[	Tags	|	arthur pendragon, fic, merlin	]
[	mood	|	uncomfortable	]
[	music	|	Keep Tryin' - Utada Hikaru	]

Arthur ran through the marketplace, once lively and full of people, now silent and empty. His eyes followed the back of the one he pursued as it slowly grew smaller; he was heading for the woods. Arthur paused only for a moment to collect himself, only briefly wondered why he was doing this, trying to keep up with his surprisingly quick footed manservant. His father would wonder where he’d run off to, perhaps, before continuing his speech of the evils of magic and the increased security in Camelot. Three people had been executed today. Examples were made of them.

Merlin had been so quiet.

-

Executions were messy and frightening affairs, but the people had grown used to it. It was for their protection. The king was watching over them. Who were they to question it? These events, however, were never without hushed whispers (“Can you believe it? The Thatchers’ boy of all people- a traitor!”), without looks of betrayal from neighbors, without curses or insults.

The block was stained a damning brown with fresh crimson already added to it, seemingly at regular intervals. The third man, a boy really (“That Jacob Thatcher was always quite strange!”), was dragged to the platform, tears in his eyes and blood drying around his hairline.

Arthur never enjoyed executions. He often felt he should protest, assert that these punishments be done out of the public eye. However, his father felt that it was good for the people. For them to know they were being protected. For them to know that they were being closely watched. Uther saw gratitude and loyalty growing in his people. Arthur saw bloodlust and shame.

The boy’s head was forced down, and Arthur looked away subtly. He looked into the crowd and was able to pick out faces. Morgana, who usually preferred to stay in her chambers during these sorts of things, was standing out amongst the people, Guinevere’s hand clutched tightly in her own, and the servant girl doing her best to comfort her lady, though she too was crying quietly. Gaius stood quite a ways away from the platform, a deep frown cutting across his face. And Merlin… Arthur frowned to himself. Merlin was white, breathing erratically, looking for all the world as if he were about to keel over. The boy’s trembling arms hugged his own thin frame.

Arthur heard the axe rise into the air, but kept his eyes on his manservant. Merlin’s eyes widened and filled with tears, and as soon as Arthur heard the axe break through flesh, bone, and wood, Merlin bolted out of the square.

-

If Arthur disliked executions, then Merlin despised them, probably as much as Morgana. This, however, never stopped Merlin from attending, standing off to the side and always looking a bit forlorn, and was often very quiet afterwards. But today…

Today was different.

Today, Arthur slipped out of his father’s sight and took off after his manservant with full intent to assure him that he would never meet the same fate as Jacob Thatcher. (“Not you. Never you.”) Arthur couldn’t quite say why the urge to tell Merlin this was so strong.

Arthur had started his pursuit again, quickly coming upon the line of trees that began the woods. Gradually, catching his breath, Arthur slowed to a walk. There was a clear path leading into the trees, one used often for traveling. For some unmentionable reason, the prince knew Merlin had not taken this route. He broke off to the left, following some sense that this was where the boy had gone. The sun filtered through the leafy canopies above him, gold light selectively striking the green forest floor. Side stepping several fallen trees, Arthur cautiously made his way into an area that opened up into a small clearing. Arthur felt he should shout for Merlin. Call out for idiot to come to him at once and return to the castle where he had filthy stables and dirty clothes to look forward to. But Arthur’s agitated demand died in his throat when he saw the other. And the lights. The lights were fairly distracting.

Merlin sat curled up in a tree across the clearing, head in his arms. Violently pulsing lights – shades of blues and gold – flew around him in a chaotic synchronization. Jaw slack, Arthur slowly made his way forward. As he approached the tree silently, one of the streaks of light broke formation and struck at the ground in front of him. He stumbled back and reflexively drew his sword. The sound startled Merlin, and his head shot up from his arms. His tear streaked face formed an expression of great surprise and when he looked down to see Arthur, the lights froze in mid air. He looked concerned at the scorch mark on the ground.

“Arthur…” He then saw the sword, drawn and reflecting the colors of the lights. Suddenly those lights began to shake and continued their frenzy, this time at a quicker and more erratic pace. Arthur could only call the expression on Merlin’s face as a mixture of fear and sadness. “Arthur, I… Just go away.” Merlin curled closer into himself. Arthur stared at the lights for a moment and then trained his sight back onto Merlin.

“Merlin,” he said, trying to retain a calm and gentle voice. “Merlin, come down from there.” He lowered his sword, a sign of tentative faith, and took another step forward. The lights started to shake again.

“Arthur, please! Leave! I can’t make them stop- just go!” Merlin shouted desperately. He threw a despairing glance to the small orbs, now blurred streaks, determined to defend him from danger. He was starting to have trouble breathing again. He began to gasp and pulled his knees closer to his chest.

“Merlin!” came Arthur’s voice through the noise of ragged breathing. “Merlin, calm down! You have to get a hold of yourself!” Well, of course. Merlin knew that. The lights were responding to his emotional state, which, at the moment, was no where near calm or stable.

But this day had been too much.

Too much tension, too much blood. Too many concealed spells, too many lies. Too much weight collected. The dam was left to break open, and Merlin had no idea how to stop it. The king gave a condemning speech, the crowd cried for death, and now his prince pointed a sword. At him. And it’s all too much anymore.

“Merlin!”

“I can’t do it, Arthur,” Merlin replied in a defeated half-whisper. He knew the other could and did hear. “I can’t… I can’t do this anymore.” His voice cracked and his eyes filled with tears. He heard the sound of Arthur sheathing his sword slowly.

“Come down. Call these… these things away and tell me. Tell me what you can’t do.”

Merlin didn’t move, but his breathing had settled somewhat, and the lights began to lose speed.

“I never wanted to keep lying to you, Arthur.” Merlin began. “I never wanted to hide. To be forced to hide. I just wanted… But I can’t, and I don’t think I can keep this up anymore.” Merlin sounded so tired, and the lights gradually started to dim. He felt a something warm gently grasp his ankle, and he looked down. Arthur looked back at him, not with hate and fear in eyes, but a breathtaking concern that made Merlin’s heart break. The lights were gone.

“Merlin, come down,” Arthur said again. Merlin allowed himself to be pulled out of the tree and into Arthur’s arms. He was far too tired at this point to start crying again, as all the tension of the day had left him feeling drained. Instead, let his head lay on the prince’s shoulder, exhausted blue eyes closing. Arthur’s hand at the small of his back was warm through his thin clothing, and he briefly wondered if he would end up falling asleep standing up, leaning against the other. “You have a lot to explain to me, Merlin.” Arthur’s voice didn’t rise above a whisper. Merlin didn’t bother to open his eyes to reply.

“Tomorrow?” he asked. He felt Arthur nod.

“Tomorrow.”

[	Tags	|	arthur pendragon, fic, merlin	]
[	mood	|	hungry	]
[	music	|	Earth - Imogen Heap	]

Morning practices very rarely went without a hitch. A broken finger, a dislocated shoulder, bruises and cuts – all were expected. Today, however, the knights were in top form, and Arthur nodded approvingly at his men’s unwavering attentiveness. This morning was full of promise (and a distinct lack of distractions) and it would seem no one had ever told Arthur not to think too soon. One of the knights suddenly looked up and stopped mid-swing, allowing Sir Leon to bring a harsh slash to the ribs. Arthur frowned as the knight went down, holding his now aching side but still looking behind the prince. Arthur clenched his teeth and spun around, ready to reprimand whatever idiot it was that ruined a near perfect morning practice.

He wasn’t able to lay down his princely smack-down, however, as he was met with the sight of his manservant. Running towards him. In tears. Merlin slowed down in front of him and attempted to catch his breath, looking for all the world as if someone had kicked every single puppy in Camelot. Instead of demanding what terror could have befallen the boy (“Has something happened to Gaius? Gwen? The older cook who always give you extra portions? Your mother?”), Arthur’s stomach did a jig.

The prince’s anger was snuffed out quite anti-climactically as soon as he took in the wind swept, black hair, the strained flush across high cheekbones, trembling red lips, and blue eyes filled with mote-infesting crocodile tears. The panting didn’t really help, either. So instead of voicing annoyance or concern, all that fell out of the blonde’s mouth was,

“Uhh…”

He could hear his knights shifting restlessly, as if wanted to spring forward to comfort his manservant and vanquish whatever threat caused the boy such pain. Yes, he could feel the chivalry radiating off in waves.

Merlin had finally caught his breath and was rubbing the heel of his palm against one of his eyes, though it did nothing to stop the tears. He sniffled a little before speaking.

“Arthur…” The prince’s breath caught and his mind raced. Arthur, there’s trouble! Arthur, help me! Arthur, I can no longer resist- take me now! His brain almost broke, but he stepped forward.

“What is it, Merlin?” His first coherent sentence. “What’s wrong?” Merlin look anywhere but at him, almost ashamed, and this probably would have spurred a snarky comment about uselessness, had it not been couple with misty eyes and wet eyelashes.

“I may…” Merlin began. Arthur felt the chivalrous force press harder as he heard his men lean forward, eager to hear. “I may have been…” He wrapped his arms around himself. Arthur’s thoughts jumped to conclusions again. Wrong. Hurt. Taken advantage of- Dear God, no! Arthur steadied Merlin by the arms. Merlin stopped mid-sentence, surprised.

“Who was it, Merlin?”

“What?”

“Who did this to you?”

“What are you talking about?”

“… What are you talking about?” Arthur repeated.

Merlin sniffed again, rubbing his eyes with his sleeve. “I was saying… that I may have been a little… clumsy? Yes, alright, clumsy! With one of Gaius’ recipes for relieving dry eyes. Anyway, nothing to be too concerned about but… just wanted to tell you not to go down the stairwell connected to the Gaius’ rooms. At least until we get the smoke cleared.” Merlin jabbed a thumb over his shoulder and, sure enough, a cloud of ominous smoke rose from the side of the castle. Merlin bit his lip. “Yeah…”

Silence fell over the Arthur and his men before one by one the knights began to laugh. Merlin pouted a bit, and Arthur turned to give a stern glare to the amused group behind him. Sir Leon came to himself first and coughed loudly enough to warn the others. Sporadic, muffled chucking could still be heard. Arthur took a deep breath and turned his glare unto Merlin… who still looked as if his village had burned down. Arthur’s expression almost softened, but he stopped himself and forced out a frown, the whole movement making the prince look as if he’d eaten something awful. Merlin pitifully rubbed one of his eyes again, and it was all Arthur could take.

“Fine! Fine. Just… go get it taken care of, as soon as possible,” he said. Merlin’s eyebrows shot up, as if he had been expecting a reaction far more prat-filled. Arthur made a shooing motion, and his manservant took off, not willing to wait for the prince to come to his senses and yell at him. Arthur sighed and turned back to the knights. They were all smiling in a knowing fashion, some still holding in laughter, none but Sir Leon looking him in the eye.

Who did this to you, indeed.

Determined not to let his embarrassment show, Arthur pulled out his sword.

“The last of you to stop smiling will face me in a three minute match.” His men’s faces quickly turned to stone. Arthur pointed his sword at the unlucky fellow in the back. “You. I’m terribly sorry you will have to return to your family today a beaten and broken man, but it’s all for the sake of improvement, I assure you.” Poor, brave Sir Robin looked almost fearful as he readied his armor.

[	Tags	|	badou, dogs, fic, haine	]
[	mood	|	lethargic	]
[	music	|	Memories - Within Temptation	]

Naoto briskly made her way down the sidewalk, avoiding the larger groups of people. She was told Liza wanted to see her, and she could only pray her clothes would stay on this time. She flushed and her boots met the pavement harder as she sped up. She reached the café and pushed open the door. A small bell singled her arrival. When she wasn’t instantly pounced upon she let her shoulders ease slightly. No one was in the front; all booths and seats were empty. Slowly she walked to the door that led to the back room, but a sharp sound made her hand pause an inch away. She turned her ear to the door and waited.

“Ah-!”

There it was again! A choked, breathy sound that made her heart do a freaking tap dance for some reason.

“Damnit, you bast-ah!”

The tap dancing stopped cold. Naoto barely held in a gasp. Badou?

“Shut up and deal with it.”

“Fuck you- Guh! Not yet!”

“Shut up-”

“Ah-!”

There was another pained gasp and the sound of something hitting the wall. Face lit up a bright red, Naoto slowly pushed open the door barely a fraction. She saw long fingered hands attached to long arms braced against wall, a head of long red hair hanging between them. Badou was panting heavily, sweat on his brow and a pained, light blush spread across his face. He was jerked back suddenly causing another strangled cry before his head dropped and his breath hitched.

“Fucking hell! Ha-Haine, not so fucking hard!”

“Can’t. Doesn’t work like that.”

“GAH! P-please!”

Naoto’s hand flew to her nose, using her sleeve to block the sudden rush of blood. She pushed open the door a little further-

“That’s it! I can feel my ribs cracking! Stop fucking pulling on those fucking strings, you sadist!”

“I’m surprised you can still get enough air into your lungs to bitch at me.”

Naoto fell the rest of the way through the door and onto cold, cold tile. The occupants of the room merely gave her a glance before returning to their business. Liza jumped off her high chair from where she was finishing a lovely red Victorian dress. Haine pulled the strings of Badou’s corset tighter. Badou scraped at the wall.

“Fuck! Let her do this fucking mission! Get me out of this piece of shit!”

“Actually, I was thinking if I make it tight enough you’ll finally shut up. Besides, I am not working with her.”

“Now, now, dear. Please get up. The girls are out on errands today, and I called you to help me get him into this dress with minimal casualties. Come now; wipe the blood off your face and make sure he can’t run away.”

-

This fic was shamelessly birthed after watching a shockingly similar (copyright? what copyright?) scene from Kuroshitsuji. I loved it so much. Episode 4 if anyone's curious. Chapter 8 in the manga. It's worth it.

So yes. DOGS: Bullets and Carnage. A new fandom that I have fallen head over heels for.  I recommend it to anyone who loves them some good ol' action and some good ol' comedy. Badou holds a special place in my heart, as do most redheaded anime/manga characters. (MADAM RED!! WHY?! DDX  T___T)

Anyway, much love for my beta nelle_tenebre

[	Tags	|	drabble collection, fic, johnny/peter	]
[	mood	|	tired	]
[	music	|	Caramelldansen - Caramell	]

1# These Eyes by The Guess Who (Lonely)

Johnny never considered himself an emotional kind of guy. He’d been in dozens of relationships and even some flings that were never long enough to be considered much of anything else. One more notch on the bed post, one more less lonely night. But this had been it. This had been the pivotal connection he hadn’t realized he’d been waiting for his whole life.

With Peter, he never wanted to stay out so late in clubs that dawn peaked over the horizon. With Peter, he never needed to impress or sweet talk or work for attention. With Peter, he forgot just how lonely the nights could get. But Peter wasn’t there anymore and midnight never looked as damn cold as it did then, and Johnny couldn’t help but cry.

2# Harder To Breathe by Maroon 5 (Aggression)

Who did that wall crawling freak think he was? The amazing Spider-Man thought he was so great that he could reprimand him on his actions? It seemed to always be a constant battle between them. Johnny kicked a wall and threw Reed’s computer chair across the room. Two scorched hand prints scarred the back of it. Sometimes the exchange between him and the Web-Head was nothing more than friendly banter, but sometimes….

Sometimes that guy pissed him off so much he couldn’t breathe. If only he knew who his on-again-off-again comrade really was, it might make this all a little easier… or Johnny might kick his civilian ass.

3# Lying Is The Most Fun A Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off by P!ATD (Lust)

Johnny took the table in the far left corner of the restaurant. It was shady, secluded, and a bit melodramatic, but it fit his mood. It was the perfect spot. From here he could clearly see the rest of the establishment. Not that he cared about the rest of the place, just the center table. He sharply ordered a martini and leaned back in his chair to watch the show. Peter was looking especially attractive in his rental suit the blond observed. His eyes drifted over to the other side of the table. Mary Jane, too, was a vision of beauty tonight, and just by looking at her Johnny could almost forgive Peter. Almost.

Mary Jane excused herself to the ladies room then. Peter shifted. As if he could sense he was being watched, he turned to look in Johnny’s direction. The older boy had to fight to keep his grin to minimum when the color drained from Parker’s face. Priceless. The grin faded. Peter sank under the intense, unwavering gaze that Johnny pierced him with. He could see the accusing question clearly in those blue eyes.

‘Was it worth it?’ they asked. ‘Was it worth giving all of this up? All of what we had? The offer still stands.’

And Peter would have to apologize to Mary Jane in a big way for leaving her all alone at the restaurant that night.

#4 Ultimate Showdown by Lemon Demon (Nerdy)

“Godzilla.”

“What? Are you kidding? No, no. Optimus Prime would so kick his ass!”

“Well, how about… Jackie Chan versus Indiana Jones?” Peter asked, erasing something on the rough draft of his term paper. Johnny leaned back against the bed and stared at the ceiling, thinking it over. He clicked his tongue and shook his head.

“Jackie Chan. Hey, I’ll see your Indiana Jones and raise you Chuck Norris!” he jabbed a finger in Pete’s direction. The boy on the bed looked down at him.

“Not fair! It’s Chuck Norris, it’d take an army to beat him!”

“Build your army,” Johnny said simply. Peter let the writing pad flop into his lap and he thought.

“Gandolf, the Black Knight, Terminator, Captain Kirk, the Power Rangers, the Rock, and Hulk Hogan. Beat that!” the college student pronounced triumphantly. Johnny was silent for a few minutes as Peter jotted down a few more corrections before he tilted his head back a grinned.

“Mr. Rogers.”

“… Damn.”

#5 Figures A and B by Hellogoodbye (Equation)

Peter sometimes saw their relationship like an elaborate equation with variables and functions that needed concentration and determination to be figured out. It was the inner scientist in him that couldn’t help but look at it in this way. For no more than thirty seconds. Peter would then remind himself that nothing Johnny ever did could be rationalized by calculus or physics.

There was no rhyme or reason to what they had, not really. And Peter? Peter wouldn’t have it any other way.

#6 Good Intentions by Toad the Wet Sprocket (Rebound)

Johnny stared at the ceiling. The events of last night hadn’t quite caught up to him just yet. He reviewed. Peter had just broken up with Mary Jane (again), so he took the kid out for a few drinks (again), and… and… Well, the kid looked like his world was crashing down! What was he supposed to do? Pat him on the back and drop the ‘other fish in the sea’ line? Well, okay, in hindsight, yes. That’s exactly what he should have done. Instead… Johnny laughed at himself. Instead, he had placed his hand on the back of his friend’s neck and planted one on him. All seemed right with the world until spider powered hands gripped his shoulders and pushed him away.

… He was an idiot, and he would stand by that revelation until the end of days. His phone suddenly started ringing, and he almost didn’t answer it, preferring to bask in his stupidity for a while longer. He sighed and checked the caller ID. He sprang up into a sitting position as the screen flashed “Peter Cell” and he flipped open his phone. The voice on the other end was hesitant, but determined.

“Hey… wanna grab a few drinks tonight?” And Johnny couldn’t stop himself from pumping his fist in the air.

-

Looking at my music library, I've got to say: WTF? I have an extremely eclectic taste in music. Oh, well. Sucks that I didn't get to do a proper 'superhero' one. Maybe next time. : D

“Damnit! Not again!”

Peter lowered his camera (the sudden outburst had scared off the seagulls anyway) and turned to his friend. He snorted and held back a chuckle as he placed the cover back on the lens.

“It’s not funny, man! This is the seventh shirt- seventh in a week- that this has happen to!” Johnny yelled, spreading his arms wide to show Peter his smoking t-shirt. There were several holes in it; so many, in fact, that strips of fabric were practically hanging off of him, exposing quite a bit of toned skin. Because of his “naturally” high body temperature, summer was the bane of Johnny’s existence. His irate expression showed his demand for seriousness regarding the situation, but Peter couldn’t help himself.

He dug into his jacket pocket and pulled out the cell phone his boyfriend had gotten him. He scrolled down through his various ring tones before deciding on one. With a barely contained grin he hit play.

“It’s gettin’ hot in here! So take off all your clothes!”

Several bikini clad woman walking by turned to the music and eyed the Human Torch with approval, some even giving little waves and winks. Johnny quickly let his arms fall and glared at Peter. Peter, though, was no longer holding in his laughter, clutching the camera around his neck to keep it from swinging.

“Oh. Oh, yeah. Nice…”

Peter’s laughter broke off only long enough for him to select another song.

“Ole ole, ole ole! Feelin’ hot, hot, hot!” 

Cracking up again, Peter moved his hands as if he were shaking a pair of maracas. Johnny stared at the younger man for a while before gritting his teeth and growling, pulling at the remains of the shirt to get the fabric off of him.

“We have to take our clothes off!”

“Dude! Cut it out, it’s not funny anymore!” Johnny yelled, suddenly bursting into a brief flash of flames. It stopped as soon as it had begun, but now the blond man’s jeans were just as condemned as his shirt. “DAMNIT!” He wrestled with his belt to take the charred denim off (he still had his swimming trunks on underneath) when he heard-

“You can leave your hat on!”

“Oh, come on!”

-

Of all the songs, I enjoyed putting the last one in there, seeing as how it really is a stripping song. This little tid-bit came from a question from my lovely beta,

nelle_tenebre

[	Tags	|	fic, ronon/lorne	]
[	mood	|	headache the size of P3X-245	]
[	music	|	Imogen Heap - The Walk	]

nelle_tenebre

“Fireflies…” Tiny lights flittered across his vision, and Major Evan Lorne had to wonder how someone ever could have confused them with stars. They reminded him of the little lightening bugs that used to glow behind his house on summer nights. He and his sister used to catch them carefully in the palms of their hands and put the insects against their shirts so they would cling to the fabric. Never once did they put them in jars or anything like that. Evan could remember a specific sleep walking incident where his sister actually thought he was awake. They snuck out of the house and leaned against the back door to watch the mini-light show. Soon a stray firefly flew their way and landed on his nose. Apparently he had fallen over (dead asleep again) and his sister screamed for their mother, saying the tiny bug had stolen his soul. It’s funny now…

He smiled slowly as he watched the lights begin to fade, fewer swimming before his eyes. A small chuckle escaped his lips and a large shadow fell over him.

“Lorne? Hey, man, you okay?” Ronon’s concerned tone of voice made Evan turn his head towards him. The larger man was looking at him like he had grown three heads. Evan laughed again, making Ronon that much more uneasy. It was an airy sound, as if he wasn’t quite there. Evan nodded as well as he could from his current position, flat on his back in the training room.

“I’m good. Firefly took my soul,” he said, trailing off into soft laughter, not realizing that Ronon didn’t get the joke. The lights were gone, leaving behind a dull ache in the back of his head and between his shoulders. He felt himself being lifted up into a sitting position, Ronon instantly taking his hands off him, as if he might break the major… again.

“Okay, look, just… just stay here, alright? I’m gonna go get Dr. Keller,” the Satedan said, urgency clear in his voice. Evan blinked at him in a confused manner.

“Why?” he asked. Ronon was almost standing when the major let the question fly, and he quickly knelt back down. He got eye level to Evan, talking slowly.

“I think I rattled your brain a bit too much. Just stay here, don’t close your eyes for too long, don’t get up at all, don’t-”

“But why get Dr. Keller? Nothing’s broken. At least, I don’t think so.” Evan began looking about himself, feeling in certain places. A large hand on his arm ended his search and he looked up. Ronon moved from a crouch to sit more comfortably next to the major. Evan watched, hands in lap, shoulders slouched.

“What was that about fireflies? ‘Cuz I don’t see one anywhere,” Ronon said, motioning to the rest of the room.

“You would if you body slammed yourself,” Evan said in all seriousness. Ronon’s brow shot up before the ex-runner began to laugh, shaking his head.

“Not sure even I could pull that off,” he said, amusement evident on his face. Evan shook his head.

“I don’t know. You’re a big guy. I bet you could manage it.” He stretched out a fist and lightly punched Ronon in the shoulder. A hand caught his wrist, holding his hand there. Evan looked up questioningly. Ronon’s face was serious again.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked. The remaining fuzziness in Evan’s head started to dissipate, and he nodded slowly, staring at his wrist in the other man’s hand. The touch was gentle in contradiction to the man it was attached to.

“The firefly gave me back my soul,” he said. He felt Ronon tense and quickly added, “Just kidding.” He gave the Satedan an apologetic smile. “Remind me to tell you about my hometown sometime.” His companion sighed.

“I really think you should see Keller. You’re not making any damn sense.” Ronon stood up again, pulling on Evan’s wrist to indicate he should get up too. The major took it slowly, his back popping at he straightened it. Then a thought hit him. He looked up to the other mind, a look of realization spreading across his face.

“I’m not, am I? Anything I say and do right now will make no sense.” With that he raised his free hand and placed it on the back of Ronon’s neck and pulled him down. Ronon only had a split second to look shocked as the major pressed his lips against the other’s. It wasn’t a light kiss, but it wasn’t crushing either. A fair amount of pressure glued their mouths together as Evan lightly licked the bottom lip he caught between his teeth. Ronon’s hand that wasn’t already holding Evan’s wrist lifted to grab onto the smaller man’s waist, pulling him closer. He pushed his tongue past Evan’s lips, driving the kiss deeper. The hand at Evan’s waist moved to push aside the shirt, feeling the skin underneath. He finally released the wrist he had captured and it joined his other under Evan’s shirt.

Evan used his newly freed hand to grip Ronon’s arm. The fleeting thought of Just what the hell am I doing? ran through his head before Ronon’s hands slid a little higher and suddenly he didn’t care.

-

Evan sat on Dr. Keller’s examining table, a goofy smile plastered on his face as she shined her pen light into his eyes.

“Well, Major, I doubt there’ll be any permanent damage. However, this is the third time this month you’ve come in with training injuries. Perhaps you should try finding someone else to be your partner…?” Dr. Keller’s suggestion trailed off, a concerned pout upon her lips. Evan suppressed a laughed and merely grinned wider.

“Oh, no, ma’am. I’m quite satisfied with the one I have now, thanks. Be expecting me again!” He hopped off the table, shoved his hands in his pockets, and walked out of the infirmary, ignoring Dr. Keller’s exasperated sigh.

Besides, he liked seeing fireflies.

[	Tags	|	fic, ronon/lorne	]
[	mood	|	sick	]
[	music	|	Here Come Those Tears Again - Jackson Browne	]

It was all very irrational. The displaced, unnamed sinking feeling he got when Ronon had to cut their sparring time in half that day because he already made plans with her; the jealously that crept and clawed its way up his throat when he would eat with her.  None of it made sense, not really, because he couldn’t honestly expect be Ronon’s only friend and companion outside Sheppard’s team. He was being selfish for no reason. But the feeling was still there, so he did what his childhood therapist always told him never to do:

He repressed and denied.

He would shove away these confusing feelings and drop-kick them into submission. Besides, it was a good thing that Ronon was making friends. He knew the Satedan was still having a hard time fitting into the mold of the Atlantis team; this was good PR.

Was I not good enough PR? Major Evan Lorne shook the thought from his head, a headache forming behind his right eyebrow. Or maybe too good and now everyone wants to be in the ex-runner’s good graces. The throbbing pain blossomed, spread. Finally, it had been too much for him to concentrate on what was being said at the table.

“Major?” Evan looked up from rubbing his forehead to see his team watching him with concern. The major smiled, stood up, and waved a hand for them to continue their conversation. The infirmary was really the last place he wanted to be right now, but what were the odds they’d both be there?

-

100% it seems. Evan stood in the door way and tried not to pass out as the pain behind his eyes intensified. As far as he could tell, there was nothing wrong with Ronon. Not cuts, no scraps, and he was standing too straight to have a broken rib. There was no one Ronon knew personally in any of the beds, as far as Evan knew, but then again, Ronon wasn’t standing by one of the beds. No, he was standing by her. Dr. Keller turned from Ronon and saw him.

“Major? Are you alright? Is there something I can help you with?” she asked. Evan glanced at Ronon and could see something he wasn’t sure he believed. Concern. The major turned back to Keller and took a deep breath to steady himself. This wasn’t her fault (whatever this was). He couldn’t just blame his screwed up emotions on her and be done with it. He forced a small smile and shrugged his shoulders.

“No, ma’am. Just taking a walk.” He gave a little wave and quickly turned. There was now a ringing in his ears accompanying the sharp pain that persisted. The ringing became so loud as he walked in long strides down the halls that he never heard the sound of boots running to catch up with him. When a hand landed on his shoulder and spun him around he could see nothing but a blur of color, something sickening instead of artistic. The last thing he could hear beyond the ringing was Ronon shouting his name. The world faded to black before he hit the ground.

“Evan? … Evan… Evan!” He was being shaken. At least, he thought he was. He could feel himself being shifted, gently and rough, alternating. The ringing was gone, but the headache remained. He pressed his eyes tighter together refusing to open them right away. He could hear other things too, hushed and hurried words all around him.

“Is he okay?”

“Major? Major, can you hear me?”

“Someone go get Dr. Keller!”

Too many voices at once. Too many to focus on.

“Evan. Evan, look at me.” Ronon. Slowly, Evan pried his eye lids apart, squinting up at a bright light that was suddenly shown in his eyes.

“Major, it’s Dr. Keller. Can you sit up?” He ignored the question, eyes darting around to find-

“Evan, come on, sit up.” He felt someone grab his arm with one hand and brace his back with the other. Ronon. Evan leaned back into the hand bracing him just slightly, raising his hands to his head. They were pried away and the light was shined into his eyes again.

“Major Lorne, can you tell me what happened?” And just like that, Evan got his second wind. He shot up, causing those who were gathered around him to back away. He stumbled a bit but managed to avoid a large arm that reached out for him. He didn’t get far, though. The large arm and the body attached to it were not to be denied and he was captured by his shoulders and turned to the other direction, towards the infirmary.

“Let the doc take a look at you,” Ronon said.

-

Dr. Keller felt the bump on the major’s head with a look of sympathy. Evan was seated on the edge of a bed, legs hanging off. He would have bolted by now (he and his sister had always hated hospitals) but Ronon was standing close by, as if expecting him to do just that.

“Well, Major, it looks like you have quite the concussion,” Keller said. Evan lifted his hand to feel the back of his head.

“Must have been when I fell just outside…”

“I caught you before you hit the ground,” Ronon said, suddenly. Evan looked to him and couldn’t stop the faint heat that spread across his face.

“Then… it must have been from this morning,” he said.

“When we were in the training room?” Ronon asked. Evan nodded and soon regretted it. Dr. Keller patted his leg.

“I’ll see if I can find you some good ol’ morphine in a pill,” she said, walking away. An awkward silence fell over the remaining two.

“… Why didn’t you come in earlier for that?” Ronon asked, crossing his arms. Evan blinked and looked up at him.

“Didn’t really hurt at first. Besides, seems like Dr. Keller was a bit preoccupied.” The major surprised himself at how cold he managed to sound. He bit the inside of his mouth and looked away, knowing again it was wrong to take his frustration out on her. Ronon’s brow forwarded, a frown of confusion tugging at his lips.

“Evan…”

“I’m sorry. I just… I’m not thinking straight right now is all.”

“I’m not an idiot, Lorne.” The man on the bed looked up in surprise at Ronon’s sudden declaration. The Satedan walked over and sat down next to him on the bed. Evan could feel the heat of the other man wash over him, and his flush became stronger. He didn’t say anything, prompting Ronon to continue. “She feels out of place here. I know what that’s like. She just needs one person to show her she’s important to change that. I mean… I had you, right?” The bigger man shifted, as though uncomfortable. “I still have you, don’t I?” By this point, Evan had nothing to say. He looked into Ronon’s eyes, stunned. His jaw opened a couple of times with nothing coming out. A polite cough broke their stares. Dr. Keller stood there, a shy smile on her face as she shook the pill bottle.

“Here we go, Major Lorne. This should fix you right up.” She handed the small bottle to him. He looked at her with a renewed outlook as he took it. He turned the bottle in his hand… and smiled up at her.

“Thanks, ma’am. What would my bleeding brain do without you?” he asked playfully. She let out a giggle and waved him towards the door, signaling that he could go. Evan hopped off the bed, ready to make his exit. A strong arm threw itself around his shoulders, friendly in nature.

“See you later, Doc.” And with that, Ronon walked out of the infirmary with the major.

-

Hmm... Wrote this a few months ago for nelle_tenebre. She was a bit irked by the... budding relationship of Ronon and Keller. I can't say I was too thrilled either. Well, hopefully this will quell some fears... and possible hatred.

[	Tags	|	after-holiday challenge, fic, ronon/lorne	]
[	mood	|	hyper	]
[	music	|	Eagles - How Long	]

The room was a mess. The drawers had been pulled out, clothing strewn every which place; the mattress wasn’t straight, but at an angle, it's bedding torn off. Painting paraphernalia littered the floor. The light that came through the long window fell upon books that had been wrenched from their place on the shelf above the bed. And in the middle of it all stood the major.

Evan was not an impulsive person by nature outside of his military duties. He liked to think things through when he had the time. He wasn’t one to lose his cool either, even under quite intense situations. But this… this challenged his established good will and saintly patience. His breathing was uneven as he again looked around his room, looking for a place he had not already checked twelve times. He locked his hands behind his head and screwed his eyes tightly closed. Where? Where could it possibly be? He never took it outside of his quarters.

He back-tracked, looked in every possible hiding spot, everywhere he remembered leaving it at one point or another. Nobody who’d ever been in his room knew where it was or that he even had one; he’d checked all of his books that looked remotely similar to- Oh, wait… Wait, back up one.

Damn it.

“Ronon!”

-

Ronon sat leaned back in his chair at the table he and his team occupied in the mess hall. McKay was on a tangent again, Sheppard baiting him at every breath’s chance. Teyla looked on in amusement as she ate, but Ronon was simply bored. No one was quite willing to spar with him that day and he hadn’t been able to find Lorne… not that he tried hard to begin with.

He smirked a little. He could almost picture the other man’s face when Evan would finally realize that… and really, Ronon had expected him to have come barreling out of his quarters a long time ago demanding it back. At this thought, he uncrossed his arms and lifted a hand to the table to pick up a black leather-bound book. The major’s sketchbook.

“What’s that?” the colonel asked suddenly, cutting off McKay. The scientist looked somewhat slighted but turned his attention to the book. Ronon shrugged.

“A hostage,” he said simply.

“Hostage for what?” Sheppard asked as he leaned forward and reached out to take it. Ronon lifted it out of his reach and the colonel raised an eyebrow. Suddenly a hush fell over the area and everyone turned to the entrance. Major Lorne stood there looking quite perturbed, eyes scanning the large room until his eyes fell on the ex-runner. His eyes narrowed and everyone watched cautiously as he walked calmly towards the colonel’s table, people averting their eyes as he passed. He stopped and stared hard at Ronon, as if the others weren’t even there. The Satedan straightened slightly in his chair.

“Something wrong, major?” he said as he held the book in both hands and in his lap. Lorne almost looked like he was about to explode (by this time McKay had smartly scooted far away from him and closer to Sheppard) but he took a shallow breath and glared down at the man in front of him.

“I don’t know why, and really, I don’t care. Just give it back,” he said as he held out his hand. Ronon stood up, locking eyes with the major in obvious amusement. He waved the book a little.

“What…this?” Eyes still on the major at first, he opened it and flipped a couple pages. Looking down he saw a relatively ordinary sketching of some of the Atlantis personnel going about their daily lives. Flipping a few more pages showed much of the same thing, sometimes people, sometimes the city itself.

“Yes, that,” came Evan’s edged voice. Suddenly, he became all too aware of people paying close attention to them. His angered persona faltered slightly and he looked away from Ronon. “Hand it over.” The taller man glanced back at the book.

“You’re no good at negotiations, you know that?” he said, smirk growing.

“Negotiations…?” the major asked in a flat voice.

“Yeah, nego-” Ronon was suddenly tackled from the front, hitting the ground hard. What the- Evan pulled at his arms and tried to wrestle the book away from him but Ronon kept a sturdy grip on it. By this time, people were up from their tables and standing around them. McKay looked to Sheppard, expecting him to step up as ranking officer to stop the brawl, but the colonel was laughing way too hard to give orders to anyone. Teyla looked contemplatively at the scene before speaking up.

“This reminds me of the boys in my village that would pull the hair of the girls they liked to get their attention,” she said fondly before sipping her water. This only served to make Sheppard double over while McKay flinch.

[	Tags	|	fic, ronon/lorne	]
[	mood	|	fucking freezing...	]
[	music	|	Bits and pieces of Christmas songs~	]

nelle_tenebre

Major Evan Lorne had already gained an appreciation for Atlantis’s detailed structures. Really, the masterful craftsmanship that when into the architectural design (beautiful yet functional) was nothing to turn your nose up at. He completely admired the minds behind the creation of the city’s ceilings, but to be honest… he could do without the pain that shot up and down his back every time he saw it. The major coughed a little before blinking. The figure that stepped over him was blurry at first, but he soon made out a hand that offered assistance. Never one to be impolite, Lorne took a hold of it and pulled himself up. He groaned as he straightened his back, sending a small glare towards his sparring partner.

“That…” he said breathlessly, “was not cool.” The Satedan lifted an eyebrow and one corner of his mouth twitched upwards.

“Then stop trying to over power me. I’m stronger than you,” was his blunt answer. Lorne stretched his arms out, bringing his shoulder blades together to make his back pop.

“Gee, thanks. You really know how to flatter a guy. Telling them right off they can’t win. No wonder you can’t keep any one sparring partner.” Lorne almost felt guilty for having said that when the usual frown once again graced Ronon’s face; almost. His back really did hurt.

“Whatever. All I’m saying is, just because I’m stronger than you, doesn’t mean I’m faster.” Lorne’s surprised look followed Ronon back to his starting position. Ronon placed himself in a semi-relaxed fighting stance. “So, should I be looking for a new victim?” Lorne stared at the bigger man for a few seconds before shaking his head.

“I didn’t mean to be a jerk about it. Thanks for the tip.” With that he returned to his braced stance, startled when Ronon stood up straight out of his.

“Why do you do that?” the ex-runner asked suddenly. The major blinked, clearly confused.

“Do what?”

“Apologize when you obviously want to hit me with something,” Ronon accused, crossing his arms. When Lorne opened his mouth to say something along the lines of ‘nuh-uh,’ Ronon continued. “I don’t get it. I’ve been throwin’ you all over this place, insulted your technique, which actually is bad, and you still train with me, and you’re still so damn…” Ronon paused, looking as though he was trying to find the right word. By now the major had slid out of his stance and was standing there feeling quite awkward.

“So…?” he pressed. Ronon glared at him and with an expression of distaste growled out-

“So damn… nice.”

Annoying. Persistent. Really bad at fighting (which he really wasn’t, damnit…). These were words Lorne had expected. Nice was not one of them.

“You’re upset… because I’m being nice to you,” he said slowly, as if to understand. After a minute he shook his head. “I give up. Can I have a hint?” Ronon growled and crossed his arms.

“I don’t see what you’re trying to do,” Ronon confessed. Lorne tilted his head to the side, his confusion urging the Satedan on. “What’s the long term goal here? Are you trying to get me to drop my guard? Get my good side so I’ll go easy on you? What?” Lorne didn’t reply right away. His brow forwarded as if in thought. A slow grin spread across his face.

“I’m… killing you with kindness?” A small laugh escaped him, his grin widening. It faltered quickly when the larger man suddenly crossed the room over to him in a few long strides. Lorne’s shoulders stiffened and he stood up straighter, not sure what to expect. Ronon stared down at him intensely, never breaking eye contact, as if searching for something. Lorne was pinned by that stare, but also refused to blink. He was about to request a replay of the past few minutes events, so that he could see exactly what it was the brought them to this point… so that he could find a reason as to why his face suddenly felt hot and his heart started to beat faster. He was about to, but the moment he opened his mouth the door to the practice area opened and Sheppard walked in.

“Hey, Ronon! Carter says she needs us to do… some recon…” Thumb poised over his shoulder and pointing behind him, his words slowly came to a stop as he looked from Ronon to the major (who had taken an awkward step away from the other) and back again. The hand already in the air moved to point to the floor of the room. “Am I interrupting something?”

“No,” both men said immediately. There was a tense silence before Ronon walked over to his boots, slipped them on, and walked out. The colonel gave the major a questioning yet amused look before leaving as well.

The major didn’t stay very long after that, grabbing his shoes and heading for his quarters.

-

The word to save Col. Sheppard’s ass hadn’t come in, so Lorne could only assume things were going alright. He sighed as he added more blue to the mountain. He then sat that brush down in exchange for the one he held in his mouth. Damn, the peaks were all wrong. Before he could do anything to remedy this error, a knock sounded through the apartment. He sat his instruments down and absently wiped his hands on a stray rag. Before he could reach the door, it slid open, and a certain ex-runner slowly entered, his eyes scanning the new surroundings. Lorne was a little peeved at the invasion of his space, but put that feeling aside when he saw the almost lost look on the other man’s face.

“Ronon?” The Satedan turned to his voice, and the man took in his paint covered appearance. Ronon took a deep breath and let it out in a rush.

“Well?” he asked, standing there expectantly.

“Well what?” Lorne asked. Ronon looked almost agitated. “Did something go wrong with your mission?” Lorne tried.

“Mission? I just came into your room without permission,” he declared. Lorne nodded.

“I can see that. You must have a good reason, though. Is something wrong?” he asked again. Ronon glared at him.

“Yeah. Something’s wrong.”

“Okay… progress. What is it?”

“You won’t do anything,” Ronon accused. Lorne screwed his eyes shut and lowered his chin to his chest. He was getting tired of not understanding.

“Come again?”

“I toss you around, I insult you, I come in here-“

“Well, you did knock first…”

“-and you just stand there… and you don’t do anything. I know you’re not weak. You wouldn’t be part of all this if you were.”

“Wait, this is about the ‘nice’ thing again, isn’t it?” the major asked. Ronon crossed his arms.

“Exactly.” At this answer, Lorne finally threw up his arms.

“I’m nice to everyone in Atlantis! To the scientists, to the teams, to… to Teyla’s people. To…” he waved his whole arm to indicate the city. “To everyone. Why should I treat you any differently?” It was supposed to be an assuring gesture, but all this statement served to do was make a blank expression come across Ronon’s face. Lorne rubbed his forehead. “What? You want me to be angry with you?”

“It’d be a start,” Ronon said. Lorne close his eyes tight, arms now also crossed.

“Ronon… I don’t have a reason to be mad at you. A little irritated, but hardly-”

“You’re a mess,” Ronon suddenly interjected. Lorne closed his mouth quickly and looked down at himself. He forgot that he had paint on him.

“It’s not that much,” he said.

“You look like someone beat you with a child’s story book,” Ronon retorted.

“… I know what you’re trying to do-”

“Have you always been this short or is it some sort of progressive flesh-eating disease?”

“-and it’s not going to work,”

“You couldn’t beat even McKay in a fight.”

“Oh, come on. Now you’re just being-”

“Your painting sucks,” Ronon said, pointing to the easel. Lorne’s eyes widened and he quickly turned to glance at his work-in-progress. He gave Ronon a sharp look, lips in a thin line. Ronon smirked. Lorne took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“Are you done? Got it out of your system? If you want someone to hit you so badly, go find Teyla or Sheppard. I’m sure they’ll be more than happy to do so.” With that, Lorne’s head made a small jerking motion towards the door, indicating that Ronon should leave. He didn’t. The larger man stood there, looking slightly pleased with himself.

“Mad at me yet?”

“No…”

“Sure you’re not.”

“Annoyed, not mad,” Lorne said defiantly. Ronon, in a similar fashion as he had done in the practice area, invaded the major’s personal space. This time, instead of being pinned down by the Satedan’s eyes, the major was trying his hardest not to yell and shove the other man away; rather, he held his gaze strongly. Ronon stood there for a few seconds, as if waiting to be pushed back, but seeing that it wasn’t going to happen, quickly took hold of Lorne’s shoulders (effectively startling him out of his staring match).

“How ‘bout now?” The major was roughly pulled close to the ex-runner, his lips captured by the other’s. There was the initial shock at first, of course. Lorne was wide-eyed and unresponsive while Ronon licked and forcefully parted his mouth. But when that warm tongue began pressed against his, provoking him to react, his eyes slid closed and he slowly brought his hands up to the strong arms holding him tight. Just when he began to move with the motion of the other’s mouth, Ronon pulled away. Lorne was in a slight daze (he would reprimand himself later on the whole ‘knees-gone-weak’ thing), and he swallowed and tried to wrap his brain around what had just happened. “How ‘bout now?” Ronon repeated, his voice lower and rough. Lorne blinked up at him, confused by the question at first… and then promptly connected his fist to Ronon’s jaw. Ronon stumbled back, surprised more than actually hurt. He growled.

“What the hell?!” Ronon was not an idiot. He had felt Lorne respond, never mind the brief pause. “The hell was that?”

“After insulting my demeanor, dissing my painting, which rocks by the way, and then proceeding to shove your tongue done my throat, I only did what you’ve been wanting me to do since you asked me to spar with you. I hit you. Happy now?” Lorne said, sounding calmer than he actually was. He could feel his face burning and hoped it wouldn’t give him away. Ronon rubbed his jaw and straightened himself, all while glaring at the major. His expression slowly slid from anger to displeasure. His shoulders dropped a fraction before raised his hands up palm forward and took a step back.

“I get it,” he said as he slowly turned for the door. A hand shot out and held his arm steadfast in place. He turned back to the major; the other man seemed amused.

“Now, you can continue trying to piss me off, or… you could spend your time provoking a less painful and more enjoyable reaction from me,” Lorne said with a small grin. Ronon’s brow shot up before he was pulled roughly away from the door.

-

Sheppard whistled as he made his way to the training room, hands in pockets. Ronon was usually doing some kind of work-out during this time. The colonel was finally ready to try and take another whack at beating Ronon one-on-one (the last attempt saw quite a few interesting and painful bruises that McKay like to point and laugh at). As he approached the door he wasn’t surprised to see the sign was up, saying that the room was already in use. If the big man was anything, it was dependable, in actions and schedule. He tapped the panel on the right to open the door, mouth open to greet his friend but soon closed it, eyes wide. He quickly stepped out, hopefully unnoticed and the door slid back in place. He stared at it for a few seconds before rubbing his eyes furiously with one hand. The other scratched the back of his neck as he slowly turned, walking back to the mess hall, and tried to forget the image of his teammate and his second-in-command doing more than grappling on the ground.

He hoped someone cleaned those floors really well…

[	Tags	|	fic, ronon/lorne	]
[	mood	|	No... more... TEXT BOOKS! DX	]
[	music	|	C&C - Gravemakers and Gunslingers	]

The thing about being active in the field is this:  Expect to shoot other people. Expect to be shot at. Expect to be shot. If you cannot accept at least two out of three of these realities, it’s time to choose a new profession. A waiter, maybe, or a nun.

“Or an art teacher back home…” Lorne muttered to himself, reloading his gun. Except the major accepted all three. He was more than qualified, much to his mother’s chagrin. The day he came home and informed her that he would not, in fact, be following her footsteps into the serene life that was teaching brush strokes to uninterested teenagers it nearly broke her heart. His mother fit the stereotype when it came to artists. Emotional, day-dreamy, not to mention fragile…

Much like the kneecap of the enemy Genii soldier he just took out. Kolya and his men were really beginning to try his patience, and that was saying something. Lorne glanced over to the soldier next to him, the kid’s eyes wide and finger not on the trigger. The question as to how exactly did someone like this make it to Atlantis crossed his mind, but Lorne simply yelled over at him.

“Don’t think! Just shoot! That’s an order!” Lorne tried to put urgency in his words, but the soldier merely looked over to him in a panic. Lorne ducked further behind his cover (a thick metal case filled with something he prayed wasn’t explosive) and he grabbed the arm of the soldier. “The bullets are replaceable; you are not! Shoot!” And with that, the soldier lifted up his gun and fired awkwardly. It was then that Lorne noticed the difference in his uniform. The kid was no soldier, but part of the research team. Lorne took a better look around the area that he and his team, along with the scientists, were held up. Many of the other scientists had guns and were firing haphazardly, only further telling Lorne of the grave seriousness the situation had taken. Quickly, he took note of how many grenades were at hand.

One.

Great.

Lorne gripped the explosive and turned to his team. “Fall back! Get to the Gate, all of you!” But the sound of bullets flying nearly drowned out his voice. A lieutenant, who had managed to hear most of the order, glanced his way. Seeing the grenade, he nodded and nudged the soldier next to him to relay the order. The word spread quickly, and the men retreated while grabbing confused researchers and hauling them towards the Stargate.  Lorne gave them a thirty second head start. Plenty of time to gain some ground without the Kolya’s men realizing something was up. He pulled the pin, took a couple deep breaths, and hurled the grenade as hard as he could. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t stick around to see the explosion, but he certainly felt it and could hear the sounds of men either surprised or in agony. He took off at a sprint, never once looking back as he passed through the camp that was once their base. He could see the brilliance of the Gate’s event horizon up ahead, but the bullet that whizzed by his head left little room for his artistic observations. Of the men he sent back, only one was left guarding the DHD, covering the major by shooting at the pursuers. When the soldier saw that Lorne would most likely make it the rest of the way, he jogged to the Gate and jumped through. Lorne was making his way up the steps when a bullet lodged itself into his right leg. He dropped to the ground and grabbed at his upper thigh. He only took a second longer to push himself back up and practically fall through the watery barrier.

-

“So when we finally realized that Kolya and his men were there from the beginning, it was too late. Luckily, we gained the higher ground and a clear path to the Gate.” Lorne winced at the end of his sentence slightly as he pushed himself into a better sitting position. Hospital beds, no matter what galaxy you were in, sucked.

Carter simply nodded, confirming that his team’s second in command had pretty much said the same. She smiled down at him in sympathy as he played with his IV, gaining him a sharp slap on the wrist from Dr. Keller.

“Get some rest, Major. You’ve earned it,” Carter said, giving him a soft pat on the shoulder before turning to exit the infirmary. Lorne lay back stiffly and looked up to young doctor.

“So, I should be getting out of here in, what? An hour or two? Less?” he asked. Keller snorted softly and gave him a mock glare.

“More. I’m going to keep you here over night,” she said. Lorne nearly did a double take.

“Over night?! But last week someone broke their ankle, compound fracture, and they were released by the end of the day! I know! He has breakfast with my team!” The good major was practically challenging her to deny his statement, but she just shook her head and tried to hide her smile. Her patients could be very amusing sometimes, especially Lorne and Colonel Sheppard… well, maybe not Sheppard. He had a tendency to become very annoying during long stays in the infirmary.

“Major Lorne, your wound still has a chance of becoming infected. We need you here, on the proper medication and antibiotics,” she explained as she lightly tapped the IV. Lorne glared at the thin tube as if it were the reason he was stuck there.

“Can’t you just put some Campho-Phenique gel on a band-aid, patch me up, and say I’m good?” he pleaded, shoulders sagging slightly. His mock look of defeat told Dr. Keller that she wouldn’t have to worry about him for the rest of the night (unlike Colonel Sheppard, who probably would have come up with some scheme to get himself thrown out by now).

About two hours later, though, Lorne was ready to resort such ungentlemanly tactics. Despite crashing after the adrenaline rush that was today, he couldn’t get his attention span to cooperate. What’s in the IV, again? What time is it now? Would it be possible to just walk around a little bit? Is the Surgeon General responsible for the crappy beds?

“The beds here are hardly any different than the ones in your quarters, Major,” one of Dr. Keller’s assistants assured with exasperation.

“Oh, I beg to differ,” Lorne said. The assistant sighed.

“How so, Major?” she asked, humoring him.

“Well, in my oh-so comfortable quarters I have a hand-made quilt that my grandmother made me when I had the chicken pox. I have it at the end of my bed; it keeps my feet from getting cold. These thin sheets,” Lorne said, wiggling the foot of his uninjured leg, “do nothing to for the circulation in my toes.” By now the assistant was smiling, obviously no longer annoyed thanks to the major’s adorable child-like behavior. “I also have a nifty pillow in the shape of Abe Lincoln’s funny hat.” This time the assistant laughed, replacing the used IV bag with a full one. “Also, I keep my sketch pad next to my bed, which makes it all the better. Can’t I at least have a pen and some paper?” The assistant looked ready to break to his request when leather bound book, about the size of a journal, landed next to his left leg.  Lorne blinked and looked up.

Ronon stood at the end of his bed, expression seemingly blank, though Lorne could see he was amused.

“Now will you stop being a pest?” the ex-runner asked. Dr. Keller’s assistant had made a quick and unnoticed retreat (Ronon had that effect on some people). Lorne picked up the book. It was his sketch book.

“You know, I’m pretty sure not only is it a moral wrong, but an illegal act to go into another’s personal space without permission,” he said slowly, but with a good-natured grin. Ronon shrugged and took a seat in the chair next to his bed.

“Been hearin’ a lot around the mess about what happened today,” he said, changing the subject.

“Yeah, yeah. What were you doing in my room, exactly?” Lorne asked. Ronon shifted and looked around. Seeing that no one was particularly near by, the Satedan leaned forward slightly.

“I thought you’d be there after your debriefing, but turns out you got stuck here instead,” he said, not looking the major in the eye. Lorne smirked.

“Planned on jumping me as soon as I walked in?” he asked in a low voice. Ronon frowned and sat back in his chair, telling Lorne that that had been exactly what Ronon had in mind, though it didn’t stop the ex-runner from denying it.

“Just gonna ask if you wanted to spar,” he explained.

“Oh, sure…” Lorne said, the knowing grin never leaving his face as he picked up his sketch book. Taking the piece of charcoal from the binder he began to brush it against the paper. Ronon growled.

“No, seriously,” he said defensively.

“I believe you.” No he didn’t. Ronon’s frown deepened before relaxing as he shrugged his shoulders.

“Doesn’t matter now, anyway. Looks like you’ll be here for a while.” It was Lorne’s turn to frown a little at Ronon’s words, though he never took his eyes off what he was drawing.

“Only for tonight. Then I’ll limp my way to bed and sleep for another day.” Lorne tilted the book somewhat to get a better light on it before continuing to add more lines. A grin tugged at his lips. “That is unless you have a backup plan.” His grin widened when Ronon coughed.

“Like I said, heard a lot about your mission. You’ve managed to place yourself pretty high in McKay’s circle,” he said. When Lorne finally looked up in surprise, Ronon continued. “Those scientist guys are really impressed with you. After you didn’t show up in your quarters I went down to the mess. Guess I missed all the excitement over your return. Got down there and all McKay’s guys had to say was how they got to see some action in the field. “Super-special-awesome” was used, I think. And also about the “far-out” major that saved their lives.” Lorne had started laughing out loud by the time Ronon finished.

“What a bunch of geeks…” he chuckled affectionately. He brushed off some extra charcoal dust from his drawing before adding a few finishing touches. Ronon’s curiosity had finally gotten the best of him.

“Let me see,” he demanded. He always enjoyed watching Evan (in situations like this, Evan was more than appropriate) create amazing images from a blank canvas. It further demonstrated Evan’s uniqueness, his open-minded creativity. The major had been one of the first to accept his presence in Atlantis as a matter of fact.

Lorne tilted the book away from Ronon and continued his work. Ronon frowned once again and leaned forward, reaching out to grab the leather bound book. Lorne lashed out with his piece of charcoal and drew a black line across Ronon’s face. The Satedan drew back in mild surprise, and Lorne smirked.

“I’m not done,” he said defiantly. Ronon wiped his cheek with the back of his hand, only making the mark worse.

“What are you drawing?” he growled. Lorne looked over at him with hooded eyes.

“The future,” he said ominously. Ronon rolled his eyes.

“You been watchin’ those…,” Ronon looked like he was searching for the right word, “DVDs with Sheppard and McKay again? The one where the guy explodes or something?” Lorne chuckled again.

“Maybe. But I’m being serious. At least, I hope I am. It’s an interesting future worth looking into.” With that, Ronon again reached for book, quicker than last time, and managed to pull it from Lorne’s grasp. “Hey! I said I wasn’t done!” he protested. Ronon snorted and looked down at the drawing.

“…”

“… Can I have it back now?” Lorne shifted as much as he could without jarring his leg. Ronon remained silent as he studied the image without expression and then spoke.

“Future worth looking into, huh?” Ronon asked, his voice amused. Lorne blushed slightly and looked away.   

“Give it back.”

“Can you even bend that way?”

“Give it back!”

“Just asking. ‘Cause this is one prediction that might actually come true, assuming you get out of here before I go on the mission tomorrow.”

“… Dr. Keller… DR. KELLER! I need that Campho-gel, some gauze, and bottle of your finest codeine! STAT!”

nelle_tenebre

[	Tags	|	fic, games, ronon/lorne	]
[	mood	|	hungry	]
[	music	|	Alvin & the Chipmunks - Little Brother, Mr. Hyde	]

“Blue-squad Three, are you in position?” There was static for a moment over the walkie.

“Sir, Blue-squad Three is in position.”

“Good. Hold until you get the signal from ‘Squad Two.”

“Yes, sir.”

Major Lorne couched low and peered cautiously around the corner of the wall. He was all that was left of Blue-squad One, the rest of his men having been captured by the enemy. He took a deep breath to calm himself. The other two groups under his command were planning a jail break of sorts. Hopefully, this would be enough to distract the enemy from the target. He would be in this alone, but nothing could be done about that. Surprisingly, guard around the target was sparse. This did, of course, make him suspicious, though once again he reminded himself that nothing could be done. He’d only get one shot to pull this off, so screwing up was not an option. Too much was riding on this. Way too much.

He wanted that day off, damn it, and a few Red guards were not going to stop him.

He tightened the blue bandana around his arm and checked his weapon. Half-loaded. Good enough. He was close anyway. He slowly stood up, as to not alert his presence to the Red guards only yards away. Taking a deep breath he stepped away from the wall and turned the corner, firing three times. One guard was hit twice, once in the shoulder and another in the chest; the second was shot in the hip. Disarmed. The sound of curses and disappointed grunts followed him down the hall as he ran. If Zelenka was right, the target was two corridors down. He made a sharp turn at the second hallway only to skid to a halt. He lowered his weapon and shoulders in defeat. He looked despairingly into the eyes of the Red-guard he was not allowed to shoot.

Ronon stood between him and the crimson flag, a red bandana tied to his upper arm.

Lorne tilted his head back slightly and groaned.

“Crap…” The Guard could not be shot with the paint balls like the other Reds. The Guard had to be fought hand-to-hand. Those were the rules. Ronon smirked.

“’Fraid this is as far as you go,” he said, arms crossed. Lorne shrugged, still breathing rather heavily.

“You’re not kidding. This whole plan depended on Sheppard being the Red-guard. But hey, man,” Lorne began, “I know a lost battle when I see one.” He dropped his paint-ball gun and put his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. It seemed all was for naught. Ronon snorted, uncrossing his arms and taking a few steps towards the major.

“Cowardly, but smart. ‘Cuz there was no way you were getting this flag,” the ex-runner chuckled. Lorne managed to get out a small laugh in between deep breaths.

“I know! I mean, look at you. You’re a wall!” he said, waving in Ronon’s general direction. “Sheppard I could have handled.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Ronon said, nodding as if somewhat relaxed. Lorne straightened up slightly.

“Yeah, well, you know what they say, right?” he asked. Ronon lifted a brow.

“What’s that?”

“The bigger they are, the harder they fall.” Lorne dropped suddenly, extending his leg and sweeping it around the back of Ronon’s. Lorne didn’t bother to enjoy the resounding ‘thud’ of the larger man hitting the floor, completely abandoned his gun, and almost tripped in his hurry to the flag. Wrapping his fingers around the pole of the flag (which was only about the size of a baton) he ran towards the second door that was located on the opposite side of the room. Lorne would have to poke fun at Sheppard for that poor security decision, later. He could hear Ronon’s outraged roar and didn’t dare look back. He just continued to run towards Blue base, pretending he was on his uncle’s farm and being chased by those unusually hostile dogs the old man liked to keep around.

He, of course, had forgotten about the other Reds that had paint-ball guns and were still in position in the Gateroom. Lorne ducked his head down but continued sprinting. Maybe it would be harder to hit a target running somewhere around the speed of Ohgodohgodohgod-I’m gonna die! Reckless? Most certainly.

It was only by the grace of all underdogs everywhere that his (newly freed) team appeared from their above positions on the second floor. A flurry of blue paint splatter erupted on the Reds in Lorne’s way. Two of his team met him on the floor and began to flank him, keeping him slightly hidden from the enemy. They escorted him all the way to the teleporter before they took guard on either side of it. Lorne chose his location and was beamed to the opposite side of the game’s boundaries where the Blue-base was located. When the doors slid open, the major felt a wave of relief crash over him as he was met by two other Blues that looked at him with surprise. They had obviously not believed they’d ever see the Reds’ flag, what with Sheppard’s team on the Red side. Lorne gave an exhausted smirked, stepping out of the teleporter and holding up the flag. It was then that he noticed it wasn’t surprise in their eyes, but shame. Lorne’s smirk faltered drastically when he saw the distinct shape of a gun in his peripheral vision and noticed the red paint splatter on the vests of his men.

“Sorry, Major, but I’m gonna have to take that back.” The smirk in Col. Sheppard’s voice was unmistakable, and Lorne once again groaned. He didn’t have his gun. Teyla appeared at his other side, smiling at him in a way that was almost apologetic, and took the flag from his hand.

Game Over.   

-

“I suck…” Lorne said as he placed the ice packs on his legs. Atlantis was huge and had a lot of ground to cover. He sat at a mess table with Sheppard and his team, discussing the detail of the “training session,” as the colonel liked to call it. Teyla patted his back.

“You and your team did very well, Major. A jail break, an ambush, nearly making it back to your base…”

“And, I hear you managed to pull one over on Ronon,” John said, smiling around his sandwich. Ronon growled a little.

“He got lucky.”

“And you got dropped,” Lorne retorted, causing John to laugh out loud (McKay would have, but he was sitting next to Ronon at the time). Lorne grinned as Ronon cast him a hooded look. “But I can’t believe I didn’t see that coming. I should have known McKay would have found our base like Zelenka found yours.”

“That’s what training’s for. To learn from mistakes,” Ronon said suddenly, surprising everyone a little. Lorne blinked and nodded. Sheppard eased the sudden silence by telling everyone, in great detail, what he would do with the day off the Reds had won.

Soon afterwards, everyone slowly left the mess hall and to their quarters after their long and neck-breaking day of training (though no one would ever admit to not having fun), leaving Lorne and Ronon alone at the table. The good major was dozing in his chair slightly, looking out on the waves and the setting sun, thinking of how much his mom would love to paint it. The burning in his legs had subsided, replaced with a dull ache. He put some serious thought into just sleeping in the chair. He looked over to Ronon, who hadn’t said anything since the others left. It surprised him enough to wake him up a little when he found Ronon was staring at him. The ex-runner’s face was unreadable, and for a second Lorne thought it was a glare. The other man wasn’t that upset about the fall, was he? Lorne was either so concentrated on this though or he was too tired; but when Ronon suddenly stood up from his chair, Lorne jumped slightly and blinked up at him. Ronon walked around the table and took a chair in front of the major.

“How’d you do that?” he asked. Lorne blinked and tilted his head just a little.

“Do what?” Perhaps the question would have made more sense to him if he wasn’t about to fall asleep. Ronon averted his gaze for a second before settling on Lorne again.

“How’d you throw me off guard like that?” he clarified. Lorne shrugged absent mindedly.

“I guess it’s because I’m such a nice guy,” he joked, giving the other man a half-smile. Ronon looked like he was thinking it over before he shook his head.

“No, don’t think that’s it,” he said firmly. He reached out as he stood up, gently running a hand up Lorne’s thigh. The major’s breath hitched. “Try to get some rest. We’ve got another training session like this next week.” And with a slight nod from Lorne, Ronon stood up fully and walked out of the mess. Lorne breathed slowly, his eyes staring at his leg. It was still sore, if not a little tingly now.

-

One week later saw the two teams once again locked in their game. It once again found the good major moving with great stealth through corridors and empty rooms, staying hidden. But unlike last time, Ronon was not the Guard. And really, one couldn’t blame Lorne for not realizing he was being followed. Ronon had stalking prey down to a fine art. One could question the major’s loyalty, however, when Ronon pushed him into an empty observation room and proceeded claim Lorne’s mouth, without any form of resistance.

Lorne smirked against the Satedan’s lips. The game could wait.

nelle_tenebre

[	Tags	|	fic, ronon/lorne, slash, stargate atlantis	]
[	mood	|	I's gots the butterflies...	]
[	music	|	Alvin & the Chipmunks - Coast 2 Coast	]

-

Major Evan Lorne stared at the meal in front of him with no real conviction. He wasn’t hungry, though he should have been. When was the last time he ate? Yesterday morning perhaps? Better question:  When was the last time he’d managed to get more than two hours of sleep, long Puddle-Jumper missions with McKay not withstanding? And let’s be honest, how long ago was that whole dream incident? A little over a month? None of this should be happening. It took many unnecessary sessions with a well-to-do therapist (who was always a little too full of herself, in Evan’s opinion) to finally figure out what was wrong, and he could still remember all the times his mother nearly had a heart attack when she woke up to find him nowhere near his bed. The whole sleep walking thing was the real reason to her hair graying early.

Evan’s frown deepened as he stabbed his mashed potatoes. He could remember one episode fairly well – or at least the consequences of said episode. Apparently he’d been dreaming about being abducted by aliens (go figure). Anyway, he’d managed to get out of bed, put on his shoes, walk outside, and sprint to the nearest line of dense woods that surrounded his neighborhood. When he woke up, he had no idea where he was; he stood clinging to a tree, eventually sliding down and curling in on himself until he heard some of his neighbors calling his name. He’d been eight-years-old at the time. And now here he was, thirty-seven and once again roaming without any true destination down the hallways. In his sleep. Without anyone knowing. Those who had witnessed Evan’s sleepwalking when he was a child always said he seemed perfectly conscious, minus some odd conversation with himself or someone who was seemingly not there.

Damn crystal thingy-ma-jigger.

Lorne shook his head and dropped his fork onto his tray. This venture was obviously going nowhere. He picked up his tray and went to dispose of it, trying to ignore the dampened sense of balance that comes with sleep depravation. He was about to exit the eating area when a couple of women, nurses he briefly registered, rushed past him in their hurry to get wherever it was they were going, one of them bumping shoulders with him. Normally, Evan would have side-stepped, waved a cheerful and sincere apology (his mother brought him up to believe that chivalry was not dead, but in fact on life support), and continued on his way.

Instead, his weary body failed him, and he ended up in one of those nifty slow-motion falls that he always enjoyed at movies. At least, that’s what it felt like to him. He was in the process of thinking, ‘Atlantis really does have nice ceilings,’ when he felt an arm wrap around his shoulders. The nifty slow-motion effect stopped. Evan blinked a couple of times and looked up to see who had caught him. Instead, he found himself staring into brown eyes of a certain ex-runner.

“Oh my goodness! Are you alright, Major?” asked the woman he had run into. Evan blinked again, feeling himself being placed back on his feet. Ronon gave him a questioning gaze before exiting the room. Evan stared after him for all of two seconds before turning back to the women and smiling.

“I’m fine. Sorry about that. You ladies have a nice day.” Ever the gentleman.

-

The good major quickly forgot the incident from that afternoon and just as quickly buried himself into the routine of daily life in Atlantis. He was almost reluctant to return to his quarters when his shift ended, knowing all that was left to do for the day was lie in bed and once again reflect on the craftsmanship that went into the city’s architecture. Imagine his surprise when he realized he’d fallen asleep. This realization was brought upon by Ronon shaking the daylights out of him.

“What the hell?!” he exclaimed, hands clinging to the upper arms of the larger man, trying to steady himself. It was then that he looked down. “Jesus!” He clung tighter to Ronon’s arms. “Why am I up here?!” Dumb question, seeing as how he already knew the answer. But, come on… Near the top of the Spire? Anyone was bound to lose some common sense.

Ronon didn’t say anything, but helped to pull him off of the ledge and back onto the platform. Instead of letting the major go, Ronon gripped the sleeves of Evan’s sleep shirt and simply raised an eyebrow, his expression only giving away his curiosity and possibly confusion.

“Um…” Evan began articulately, “I can explain?”

-

“Well?”

Evan blinked and concluded his staring match with his bedroom floor. Ronon had brought him back here, for which Evan was grateful. Even at night there were still quite a few people up and about. Having this conversation in the mess would have been a little unnerving. Still, Ronon was just standing there arms crossed while Evan sat Indian style on his bed. And apparently, Ronon was getting impatient as well.

“What the hell was that all about? You said something about an explanation.” The larger man growled out. Was it just the good major, or did he seem genuinely pissed off?

“Didn’t think you’d actually stay to hear it. Aren’t they serving midnight pudding? You like pudding, right? Of course you do, everyone does.” He was babbling. Damn it.

“Lorne…” Ronon’s warning tone was enough to get the other man to snap his mouth shut. Ronon uncrossed his arms and took a couple of steps closer. “Why the hell were you up there? I mean… first you stop eating,-“ (Evan looked up in surprise; he’d only missed a couple of meals) –“and now… Now you’re standing on the ledge of one of the tallest towers this place has. Again, what the hell? You weren’t… you weren’t about to take a dive off of that thing were you?” This last part was asked with less force and almost sounded perturbed. Evan, himself, was thrown for a loop.

“You mean a jump? Are you kidding me? Why the hell would I do that?” Evan’s brow creased. Seriously, of all the people to be accused of such a depressing thought…

“I’ve heard some of your team talking. They said you were in line for a really good position back on Earth.” Ronon paused. “They said you had a mother and other family.” He trailed off again. “It makes sense, I guess.” Evan’s eyes narrowed in confusion.

“What makes sense?”

“That you’d be up there. Can’t be easy being away from those people. But, I gotta say, I never pictured you to be the type.” Ronon explained. The major shook his head.

“Okay, time out! One- I am the most well adjusted person you will ever meet! Never forget that! And two- I wasn’t up there to… to do that! I probably would have just climbed off myself and walked right back to bed without ever waking up!” Evan crossed his arms and took a deep breath, satisfied with himself.

“Without waking up? What are you talking about?”

Damn.

“Oh, just forget it,” he said, rubbing at his eyes. “This whole situation is wearing me out.”

“Were you sleepwalking again? Like when you were about to shoot Sheppard and Carter?” the ex-runner asked. Evan shook his head slightly.

“Nothing that extreme, no. But, yeah. I’ve been sleepwalking again,” he said in a defeated manner. He was far too tired for this, really. Ronon, it seems, did not pick up on this.

“I thought you said it’d been years since you’d last done that.”

“Well, technically, it was only about a month ago.”

“Whatever.”

Silence stretched out for a few moments. Evan straightened his legs and stood up, scratching the back of his head.

“They started up again after that little fiasco,” he confided. “Though I admit, that’s probably the first time I’ve ever climbed so many stories without waking up in the process. And hey, what was with the shaking? Don’t you know it’s never a good thing to shake or startle a sleepwalker?” he asked. Ronon’s frown deepened and he took another step closer.

“Why is it a bad thing?” It was the way he asked that made the major look up at him. Ronon’s expression was schooled into neutral, but Evan could make out what he thought was concern.

“Well… I’m not sure. I think I used to know at one point, but it’s been so long since I had my episodes when I was a kid.”

“It won’t happen again.” Ronon said suddenly. Evan blinked, trying to piece together what had been said. He really could use a good night’s sleep.

“Um… What, you mean my subconscious tower-climbing?” he half-joked. The larger man shook his head.

“I won’t shake you agaim.” At this, Evan slightly tilted his head, prompting Ronon to continue. “It’s why I stunned you back then, rather than let your own team mates shoot you.”

“It just would have been a leg or an arm… Surely nothing life threatening,” Evan said slowly. Ronon again stepped closer, in what Major Lorne liked to call his personal bubble.

“Still, I didn’t want you to get hurt.” He almost looked embarrassed to say it, as if he felt he was letting his guard too much. The smaller man (much smaller, considering he was bare foot) turned more fully to Ronon, green eyes searching brown. Searching for the full extent of what had just been said. Our major bit the inside of his lip for a moment before shyly smiling.

“You know… in the third week of my therapy sessions, we found out that I usually don’t get up when there’s someone next to me.” The questioning glint in Ronon’s eyes made Evan back track quickly. “Um, nevermind. I, uh, I’d better try and, um, get some sleep. Never know when something exciting may happen.” He stopped his babbling when the other man promptly closed the space he had created.

-

Major Evan Lorne doesn’t sleepwalk anymore. He’s far too busy keeping a certain visitor entertained at night, which hasn’t exactly solved his sleeping problem entirely.

And really, he can live with that.

-

As always, uber props to my beta, the ever lovely

nelle_tenebre

[	mood	|	disappointed	]
[	music	|	Like Her - Mandalay	]

Title:   Hold My Bag
Author:  Jett-chan
Fandom:  ... Take your pick.
Characters:  Johnny Storm, Peter Parker, that one lady from Maurice's. <<#...
Rating:  PG
Summary:   Johnny never knew his "boyfriend responsibilities" covered this.

-

Johnny had laughed at Peter when the invitation came in. The look on Parker’s face was priceless. The blush (brought about by the steady stream of “Why me?!” running through dear Peter’s head) was adorable and made the light freckles across his nose more visible. And perhaps “invitation” wasn’t the right word. “Order by Higher Power,” maybe. Jameson had requested (i.e.: demanded) his photographer’s presence at his son’s wedding. Yes, Johnny had his mirth and his jokes and all was right with the land.

Until he found out Peter didn’t have a suit.

Until he found himself being dragged through the mall.

“Pete,” he whined, “do I really have to be here for this?”

“Shut up. Yes, you do.” Peter shifted the backpack slung over his shoulder with his left and pulled harder on Johnny’s arm with his right. They wound up going into a formal clothing outlet, one of the larger areas, for both men and women. Peter walked slowly to the nearest rack and shifted through the suits (that really all looked the same). The boy’s face drained of color and he bit his lip. Johnny leaned in close.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked. Peter gnawed on his lip before he showed Johnny the price tag of one of the cheaper suits. Peter sighed.

“This was a bad idea. I should just rent one…” he lowered his head a little when one of the attending ladies of the store glanced their way, turning up her nose. Johnny frowned and resisted the urge to set one of the display plants on fire. Unfortunately, he could no longer do delinquent things like that (“I swear, officer! It spontaneously combusted right before my very eyes!”). He’d just wind up being the number one suspect. He placed a warm, calming hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“Hey, don’t worry about it. Remember that birthday gift I owe you? Consider us even today, yeah?” Johnny flashed his award winning smile when the color returned full force to Peter’s cheeks.

“You… you really don’t have to do that…” At this, Johnny simply raised a graceful eyebrow. It still amazed him how Peter could be forceful one minute (“Johnny, damnit, stop struggling! You’re coming with me!”) and adorably passive the next. Johnny wondered if this was what the boy was like before the whole radioactive-spider… thing.

“Not a problem, man. Take your pick!” he said (loudly, as to agitate Ms. Snooty-pants), spreading his arms wide towards the suit racks. The smile Peter gave him verified two things in his mind.

1: He no longer had to dig deep into Pete’s psyche to figure out what to get him for a very belated birthday present (he knew from past failures that even though Pete was a genius of sorts, he did not, to an extent, appreciate the same things as Reed; Johnny still couldn’t figure out what to do with the latest version of Particles:  Our Extremely Small Friends that was sitting uselessly on top of his shelf) and-

2: He was so getting sex tonight.

“… This one, maybe,” Peter said, shaking Johnny out of his thoughts and pointing to one of the suits. Johnny nodded his approval.

“Looks good to me,” he said. Peter took the suit off of the rack, shrugged his backpack off of his shoulder, and held it out to Johnny.

“Hold my bag.” Peter left little room for argument as he quickly made his way to the dressing room. Johnny walked slowly after him and sat in one of the chairs just outside of the changing area. From this point he could see across the store to the women’s dressing room. There sat three other men, wives’ purses in their laps as they waited with equal looks of misery. Johnny blinked, slowly looked down to his own lap, and quickly jumped out of the chair, shouldering the backpack awkwardly. Madam Pompous gave him a disapproving glare and he rolled his eyes.

“Lady, I just found out I’m practically a pseudo-husband. Gimme a break.”

-

D: I’m not loving it. It doesn’t seem to flow right. At all. This was just inspired by something that 

solar_cat05

P.S.: Thanks to the always lovely 

nelle_tenebre

P.P.S.: … This little snippet really shines light on my love for (parentheses)… -_-;

[	Tags	|	jessica drew, johnny storm, mary jane, peter parker, ultimate spiderman	]
[	mood	|	chipper	]
[	music	|	What's This (remake) - Fall Out Boy	]

Title:  Double Trouble in Paradise 
Author:  Jett-chan
Fandom:  Ultimate Spider-Man (... Don't hold it as Gospel though. I haven't actually read up to the clone arc.)
Characters:  Johnny Storm, Peter Parker, Jessica Drew, Mary Jane Watson.
Rating:  PG
Summary:  Answer to the Johnny and Jessica challenge! XD; Johnny's brain is a little behind, but that's just fine. 

Yes! As promised, here is my submission for the fresh new challenge. 

-

“We could certainly get to know each other."

-

Aaaand, thus is born a brand new fem-slash pairing. XD At least I think it's new. Anyway, this was fun. I had been wanting to write something with Jessica in it for a long time. Most of it ran somewhere along the lines of angst, but I didn't want that. This was a perfect challenge for me to finally get a humorous take on her. Jettie is happy! And, I know there wasn't as much Johnny/Peter as there should be. If there's too little, just tell me and I'll try to fix it. I know Jessica kinda ran with the show a bit. XD; Sorry.

EDIT: Also, I'd like to give much love to my awesome and talented beta,

nelle_tenebre