|Fic.A Good Run Of Bad Luck.Teen
||[Oct. 16th, 2006|08:13 am]
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis|
Title: A Good Run of Bad Luck
Prompt: slashing_lorne Bonus prompt: Friday the 13th
Word Count: 1103
Summary: Sheppard has triskaidekaphobia
Author's Notes: I was asked to write a Lorne/Sheppard First Kiss ficlet. Here it is.
“Friday the 13th is not an unlucky day,” McKay insisted plaintively.
“It is if you believe it is,” John insisted.
“No, it isn’t,” McKay shot back, his tone going up a full octave in keeping with his frustration level.
John got a particular kick out of driving Rodney crazy and everyone knew it, especially Rodney which only served to frustrate him even more.
“That is only superstition and conjecture held over from the dark ages with no valid point of reason other than an association with a few unfortunate events in history.”
“Like the slaughter of the Knights of Templar? It was pretty unfortunate for them,” John pointed out.
“You are a triskaidekaphobe,” Rodney announced accurately and gravely, as though it explained all of John’s problems.
“Let’s ask Major Lorne,” John said as Evan set his tray down on their table and pulled out a chair.
“Ask me about what?” Evan replied.
“I happen to believe that Friday the 13th is particularly unlucky day, what do you think?”
Evan shrugged. “I never gave it much thought.”
He forked in a mouthful of corn that actually tasted like corn. “Food’s good today, so it can’t be all that bad.”
He paused now, as if going over the implications in his head.
“I got my commission on a Friday the 13th, bought my classic Ford Mustang on a Friday the 13th and it’s the best car I’ve ever owned, got laid for the first time on a Friday the 13th…nope, I’d say it’s a pretty damn good day.”
John glared at him.
“How do you remember all that,” he grumped, irked at not being supported in his Friday the 13th phobias.
McKay harrumphed triumphantly and smugly.
“I’m in a toga!” Sheppard ground out, biting the words in Lorne’s direction.
“It’s not really a bad look for you, sir,” Lorne placated. “Just go with it. Hell, it’s actually kinda comfortable,” he joked.
Sheppard had great legs, even if the combat boots looked a little funny. The toga he was referring to was little more than a sheet and belt they were given when their clothes had been confiscated.
“I’m not laughing, Major. I’m in a toga. In a small room on a planet full of people who don’t seem like they like me much. This proves Friday the 13th sucks!”
Their clothes had been sent back through the Gate as proof of their detainment with Teyla and Ronon accompanying said clothes as a token of good will from the Village Elders. The Elders had gathered to decide if the Terrans had violated any rules, were guilty of trespassing or would be welcomed as Traders, a position Sheppard had inferred brought a great deal of respect.
Not that any of that mattered at the moment. Not while he was trapped in a small room wearing a sheet. He paced between the back wall and the exit and was nearing the door when it opened, admitting a tall and attractive man garbed in flowing robes.
“The Elders have decided you should eat with us tonight, and they will save their ruling until the morning. They have spoken to your Leaders Weir and McKay through the Ring of the Ancestors and all have agreed you will remain the night,” he explained.
Sheppard cocked an eyebrow, mostly at the thought of someone thinking McKay was one of his ‘leaders’.
“I’m not staying here locked up – “ he said, revving up.
“Your door is not locked, it hasn’t been nor will it be at any point. My name is Garvin, I have been sent to ask you to eat with us.”
Sheppard frowned. “What’s for supper?” he said, punctuating the words with a glower.
Garvin looked a little startled at Sheppard’s reticence to come and eat but answered politely: “Vegetables grown in the village gardens, wild boar shot this morning in the forest, sweet cake…”
“Well, if the door isn’t locked, then we’ll join you guys in a minute,” he said sourly.
Garvin took his leave, closing the door behind him.
“What do you think?”
“I think I’m hungry,” Lorne replied. “I think these folks might be nice. I think it beats sitting in here and stewing over being dressed in sheets. And it sure as hell beats MREs, especially since we don’t have any.”
“Unless we’re the wild boar on the menu.”
“They didn’t shoot us this morning,” Lorne clarified, “must be another wild boar.”
“Remind me again why I brought you instead of McKay?”
Lorne grinned and pushed Sheppard toward the door.
“Because I’m so much prettier!”
Sheppard leaned over to Lorne, hefting the plain tankard a pretty village girl kept refilling.
“What do you think’s in this stuff?” he slurred.
“Not a clue,” Lorne replied, lifting his glass toward the girl.
She smiled shyly and poured the glass full again.
“I think I like it here,” Sheppard observed. He stared at Lorne for a long moment.
“Something wrong, Colonel?”
“Do you work out alot?”
“Excuse me?” Lorne sputtered.
“You’re just in really good shape,” Sheppard said. It was easy to see with Lorne’s sheet draped under one arm and half his chest exposed. “Do you work out a lot?”
“Enough. Every morning, put some time in with Ronon and Teyla sparring. Do you?”
“Not that much, but I spar with Teyla.”
“She says you’re really getting good with those sticks.”
“Yeah. Not good like her, but yeah. Good.”
“Maybe you should go easy on that next glass, Colonel,” Lorne warned as the girl filled John’s mug again.
“Yeah,” he frowned down into it hard. “Maybe I should,” he agreed before downing most of it in a single gulp. “What time do you think it is?”
“Do you think it’s midnight yet?”
“Midnight? As in ‘is it tomorrow, not Friday the 13th anymore’ yet? Not a clue,” Lorne replied. “Why?”
“Because I’m about to do something spectacularly stupid,” Sheppard informed him.
“It’s not gonna involve kidnapping, sex with that girl who is obviously a minor, or one of us getting shot is it? Because I’d feel really obligated to stop you,” Lorne deadpanned.
“Nope what?” Lorne reiterated.
“It’s not going to involve kidnapping or sex with that girl…”
Lorne’s eyebrows crawled into his hairline.
“So one of us is gonna get shot?”
“Yeah,” Sheppard said, “probably me.”
He leaned over and pressed his mouth against Lorne’s, the kiss not at all sloppy or drunken.
“There,” he said, sitting up straight again. “You can decide what to do with that.”
Lorne stared at him, more than a little confused.
“Take your time,” Sheppard encouraged nonchalantly.