Word Count: 520
Notes: For csichick_2, because it's her birthday and she's pretty much awesome.
Evan is just setting his pencils back into their case when John stirs on the bed. It’s a funny thing, to watch John wake up, because when he needs to he can go from nearly comatose to out the door in less than a minute, but when left to his own devices it takes a lot longer. John sleeps stretched out diagonally, taking up as much room as he can from top to bottom in one long, lean line. He’s on his right side today, facing Evan, and his bottom leg is curled a little to support his knee, but the toes on the other foot are almost pointed. His face is turned a little into the pillow, and his left arm is above his head, stretching across the bed. His hand is open at the end of his arm, fingers open like the trailing fibers of a paintbrush across the sheets.
In short, he’s gorgeous as he wakes, first stretching his fingers and moving his leg a little, curling into his own body, then turning his face towards the light and blinking his eyes open. He smiles at Evan as their eyes meet, and his voice is low as he murmurs, “How long have you been up?”
Evan shrugs. “An hour, maybe,” he guesses.
“Come back to bed,” John says, inviting with words and his body, straightening his bottom leg and curving his frame, making that space that Evan loves to curl into. Evan doesn’t resist, doesn’t even want to pretend to, as he crawls back into bed and tucks his arm around John’s waist. John’s arm curls around his back, sleep-warm and heavy, and John rubs his thumb absently against the skin of Evan’s back as Evan settles.
“Drawing me again?” John asks into Evan’s hair, and Evan smiles against the skin of John’s chest.
“Guilty,” he replies. “I couldn’t sleep, so I got out the sketchbook, and hey, there you were.”
John laughs. “We have a room with a view of the most amazing city in two galaxies, and you sit with your back to it and draw me over and over again,” he remarks. “I will never understand it.”
Evan doesn’t know how to explain it, that the warm curves and hollows of John’s body are more beautiful to him than the towers of Atlantis, that the shadows that John leaves in their bed are more appealing than drawing clouds and sky, that the way John’s hair brushes against the pillow is more interesting than any birds that might fly over. He settles for, “I like the view in here better,” and smiles again when John chuckles into his hair.
Soon, their alarm will go off. They’ll have to get up and shower and dress, they’ll have to make their way towards the crises of the day, but for now they have this, this time where they can just be John and Evan, quietly at home together.
It’s not such a bad life, Evan thinks as John draws the sheet back up around their bodies. In fact, he’s enjoying pretty much every moment of it.