The_Jett_Jett (jett_chan) wrote,

  • Mood:
  • Music:
Title:  Golden Rule
Author:  Jett-chan
Fandom:  Stargate Atlantis
Characters:  Ronon Dex/Evan Lorne, John Sheppard
Rating:  PG-13 (being safe; boy-kissing... manly-kissing...)
Summary:  Lorne's just too nice for his own good, really. As always, beta'd by the uber fantastic nelle_tenebre.

Okay, so I didn't get the Eggnog challenge written in time (don't worry, folks; you're not missing much). But, since it is the season of giving, I figured I'd go ahead and share with you my latest fic. Nothing too special, seeing as how it's another R/L get-together-fic (I really need to do more established relationship fics, like my last one; I like my last one...), but I think everyone might like it nonetheless~

MERRY CHRISTMAS, EVERYBODY! PRAISE BABY JESUS! (Drink your eggnog responsibly~ Friends don't let friends drive on horrifyingly slick roads/frozen bridges/ice-rock back roads drunk~) And remember, Jettie and Miss Mod#1 love you! Mmmwua! *kisses*


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?”




“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…


EDIT:  ... XD I turned Lorne into one of those wives that say, "I'm not angry, I'm upset." *snort* I'm more amused than I have a right to be, honestly...


Tags: fic, ronon/lorne
  • Post a new comment


    default userpic