skidmo_fic: (lorne/sheppard)
[personal profile] skidmo_fic
Title: Fragile Chains
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Lorne/Sheppard
Word Count: 3021
Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me...sadly
Warnings: Assumes knowledge of Coup d’Etat. Mildish (bordering on less than mild) BDSM.
Feedback: yes, please.
Summary: Sheppard thought he’d lost this.
A/N: Follow-up to Taking Orders. Written for [ profile] athousanderrors.

He’s got a box in his quarters that he doesn’t open unless he has to.

He has to open it way more often than he’d like.

It’s not very large. Not even shoebox sized. More along the lines of necklace sized. It would make him think of Valentine’s Day, of roses and chocolate, if not for what’s inside it.

It rattles when he picks it up. Musical, soft, if he’s just moving it, if he carries it slowly, with the reverence it deserves. Angry and loud if he’s upset, if he picks it up with the idea of throwing it across the room. Metal sliding against metal.

He has to open it today. He knows this.

This is how it works. He opens the box on two occasions: if he needs to see them (drunk and melancholy maybe, or wondering why he’s still here), or if he has to add to them (sometimes also drunk and melancholy, always wondering why he’s still here).

That’s why he has to open it today. He shouldn’t, but he has to. He shouldn’t keep them this time. He should send them back, through the gate, back to his family, but he’s selfish, and he doesn’t want Lorne’s mom to see them like this, charred and twisted.

He holds the box for a long while without opening it. Just staring at it. Eventually, he puts it aside, sliding the blackened metal into his pocket and telling himself he can’t put them in the box because he has to send them back through the gate.

Not today though.

Today he goes to the gateroom, finds out about Ladon, gets told he can’t participate in the investigation into what happened to Lorne and his team. He can’t let his frustration show. It’s his job to do what needs doing, and right now what needs doing is getting a ZPM.

Later what needs doing is stopping a coup.

After that what needs doing is working out how to escape before Elizabeth does something ridiculous like giving the Genii a jumper or ten.

And after that…

After that it becomes a blur, because Lorne is alive. He’s in a Genii cell, he smells like he hasn’t bathed in several days, and he’s wearing several layers of oversized clothing, but he’s alive. Everything that happens after that pales in comparison, and Sheppard can easily believe that Ladon has been working against Cowen this whole time, that Carson can save Ladon’s sister and that the coup will go off without a hitch.

He stays near the gateroom until Ladon leaves again, satisfied with his sister’s condition.

And then he forces himself to walk calmly to a transporter, touch the screen for the personal quarters, keep his breath even as he steps towards Lorne’s quarters and stop his hand from shaking as he activates the door chime.

Lorne answers in his boxers, scrubbing a towel through his recently-washed hair. He seems surprised to see Sheppard, but just raises an eyebrow in question and steps back to let Sheppard in.

“Did you need something, sir?” he asks, holding the towel between his hands and looking at Sheppard curiously.

“I,” Sheppard begins, then stops and shakes his head. He pulls Lorne’s tags out of his pocket and holds them out. “You should have these back.”

Lorne nods but doesn’t take them. He just steps closer, well into Sheppard’s personal space. Sheppard swallows hard and loops the chain over Lorne’s neck. It leaves streaks of soot where it touches Lorne’s still damp skin, and Sheppard doesn’t let himself think as he wraps his fingers more firmly around the chain and tugs Lorne forward, kissing him harshly, desperately.

His lips are soft against Sheppard’s, his mouth warm and open and alive, and Sheppard nearly sobs into it. They’re not touching anywhere but their mouths, though Sheppard’s fingers twist around the chain. Lorne lets him control the kiss for a long moment then steps back and clears his throat.

It’s not a nervous sound. It’s authoritative, decisive, strong, and it makes Sheppard’s dick twitch. He’s come to Lorne for this several times since Christmas, but this is the first time either of them has given any indication that it’s about more than sex. Sheppard’s afraid he’s crossed a line, that Lorne will send him away.

But Lorne smiles that familiar, mocking smile, and nods, tossing the towel aside.

“Kneel,” he says softly, and Sheppard drops immediately.

Lorne smiles and drags a finger gently down the side of Sheppard’s face. He slides the waistband of his boxers down just far enough to release his cock, half-hard and beautiful, and Sheppard has to stop himself from leaning forward for a taste. Not until Lorne tells him to.

“Suck,” Lorne whispers, voice still a little too gentle for their games, but gruff and getting harder.

Sheppard nods and takes Lorne’s dick in his hand, guiding it into his mouth. He can taste the traces of ash from where his fingers smudged Lorne’s skin when he slides his tongue down the length, moaning softly as Lorne’s cock fills in his mouth. He knows by now exactly what Lorne likes, where to press his tongue, how hard to suck and when, how much pressure to apply when he swirls his tongue over the crown, when he presses it into the slit.

He knows how to bring Lorne right off and how to make it last, and today he wants to make it last. He wants to look up and see Lorne’s head thrown back, face slack with pleasure. He wants it to be so good that Lorne will forget himself just for a second and groan Sheppard’s name as he comes.

Lorne is making soft little noises in his throat, and Sheppard can’t help reaching down to grind the heel of his hand over his groin as he tongues the head of Lorne’s cock.

Lorne’s fingers immediately make their way to his hair, tugging his head back harshly. “Hands on my hips,” he says, now fully into his role.

“Yes, sir,” Sheppard whispers, wrapping his fingers around Lorne’s hips, feeling the hard muscle beneath his hands.

“You’ll come in your pants while you suck me or not at all. Understood?”

Sheppard swallows.

“Understood?” Lorne repeats, giving Sheppard’s hair another hard tug.

“Y-yes, sir,” Sheppard moans.

“Good,” Lorne says, touching Sheppard’s face again, calloused fingers dragging gently across Sheppard’s skin. “Now suck.”

“Yes, sir,” Sheppard murmurs, leaning forward again and dragging his tongue up the underside of Lorne’s cock before taking it back into his mouth.

It isn’t long before Lorne is rocking into his mouth, and Sheppard relaxes his throat, moaning in encouragement as Lorne fucks his face.

“This is what you missed, isn’t it?” Lorne murmurs, panting softly as his hips thrust. “Missed my cock down your throat, didn’t you?”

Sheppard makes as close to an affirmative noise as he can, and Lorne laughs breathlessly. “Of course you did. That’s my good boy.”

He holds Sheppard’s face in both hands as he fucks him, and Sheppard looks up at his face, watching his wide, dark eyes.

He closes his eyes and just feels, concentrates on the rough drag of Lorne’s cock in his throat, the smell of Lorne’s musk as his face gets pressed against Lorne’s pelvis again and again, the tightness of his own BDUs as his dick strains against them, and when he hears Lorne moaning, low in his throat, knows Lorne’s so close to coming, he groans loudly, fingers tightening and sliding on Lorne’s hips. He knows he won’t come, but it doesn’t matter because Lorne will, and you only come if you’re alive, and Lorne is so, so alive.

Lorne comes seconds later, moaning Sheppard’s name and shooting down his throat.

For a moment, Lorne curls over him, and Sheppard keeps his hands on Lorne’s hips as Lorne’s cock slips out of his mouth. Lorne pats his hair affectionately and stumbles over to the bed, falling onto his back on the mattress.

Sheppard stays where he is, knees aching and starting to feel the discomfort of his cock, still hard and straining in his shorts, until Lorne murmurs, “Strip and come here.”

Sheppard nods, and his, “Yes, sir,” is gruff, throat still rough. He strips quickly before crawling onto the bed with Lorne. He lays with his head on Lorne’s stomach, staring at his ashy fingerprints on Lorne’s hip.

“I thought I’d lost this,” he whispers, thinking I thought I’d lost you.

“I know,” Lorne says quietly, sliding his fingers gently through Sheppard’s hair. “But you didn’t.”

Sheppard nods, still looking at Lorne’s hips, feeling the heat of Lorne’s skin seeping into his own. “Yes, sir,” he whispers.

“Sleep now,” Lorne murmurs, and Sheppard nods again, eyes falling shut and drifting off almost immediately.


They’re out on a mission on P8X-932, and they’ve taken a day off from the exploration of the Ancient ruins to play a little football. Sheppard tries not to stare when Lorne tugs off his shirt in the midday heat, but he knows he hasn’t succeeded when Lorne tosses a smirk in his direction. Sheppard repays it by stripping off his own shirt and immediately tossing the ball to Lorne, who misses it, confirming Sheppard’s suspicions.

After the game, they’re just tossing the ball around when Sheppard hears the telltale squeal of a dart overhead. He glances up, judges the beam's trajectory and pushes McKay out of the way, losing his footing in the process and falling over the edge of a nearby cliff. Lorne’s hands clutch at him, trying to catch him, but his fingers slide over Sheppard’s sweaty skin, and he’s left desperately holding onto Sheppard’s tags with one hand and his belt with the other.

As Lorne’s fingers start to slip off Sheppard’s belt, he growls, “Don’t you dare, sir!” And if he says anything else, Sheppard misses it, because Lorne loses his grip on Sheppard’s belt and the chain on his tags snaps and he hurtles down the hillside.

Lorne takes the dart out with a rocket launcher, and Sheppard makes a mental note not to get on his bad side (and, coincidentally adjusting his BDUs) as he watches Lorne take on one of the Wraith that made it to the ground singlehandedly, finally taking him out with what appeared to be a sharpened stick.

Sheppard suffers no serious injuries from his fall, just a few bruises and an admonishment from Beckett to be more careful next time.

He gets back to his quarters and strips off his shirt and boots, thinking he just might need a long bath, when his door chimes.

Lorne is standing on the other side, dangling Sheppard’s dogtags from his hand. “Got you a new chain,” he says. He looks a little agitated, so Sheppard invites him in.

As soon as the door shuts behind him, he shoves Sheppard up against the wall, kissing him hard and desperately.

“Never again,” he growls, kissing Sheppard again and shoving his tongue into Sheppard’s mouth. Sheppard sucks Lorne’s tongue in deeper, moaning loudly.

“Sir?” he says when Lorne pulls back.

“Never pull a stupid stunt like that again,” Lorne says, curling his fingers in Sheppard’s belt and pulling him away from the wall.

Sheppard has never seen Lorne so angry, and he’s seen Lorne in a lot of situations since they came to Atlantis. His eyes are blazing, and his nostrils flare, and there’s no hint of the humor that’s always just behind Lorne’s eyes when they do this.

“Strip and get on the bed,” Lorne growls, and Sheppard is very nearly afraid of him.

He quickly fumbles open his belt and drops his BDUs and his shorts, pulling off his socks before lying on the bed. Lorne, meanwhile, is digging through Sheppard’s drawers, quite obviously looking for something in particular and growling again when he doesn’t find it.

He goes for Sheppard’s discarded clothing then, pulling his belt out of its loops and striding across the room to the bed.

Sheppard looks up at him with wide eyes. He’s still on the edge of being afraid, but he can’t deny that Lorne is incredibly sexy like this, in control and holding back a boiling rage, bubbling just under the surface. He takes Sheppard’s hands and begins to bind them with his belt.

“Safeword,” Lorne says, not looking up from his task.


“What’s your safeword?”

Sheppard blinks. They’ve never used safewords before. It’s never gotten like that. Sheppard has always known he could simply ask Lorne to stop. If Lorne wants a safeword now, he must be intending something different for them. Something serious. Something he’s worried might get out of hand.

He thinks for a long moment, and Lorne watches him patiently.

“Ferris wheel,” he says eventually, and it’s a sign of how intent Lorne is that he doesn’t so much as smirk, just nods his head and tightens the belt around Sheppard’s hands.

“Over,” he mutters, and Sheppard rolls onto his stomach.

Lorne’s hand comes down hard on his ass, and Sheppard gasps out, “Yes, sir.”

“Better,” Lorne says, and he gently slides his hand over the spot where he’d struck Sheppard.

He pulls Sheppard’s arms up above his head and glances at the wall, annoyed. “Fucking Ancients,” he murmurs, and before Sheppard can protest, he’s ripped the Johnny Cash poster from the wall and is running his hand over the odd pattern that seems to cover every wall in Atlantis. Sheppard thinks he knows what Lorne is looking for, and as soon as he figures it out, a piece of the wall juts forward, revealing a hook a few feet above the bed. Sheppard’s certain it’s one of those things only the Ancients could really get to work, and he suspects it wouldn’t have come out now if both he and Lorne hadn’t been thinking about it.

Lorne ties his bound wrists to the hook, leaving Sheppard up on his knees and facing the wall, completely exposed on either side. He stands where Sheppard can see him and pulls his own belt from its loops, watching Sheppard’s face intently.

Sheppard is pretty sure he knows where this is going, but he still trusts Lorne, still believes there must be a reason behind Lorne’s actions. Still, he whimpers a little when Lorne moves behind him, and he cries out loudly as Lorne’s belt comes down on his ass.

It stings like hell, but Sheppard thinks Lorne must be holding back, because this is the same man who, earlier today, shoved a stick through a Wraith’s ribcage.

“You,” Lorne says, punctuating his words with another stroke of his belt, “are not,” another stroke, “expendable.” One last strike lands on his ass.

Sheppard bites his lip hard enough to draw blood, and groans with every blow.

When Lorne is finished, he wraps his arms around Sheppard’s waist and presses his body up against Sheppard’s back. The rough canvas of Lorne’s BDUs is torture on Sheppard’s tender ass, but the feeling of being held like that, completely in Lorne’s embrace, in his control, is exactly what he needs right now.

Lorne kisses his neck tenderly, and nips at his earlobe, growling, “Never again. No more stupid stunts like that. I’m not going to lose you on a routine mission because you had to play the hero.”

Sheppard has been able to hold his tears at bay until then, the pain being much less than the worse he’s endured even since coming to Atlantis, but at Lorne’s words, a sob tears its way out of his throat.

“Sorry, sir,” he manages, brokenly.

Lorne says nothing. He simply pulls Sheppard’s hands down from the hook and turns him around, lowering him onto his back.

Sheppard whimpers when his bruised ass touches the sheets, but Lorne kisses him softly. “Shh,” he murmurs, pulling Sheppard’s arms up again and attaching the belt to another hook that appears just at the head of the bed.

Lorne pulls a tube of lubricant out of the nightstand drawer and coats his fingers with it as Sheppard watches, his chest rising and falling heavily. Lorne slowly and carefully opens Sheppard with his fingers, thrusting them in and out of Sheppard’s tight opening, curling them, scissoring them, pulling them out when he seems satisfied.

Sheppard’s breathing has evened out, and his cock, soft through the beating, pulses against his belly, hot and hard.

“Please,” he whispers. “Please, sir.”

Lorne nods. He lines himself up and presses his naked cock against Sheppard’s hole, pausing as if daring Sheppard to question him about not using a condom.

Sheppard says nothing. They’re tested every time they come back from a mission and even if he’d thought of doing this with someone other than Lorne, he certainly wouldn’t after today.

Lorne nods again, grimly, and pushes slowly into Sheppard. When he’s all the way inside him, he picks up the discarded tags and loops them over Sheppard’s head, pulling Sheppard closer with the chain and kissing him deeply.

“Mine,” he growls.

“Yes, sir,” Sheppard breathes, and Lorne begins to fuck him.

“Say it,” Lorne groans.

“Yours,” Sheppard gasps, wincing as each of Lorne’s thrusts bring his hips slamming against Sheppard’s fiery red skin.

“Again,” Lorne demands, reaching for Sheppard’s cock.

Sheppard groans and pushes his hips between Lorne’s hand on his cock and Lorne’s cock up his ass. “Yours,” he groans.


“Yours, yours, yours,” Sheppard chants. “Always yours, sir. Only yours. Yours, yours, yours.”

Lorne doesn’t have to tell him to wait, Sheppard can’t even imagine coming before Lorne asks him to. He hangs in the space between pleasure and torment, holding himself back until Lorne groans, “Come now. Come for me,” and letting himself spill over Lorne’s hand as Lorne buries himself deep inside Sheppard, coming with a shout and collapsing on top of him.

Lorne reaches up to untie Sheppard’s hands and his fingers curl around the chain of his tags as he very softly says, “I thought I’d lost this.”

Sheppard smiles, sliding his fingers through Lorne’s sweaty hair. “I know,” he whispers. “But you didn’t.”

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July 2012

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