Pairings: Lorne/Sheppard UST
Word Count: 833
Summary: Of all forms of caution, caution in love is the most fatal.
Spoilers: No Man’s Land
Prompt: For October 28th challenge at slashing_lorne: ‘write a drabble/ficlet inspired by an Ernest Hemingway title’.
Disclaimer: So not mine!
It wasn’t long after Lorne arrived in Atlantis that he realised he was screwed. He hadn’t had an itching for another man in a long time. Longer still since it was someone in the forces. He’d never been stupid enough to fall for a commanding officer.
But there was just something about Sheppard. Something in his lazy smile and the way he could slouch into any chair, no matter how hard. The easy manner in which he made friends with everyone he met (unless they were trying to kill him, or get him to mate with members of his team). It all screamed of sex. Everything he did and everything he said made Evan want to jump him.
The only way he could think of dealing with it was to stay as far away from him as possible. Of course, because Sheppard had to be such a nice guy on top of everything else, Lorne found himself with a new friend, despite everything he tried to avoid the other man.
John – no - the Colonel would dump the majority of his paperwork on Lorne’s desk with a head tilt and a lopsided smile. “Please? You’re so much better at this stuff, Evan.” He’d say in that lilting voice of his and Lorne could only nod in agreement.
But then, just as casually, he’d drag him from his office to movie night, or for a midnight snack or even to fly the puddlejumper across the Atlantean system – just because they could.
The more time they spend together, the deeper Lorne fell. He could see it happening, an inevitable train wreck in the making, but he didn’t seem to be able to do anything to stop himself.
It reached its lowest point when Lorne saw his, usually mellow, CO chew out a couple of the marines who were hassling one of the new scientists. It wasn’t the first time he’d gotten hard watching John, but it was the first time he rushed back to his quarters and let himself jerk off to the image.
That should have been a big flashing neon-light warning. But he missed it. John kept spending time with him, and gradually he allowed himself to enjoy it. After all, two guys drinking a couple of beers and watching some late night football was completely normal, even if they were sitting closer than strictly necessary. And if he started removing more and more of his clothing during their sparring sessions, that was just because it was an intensive work out. Plus John had been doing the same.
That was the first time it clicked. John was acting exactly the same as he was. In fact they’d been hanging around so long he couldn’t remembering who was leading and who was reacting. A small part of him started to believe that the feelings were returned. He tried a series of seemingly innocuous tests to see if he could prove it.
He let his fingers linger on John’s a second too long as he passed him a weapon. He stole a non-potato french fry from his tray in the mess hall. The next time they sat crossed legged, side by side, he rubbed his socked foot across John’s ankle in a definite pattern. Every step left him more and more convinced that he wasn’t dreaming it up – there was something there.
Still he could be wrong and it was a big risk to take. So he didn’t do anything further, content to amuse himself with little, almost-daily reminders that he wasn’t in it alone. That was until they’d thought Sheppard had been killed, yet again, and he’d been given a cool new spaceship of his own, which he’d promptly blown up. He was feeling particular brave slash stupid that night.
He knocked on John’s door, dressed in civvies. Sheppard answered wearing loose fitting bottoms only, with his hair even more tousled than normal. Lorne smiled to himself and took a moment to enjoy the view.
“Evan?” Sheppard prompted. “Something up?”
“I just wanted to talk, John.” He said, using his first name out loud for the first time.
Sheppard flashed him an odd looking smile, confirming he’d picked up on it. “Now’s not exactly a great time.” He stage-whispered, stepping out of the doorway, allowing Evan to see a head full of thick brown curls laying on the pillow. The pale slender shoulders in was attached to were bare and the sheets beyond that were thin enough not to leave anything for the imagination. “But if it’s important…” He added, putting on his game face.
“No, no. It was nothing. Question about the Lakers.” He babbled, before regaining enough sense to smirk and wink at his friend. “Sorry to disturb.”
John flashed him another look he couldn’t quite decipher, but this time he knew he wasn’t interpreting it right. “Night, Colonel.” He said, turning and walking away.
“Night Evan.” John’s soft reply carried down the still hallway, following him and echoing in his ears.