Fic: The First Cut (Still Bleeds) (SGA, Sheppard/Lorne Sheppard/McKay)
Title: The First Cut (Still Bleeds)
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Pairing: unresolved Sheppard/Lorne, unresolved Sheppard/McKay
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Quarantine in a big way
Disclaimer: Not mine, not making any money off of this!
Summary: Rodney never shows up for that beer.
Notes: Thank you to kageygirl for the hand holding. *smooch* 1000 words.
John's halfway through his second beer when he hears scuffing behind him. He's not drunk--he can't afford to be drunk, not on Atlantis--but he's got a nice, relaxed mellow going on that makes him tip his head back rather than turning it. Lorne's just standing there, hands on his hips, small smile on his face that looks all the more amused for being upside down.
"Have a seat, Major," he says, waving at the cool metal deck beside him. "Plenty of beer, and the view's great."
"Not as good as the one we got today, I bet." Lorne grabs a bottle out of the ice chest before he eases down next to John. The denim of his jeans stretches tight across his thighs before he settles his legs over the edge. No room for C4 in that outfit, John thinks, before he turns back to the view between the railings. The moons are both full, bright as any harvest moon on Earth, and they turn the ocean beyond the city into a endless stretch of obsidian.
"Wasn't doing a lot of looking at the time," John says. Mostly just to have something to say.
"So, are we celebrating?" Lorne asks. "Because I gotta say, the party's a little small. Although I think Radek's passed out on painkillers, anyway."
John snorts. "I'll buy him a beer some other time."
Out of the corner of his eye, John can see Lorne nod. The major starts to open his mouth, but shuts it again, stowing any questions away. Obviously well-trained not to pry into the business of his commanding officers.
"I promised Rodney a beer," John explains quietly. "But I'm guessing he's celebrating with Katie." Which makes sense, of course. He doesn't know why he thought otherwise. Doesn't know why he thought things between them wouldn't change that much, but sitting here, looking out at the vast, lonely dark, he can't pretend they won't.
"Celebrating not dying of an imaginary disease?"
John drains his beer in a long swallow. He'd like to toss the empty bottle out over the balcony, see if he could hear it crash far below, but he's done enough damage to his city today. He sets it aside instead, next to the first bottle, and rubs the lingering drops off of his lips. "He proposed to her today," he says at last.
Lorne coughs on his beer. "Wow. Isn't that taking the cover a little far? I mean, I know some guys do it, but she doesn't seem the type to go for it."
"Cover?" John asks. Dumbly, but it's not an act. He's so caught by the idea of it, imagining that Katie is just a beard, that the danger doesn't even occur to him at first.
But Lorne isn't so slow. "I'm sorry, sir. I shouldn't have said that, I just thought--"
"That Rodney and I are together?" John shakes his head and reaches for another beer. "No." He should make a better effort at denial. Pretend to be shocked at the assumption. But he's just too tired to bother.
Lorne's quiet for a long time. John takes a peek over at him, wondering what's going on in his head. He's got his head down, eyelashes dipping low on his cheeks as he fiddles with the bottle resting on his knee. John's mesmerized by the slow movement of those fingers picking away at the condensation-dampened label. Which is why he's not prepared at all when Lorne says, "Guess McKay's not as smart as he says he is."
John freezes. Damn it, Rodney, he thinks for the hundredth time today, but he still can't work up any fear over the dangerous waters of this conversation. Not when he's pretty sure Lorne has just jumped in the water with him.
"He's just oblivious," John ventures. "Unlike some people."
Lorne raises his head, but he doesn't look at John. "It helps if you're looking for it," he says, and then he finally meets John's gaze. The moonlight glints off his eyes, but the reflection isn't what makes them smolder. He's holding nothing back. Nothing at all, and lust shoots through John unstoppably strong. The guilt comes with it--the same irrational guilt he always feels when he's attracted to someone who isn't Rodney.
He's vaguely aware that the beer bottle is about to slip out of his numb fingers, so John tightens his grip and lifts it to his lips. It's a good excuse to look away, to give himself time to think. Rodney's with Katie, he reminds himself. And Lorne is a very attractive man.
He's also directly under John's command.
John sets his beer down. Somehow, at some point, one of them has moved so their thighs are pressed together. Him, maybe, because Lorne's staring down at his hands again. John has to reach out and still those nervous fingers.
"This is a really bad idea," he says when Lorne looks up, but that doesn't stop him from dipping his head. Lorne wraps his chilly left hand around the back of John's neck, pulling him the rest of the way, and their mouths fit together perfectly on the first try. It's a good kiss. Lorne doesn't try to push too fast, but he's not uptight, either, parting his lips just enough to draw John in, make him want more. And part of him does want more. He'd like to deepen the kiss, push Lorne down to the decking, and lose himself in lust under the twinned moonlight.
But the bigger part of him feels sick. Like his stomach has dropped out, without the fun of a really good carnival ride. John pulls back, trying to find words, but Lorne smiles and shakes his head.
"I've got really bad timing, don't I?"
"Look, it's not you," John starts to say, then winces at the cliche.
Lorne laughs. "Don't worry, I get it. Besides, like you said, it's a bad idea. Too many risks."
John nods, grateful for the out. "Yeah. And I'd feel really guilty about making you do my paperwork, and that'd only lead to bad things."
Lorne has an amazing smile. John thinks damn it, Rodney, all over again, but he knows he's made the right decision. He lets himself admire the graceful way Lorne rises, the way his T-shirt and jeans fit him just right, and he enjoys the way Lorne's gaze lingers on him, as well.
"Thanks for the beer." Lorne winks, and then he walks away, footsteps soft in his off-duty shoes.
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shetiger) wrote,
