few beers.”
It sounds pretty much like heaven. “Works for me,” Evan says aloud. “Cam?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks,” Evan says quietly, and it’s a thousand things that he means but could never say all in one. Cam pulls him in more tightly and presses a soft kiss right behind his ear.
“Thanks,” Cam says back to him. It’s all of those same things reflected back at him, and Evan smiles as he squeezes Cam’s hand and drifts off to sleep.