Identification
by lamardeuse
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Lorne/Parrish
Warnings (highlight to view): explicit sex
Set after SGA 2x17, "Coup d'État".
David was through the door and inside Lorne’s quarters before the startled man on the other side could even react. He felt the panic well up in him again – what the hell was he doing, how could he think – then squeezed the warm metal in his hand tightly, drawing courage from it.
“Hey, Doc,” Lorne began, the puzzled tone in his voice outweighed by the scratchiness of whatever hell they’d put him through. David wondered if he’d been gagged, beaten, tortured. He knew he could never ask.
He looked at Lorne more closely then, saw the shadows under his eyes and the disheveled hair. The Major was bare from the waist up, the ugly jacket and sweater they’d dressed him in lying in a heap in the far corner of the room. David stared at his chest; there was one dark bruise, over his right thoracic ribs, curving around his torso like a lover’s hand.
David’s own hand reached out, stopping halfway to the target. “Did you – did Beckett – ”
“Yeah, it’s fine,” Lorne said gruffly. “No internal bleeding. They didn’t – ”
David’s fingers made contact, slid gently over the outraged, broken flesh. Lorne’s head jerked up sharply, nostrils flaring like a wounded horse.
“I’m sorry,” David whispered, his hand drawing back as if burned.
Lorne shook his head stiffly. He took a couple of steps forward, until he had to look up to meet David’s gaze. David stared at the curve of his throat, shocked at the blatant evidence of vulnerability on a man he’d once believed had no such weaknesses.
He knew better now.
“I thought you were dead,” David blurted, voice cracking like a teenager’s. He flushed, embarrassed and nervous and aroused beyond all reason, because he swore he wouldn’t do this, he knew it wasn’t fair to ask this of him even though they both knew they wanted –
“Yeah, you’re not the only one,” Lorne husked. “I kinda wondered myself for a while.”
David held up his other hand and forced it to uncurl, revealing the pieces of metal that had lain next to Lorne’s skin for years like talismans, like charms against death. Lorne looked down at the dogtags, then back up at David.
“Put ‘em on me,” he growled.
David’s mouth opened on his name, but no sound came out because there was no breath in his body, no oxygen to be had anywhere.
His hands trembled as they rose and slipped the chain over Evan’s head. Fingers brushed against hair stiff with dust and dirt, slid down over strong, wide shoulders and flat pectorals until they pressed the small rectangles into the surprisingly pale flesh covering his sternum.
David swore he could feel Evan’s pulse through the metal, though he knew that was ridiculous.
“Christ,” Evan hissed, closing his eyes and leaning into David, raising one square hand to hook around the back of his neck and pulling him down, down. His mouth was hard and desperate and alive and David opened for him, allowing the slick thrust of his tongue and the sting of his teeth. Mindful of the bruise, David’s hands settled on Evan’s hips, fingers restless on the unfamiliar material.
Evan’s hands slipped under his shirt, short nails scratching at his belly and nipples, and David was galvanized into motion as the last of his reservations burned to ash. He fumbled at the buttons of the Genii trousers, and within moments Evan was naked and hard and shoving him backward to the bed, his blunt, compact body an unstoppable force.
And then David’s fingers wrapped around Evan’s erection and Evan did stop, sucking in a breath and holding himself immobile and startled on his round, furry knees. He seemed to forget to breathe for a long moment, and then he threw his head back and groaned low in his throat. David bowed forward and closed his mouth over Evan’s larynx, devouring the sound, taking it inside, because he’d thought Evan had been silenced forever and dear Lord it was such a gift to have this, to have Evan’s power and vitality and blood and voice under his hands and mouth.
Evan shuddered as he drew in a breath, then undulated his hips, driving his cock into David’s tight grip again and again, and David held on, David persevered, because the one strength a botanist could offer a hero was patience. Within minutes, though, he found his patience dissolving, because David understood plants but he was defenseless against this naked, relentless animal communicating its urgency in short, sharp snaps of its hips.
Evan needed this, and he needed it now. That was all that mattered.
David’s hand forced a startled grunt from Evan as it closed around his shoulder and shoved him to the mattress. “What the – ”
The hand splayed over Evan’s dogtags where they lay over his heart, and Evan’s voice died abruptly.
And then David’s mouth closed over the head of Evan’s cock and Evan found his voice again in a low, savage cry that reverberated off the walls and inside David’s brain, that finally convinced him of the truth he hadn’t quite been able to believe until now.
Alive alive alive you’re alive you’re alive –
As Evan shook and gasped and poured his life into David, David curled his fingers around the thin slivers of metal and held fast, held tight, held on.
End
January 2006
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