blue flamingos

Last Kiss: Lorne/Sheppard

Fandom: SGA

Category/Rated: Slash/NC17

Year/Length: 2011/613 words

Pairing: Lorne/Sheppard

Disclaimer: No, I don't own them, for which I should think they're profoundly grateful.

Feedback: Yes please. Even if it's bad. Especially if it's bad.

hr



, , NC-17
"We shouldn't be doing this," Lorne says, his fingers fumbling at John's fly, made clumsy by the darkness, the lingering fear of the last few days, the unbalanced feeling of being in Atlantis and on Earth. "This is such a bad idea."

John pulls him closer, the wall of Atlantis' south-east tower cold against his back where Lorne shoved his shirt up. Evan tastes good, of the peppermint tea he and Teyla both like, and he kisses like he means it, like he didn't just say what a bad idea this is. "No-one's going to catch us," he says, like that's Lorne's objection.

He knows all of Lorne's objections – he's recited them to himself for the last four years – but he doesn't care. Not when Lorne's shoving his hand down the back of John's pants, stroking over his hole so he moans and shoves his hips forward. Lorne's hard against him, tipping his head to the side to give John better access to his neck, drawing out another groan. John's been fantasising about that sound for months – Lorne has far more sex than John does, and he's nowhere near as careful about being seen as he should be.

"I want to – can I fuck you, sir?"

John's whole body shudders even as he tries to still it; he does his best not to be a cliché, but he's also got a pretty active fantasy life, and Lorne calling him sir before sucking him off has featured as much as Lorne's groan. "You got anything?"

Lorne blinks stupidly at him, the lights of the tower reflecting in his dark eyes. "In my quarters."

The city's still full of people, most of them with little to do. That's a risk they absolutely can't take. John weighs how much he wants to be fucked against how much it will hurt with nothing but spit, and decides he doesn't care. "Do it," he says, already pushing Lorne away so he can turn.

He's pushed up against the tower wall, working his hips in counterpoint to the way Lorne's pushing into him inch by inch, when his headset activates. From the way Lorne stills, he knows he's not the only one. "Colonel Sheppard, Major Lorne, Dr McKay, Mr Woolsey requests your presence in the gate-room to meet with visiting IOA members. Please confirm."

John's rock-hard, his second-in-command's dick most of the way into him. "Can it wait?" he asks, hoping he doesn't sound as breathless as he feels.

There's a pause, then Banks says, "Only if you're in the middle of something urgent."

John really, really wants to say they are, but Lorne's starting to soften inside him. The moment's over. "I'm on my way with Major Lorne," he says, and very carefully makes sure his radio is off.

Lorne rests his forehead against the back of John's neck for a long moment before he pulls out. John feels stretched and empty, uncomfortable and still half-hard. Nothing to be done about any of it.

"I hate the IOA," Lorne says fervently. He's flushed, eyes still dark. John cups the back of his neck, draws him in for a kiss, fucking Lorne's mouth a little with his tongue. It does approximately nothing for his erection.

"Back to work," he says resignedly when they step back, and hopes like hell that there's a file somewhere he can use to cover up how hard he is. He holds onto the irritation and humiliation as hard as he can; he already knows this was their one shot at something, and he can't think, not yet, about how it's over, before anything ever got a real chance to start.


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