I'll Feel Fine
I'll Feel Fine by dogeared
(~200 words, prequelish to Lie Beside the Sea)

John hears Rodney cursing and muttering—"Fucking things grow like weeds!"—before he sees him, finds him kneeling on the ground engrossed in ripping out what Teyla told them were luunyll vines by the root, fighting what John suspects is a losing battle where they're starting to take over the south-facing side of the bungalow. He opens his mouth to point out that they are weeds, but when Rodney turns to him, John can see that he has dirt smeared all along one side of his nose and streaked on one cheek, and he ends up gesturing and saying, "Rodney, you've got . . . "

Rodney rolls his eyes and swipes at his face, completely ineffectually, and John finds himself on his knees too, chuckling and reaching for him and saying, "C'mere, c'mere," and Rodney smells like a hundred missions gone bad, like soil and sweat and sunscreen, and John can't do anything except lean closer, lean in.

And it's the middle of the day, bright and hot and shimmering; John's wearing his radio; they're not alone—he ferried eight people over to the new mainland with him, and some of them are close enough that he can hear their voices—and he kisses Rodney anyway, and it feels amazing. It's amazing.