SGA fic: Distracting (Lorne/Parrish; R)
Title: Distracting
Pairing: Lorne/Parrish (Parrish/tree?)
Rating: R (I guess)
Summary: No way was Parrish going to want to leave the forest any time soon.
Notes: ozsaur said, "If you can't write Lorne smut, why not write Parrish fucking a tree?" And then she was all encouraging about the Lorne quasi-smut.
It was distracting. That was the only way Lorne could describe it. Distracting.
"Hey, Dr. Parrish."
"Yes?" Parrish didn't look up. He was too busy starting an intimate relationship with some kind of alien tree.
And yeah, Lorne meant intimate. God, scientists could be real freaks. Then again, he'd seen the way Colonel Sheppard eyefucked Ronon's gun sometimes, so maybe it wasn't the scientists so much as Atlantis personnel.
"You almost done?" Even as he asked the question, he knew what Parrish was going to say. They'd only been in the forest for half an hour. No way was Parrish going to want to leave soon.
"Why? Is there a problem?"
Lorne almost wished there was. Because another seven and a half hours on survey with Parrish getting hot and bothered over plantlife were going to kill him. "No."
"Oh, good," Parrish said, faintly. He stroked his hand along the tree's bark, and leaned in closer. He was making breathy little noises, like he couldn't quite get enough of the tree and the way it felt under his hand.
"Aren't you supposed to be taking samples?" Lorne asked too loudly, and immediately wondered what kinds of samples Parrish might be thinking of trying to get.
Parrish didn't answer, completely focussed on the tree, which just looked like another damn tree on another damn planet. Trees. Lorne figured you'd seen one, you'd them all. Up to and including the ones that tried to eat you. What he didn't need to see was Parrish trying to mate with one.
As soon as he thought it, he reminded himself that he had to stop spending so much time with the anthropologists. He never used to think in terms of 'trying to mate'. He'd just say sex. Or fucking, whatever.
Right now, Parrish wasn't quite fucking the tree. He wasn't quite pressed up against it humping it frantically. But he might as well have been. Lorne stepped to the side to check, and sure enough, Parrish's tongue was sticking out of the side of his mouth, occasionally licking out a slow line across his lips.
Fuck. He could imagine it - Parrish leaning forward, eyes lidded, fingers clenching as he drew the flat of his tongue along the bark, mumbling that it was some kind of technique to tell subspecies from subspecies.
Lorne shifted at the mental image, closing his eyes briefly. "Are you going to start licking that tree?" he asked, before he could stop himself. He wondered if he sounded envious.
Parrish jerked slightly, looking over. "What?" His hands didn't leave the bark, continuing to stroke long, slow lines down the tree trunk.
His lips were wet.
Lorne was hard. Really hard, and just as grateful for the distance between them. "Nothing."
Parrish grinned absently at him, licking his lips again, and turned back to the tree.
Maybe Lorne was imagining things, but it looked like Parrish's hips twitched slightly, jerking towards the tree. Sometimes he wondered if Parrish was teasing him, fucking with his head. Sometimes he wondered when he was going to do something about it. Maybe push Parrish up against the tree of the day, and tell him - show him - about the perils of teasing and being overly friendly with plants.
He wondered if Parrish would make the same breathy noises, trapped between Lorne and the tree, or if the sounds would deepen, draw out, as Lorne flicked open Parrish's pants, shoving them aside. Would he lick his lips in the same distracted way while Lorne jerked him off? Or would his mouth go loose, slack, as unfocussed as his eyes?
And after, when Lorne's hand was slick with Parrish's come, would Parrish lick it clean, tongue thorough and taunting, maybe a preview of things to come?
Christ. Lorne shook the images out of his head, turning away from Parrish, the tree, and Parrish's low, thoughtful humming. He thought about making an excuse and walking into the woods, taking a few minutes and jerking off, imagining that Parrish was watching.
But no one got left alone offworld. Lorne was a professional. Instead, he checked his watch.
Seven hours and eighteen minutes left.
End.
Pairing: Lorne/Parrish (Parrish/tree?)
Rating: R (I guess)
Summary: No way was Parrish going to want to leave the forest any time soon.
Notes: ozsaur said, "If you can't write Lorne smut, why not write Parrish fucking a tree?" And then she was all encouraging about the Lorne quasi-smut.
It was distracting. That was the only way Lorne could describe it. Distracting.
"Hey, Dr. Parrish."
"Yes?" Parrish didn't look up. He was too busy starting an intimate relationship with some kind of alien tree.
And yeah, Lorne meant intimate. God, scientists could be real freaks. Then again, he'd seen the way Colonel Sheppard eyefucked Ronon's gun sometimes, so maybe it wasn't the scientists so much as Atlantis personnel.
"You almost done?" Even as he asked the question, he knew what Parrish was going to say. They'd only been in the forest for half an hour. No way was Parrish going to want to leave soon.
"Why? Is there a problem?"
Lorne almost wished there was. Because another seven and a half hours on survey with Parrish getting hot and bothered over plantlife were going to kill him. "No."
"Oh, good," Parrish said, faintly. He stroked his hand along the tree's bark, and leaned in closer. He was making breathy little noises, like he couldn't quite get enough of the tree and the way it felt under his hand.
"Aren't you supposed to be taking samples?" Lorne asked too loudly, and immediately wondered what kinds of samples Parrish might be thinking of trying to get.
Parrish didn't answer, completely focussed on the tree, which just looked like another damn tree on another damn planet. Trees. Lorne figured you'd seen one, you'd them all. Up to and including the ones that tried to eat you. What he didn't need to see was Parrish trying to mate with one.
As soon as he thought it, he reminded himself that he had to stop spending so much time with the anthropologists. He never used to think in terms of 'trying to mate'. He'd just say sex. Or fucking, whatever.
Right now, Parrish wasn't quite fucking the tree. He wasn't quite pressed up against it humping it frantically. But he might as well have been. Lorne stepped to the side to check, and sure enough, Parrish's tongue was sticking out of the side of his mouth, occasionally licking out a slow line across his lips.
Fuck. He could imagine it - Parrish leaning forward, eyes lidded, fingers clenching as he drew the flat of his tongue along the bark, mumbling that it was some kind of technique to tell subspecies from subspecies.
Lorne shifted at the mental image, closing his eyes briefly. "Are you going to start licking that tree?" he asked, before he could stop himself. He wondered if he sounded envious.
Parrish jerked slightly, looking over. "What?" His hands didn't leave the bark, continuing to stroke long, slow lines down the tree trunk.
His lips were wet.
Lorne was hard. Really hard, and just as grateful for the distance between them. "Nothing."
Parrish grinned absently at him, licking his lips again, and turned back to the tree.
Maybe Lorne was imagining things, but it looked like Parrish's hips twitched slightly, jerking towards the tree. Sometimes he wondered if Parrish was teasing him, fucking with his head. Sometimes he wondered when he was going to do something about it. Maybe push Parrish up against the tree of the day, and tell him - show him - about the perils of teasing and being overly friendly with plants.
He wondered if Parrish would make the same breathy noises, trapped between Lorne and the tree, or if the sounds would deepen, draw out, as Lorne flicked open Parrish's pants, shoving them aside. Would he lick his lips in the same distracted way while Lorne jerked him off? Or would his mouth go loose, slack, as unfocussed as his eyes?
And after, when Lorne's hand was slick with Parrish's come, would Parrish lick it clean, tongue thorough and taunting, maybe a preview of things to come?
Christ. Lorne shook the images out of his head, turning away from Parrish, the tree, and Parrish's low, thoughtful humming. He thought about making an excuse and walking into the woods, taking a few minutes and jerking off, imagining that Parrish was watching.
But no one got left alone offworld. Lorne was a professional. Instead, he checked his watch.
Seven hours and eighteen minutes left.
End.