50 followers! We're practically a cult!

[skidmo_fic]

All right, I promised a game for having 50 people watching the fic journal, so here's one I stole from misslucyjane:

28 flavors of Evan Lorne.

The rules:

You claim one prompt, I write a ficlet. Feel free to specify a pairing (canon or crossover!) you'd like to see, and I'll do the best I can to fulfill it.



1. naughty
2. happy
3. childlike
4. smudged and somewhat rumpled
5. angsty
6. horny
7. impetuous
8. excited
9. book-reading
10. dancing
11. jealous
12. captured
13. tied-up
14. kidnapped
15. caring
16. on his knees
17. obedient
18. losing his cherry claimed
19. shagged out
20. shocked
21. drunken
22. daring claimed
23. exploring
24. swimming in the buff
25. bath time
26. heterosexual
27. doing his best for interspecies relations
28. injured claimed

Comments

[misslucyjane]

# 16, on his knees, with Zelenka.

On His Knees

[skidmo-fic.livejournal.com]

Lorne is usually quite comfortable on his knees, really. He’s spent a lot of time on them.

No, not like that.

It started on his very first off-world mission, way back at the SGC. They were surrounded by spear-waving Unas, looking less than pleased about these Tau’ri being on their planet, and though Colonel Edwards knew they could probably plow through most of them with P-90s before the Unas got close enough to do damage with their spears, Dr. Jackson insisted that violence could be avoided all together if they would all just drop to their knees.

So they did.

It started a pattern of a sort. Lorne would go off world, things would be working pretty well, and then, usually with no warning, he’d end up on his knees at gunpoint/spearpoint/knifepoint/swordpoint.

It’s a lot more comfortable than it looks.

Most of the time, he doesn’t even think about it.

Most of the time.

Except today.

Today he’s on his knees at gunpoint, and in the middle of trying to work out how to at least get his civilians back to Atlantis without causing an interplanetary incident or incurring any (excessive) loss of life on either side, Something happens.

They’re being kept in a tiny cell, shoulder to shoulder, face to face, with hardly room to breathe, and he’s been staring at Zelenka’s face for the past half hour.

Only now he’s not staring at Zelenka’s face, because Zelenka has been dragged to his feet, which puts Lorne’s gaze somewhere in the vicinity of Zelenka’s crotch.

Zelenka’s. Crotch.

And the thoughts he’s having when faced with Zelenka’s crotch are not at all the sorts of thoughts he should be having about a civilian currently under his care, but the guard just keeps Zelenka right there, crotch at Lorne’s eye-level (his mouth-level too, now that he thinks about it, and he really shouldn’t have thought about it), and this is not at all the sort of situation Lorne wanted to find himself in when he got up this morning.

Sheppard’s team saves the day, of course, which almost makes up for all the times Lorne’s team has done the same for him—almost—and before they know it, they’re back in Atlantis, and Lorne can stop thinking about Zelenka’s crotch.

Except that he can’t.

He can tell himself it’s ridiculous all he wants, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s been thinking about Zelenka’s crotch for the better part of the evening. He’s a firm believer in confronting your problems before they get out of hand, though, which is how he justifies heading to Zelenka’s quarters at 2515 Atlantis Standard Time and not even waiting for Zelenka to invite him in before opening the door and invading Zelenka’s personal space in a very unprofessional manner.

Because, really, Lorne’s quite comfortable on his knees.

Re: On His Knees

[misslucyjane]

HEE. The last line takes it :D.

Re: On His Knees

[skidmo-fic.livejournal.com]

*beams* Thank you. :D