Final last kisses
Well, unless I get any more prompts.
Numbers/SGA, Colby/Lorne
Colby's gotten used to Evan turning up randomly since he got out of the army, but Evan's usually either crashed out asleep in his bed, or in his kitchen cooking. He's not usually sitting straight-backed on Colby's couch, feet neatly on the floor as he stares straight ahead.
"You okay?" Colby asks. The FBI Academy acceptance letter is heavy in his hand, but this doesn't seem like the moment to share the good news.
"I'm being reassigned," Evan says, tipping his head slightly to look in Colby's direction. Colby hesitates, then sits on the arm of the couch, close enough that they could touch, though Evan doesn't.
"Okay. Can you tell me where?"
Evan shakes his head, which Colby was half-expecting. Evan's been with the Deep Space Telemetry Program for a couple of years, which they both know is a cover for something he can't talk about. "It's dangerous. I'm going to be - I don't know how often I'll be able to come back."
"Okay," Colby says again. According to his mom, this part gets easier. Right now, he'd settle for not feeling like he's been punched in the face every time it happens.
"Really dangerous," Evan says. "Not just because of - it's a small deployment. They're going to look at every message going in and out."
It takes Colby a moment to understand what he's getting at. "We can be discreet. We hooked up in a war zone, Evan."
"This isn't like that. It was one thing while I'm - the way things have been - but not like this."
"I don't believe you," Colby says flatly. "This isn't you."
"This is my career," Evan corrects. "I don't want to lose it because one of us said something stupid in an email."
"You're lying." It hurts far more than knowing that Evan's going away into more danger; far more than thinking that Evan might be ending things for the sake of his career. "I thought you didn't lie to me."
Evan flinches like he's been struck. "I'm not lying," he says quietly.
"You're not telling me the truth," Colby corrects. "And you really don't know me if you think I'm going to just - just let this go because of that dumb policy."
Evan drops his head into his hands, a picture of defeat that makes Colby's heart ache. When he finally speaks, it's muffled. "The death toll out there is forty per cent. Higher during contact. I'll be on the frontline again. I can't promise you anything, now."
Colby thinks about all the people he knows still in the service, all the deployments. Nowhere has that high a death toll, especially for pilots. Hell, Evan's not even a fighter pilot. "I don't understand," he says.
"I know." Evan sighs, leaning sideways until his head is against Colby's thigh. "I can't go knowing that you're waiting to hear if I've died."
"I'll always be waiting." Colby drops his hand to Evan's shoulder. "Even if we're not together." He wants to ask when Evan chose the assignment over him, except he doesn't want to know the answer. He doesn't want to risk Evan saying that he'd choose Colby, if Colby asked; he's too scared of what he might do.
"I know," Evan says again. "But it's all I've got."
"So you're breaking up with me for my sake."
Evan shifts, looking right at Colby, his hands on Colby's wrists. He looks broken. "I'm doing it for mine," he says. "Because I'm not ready to leave the Air Force, not yet, and I don't know how much longer that's going to stay true if I stay with you."
It's the closest Colby's ever gotten to hearing a declaration of love from Evan. He hates that it's disguised as a goodbye. "Don't do this," he says.
"I have to." Evan pushes into his space, kisses him fast and hard before Colby can respond. "I have to," he says again, shoving himself away. "I'm sorry, I have to."
The door slams closed behind him. Colby picks up the FBI Academy envelope and turns it in his hands; maybe this will be better.
SGA, John/Evan, 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.
This entry was originally posted at http://bluflamingo.dreamwidth.org/184291.html, where it has
comments. I'd prefer comments there, but comments here are loved just as much
Numbers/SGA, Colby/Lorne
Colby's gotten used to Evan turning up randomly since he got out of the army, but Evan's usually either crashed out asleep in his bed, or in his kitchen cooking. He's not usually sitting straight-backed on Colby's couch, feet neatly on the floor as he stares straight ahead.
"You okay?" Colby asks. The FBI Academy acceptance letter is heavy in his hand, but this doesn't seem like the moment to share the good news.
"I'm being reassigned," Evan says, tipping his head slightly to look in Colby's direction. Colby hesitates, then sits on the arm of the couch, close enough that they could touch, though Evan doesn't.
"Okay. Can you tell me where?"
Evan shakes his head, which Colby was half-expecting. Evan's been with the Deep Space Telemetry Program for a couple of years, which they both know is a cover for something he can't talk about. "It's dangerous. I'm going to be - I don't know how often I'll be able to come back."
"Okay," Colby says again. According to his mom, this part gets easier. Right now, he'd settle for not feeling like he's been punched in the face every time it happens.
"Really dangerous," Evan says. "Not just because of - it's a small deployment. They're going to look at every message going in and out."
It takes Colby a moment to understand what he's getting at. "We can be discreet. We hooked up in a war zone, Evan."
"This isn't like that. It was one thing while I'm - the way things have been - but not like this."
"I don't believe you," Colby says flatly. "This isn't you."
"This is my career," Evan corrects. "I don't want to lose it because one of us said something stupid in an email."
"You're lying." It hurts far more than knowing that Evan's going away into more danger; far more than thinking that Evan might be ending things for the sake of his career. "I thought you didn't lie to me."
Evan flinches like he's been struck. "I'm not lying," he says quietly.
"You're not telling me the truth," Colby corrects. "And you really don't know me if you think I'm going to just - just let this go because of that dumb policy."
Evan drops his head into his hands, a picture of defeat that makes Colby's heart ache. When he finally speaks, it's muffled. "The death toll out there is forty per cent. Higher during contact. I'll be on the frontline again. I can't promise you anything, now."
Colby thinks about all the people he knows still in the service, all the deployments. Nowhere has that high a death toll, especially for pilots. Hell, Evan's not even a fighter pilot. "I don't understand," he says.
"I know." Evan sighs, leaning sideways until his head is against Colby's thigh. "I can't go knowing that you're waiting to hear if I've died."
"I'll always be waiting." Colby drops his hand to Evan's shoulder. "Even if we're not together." He wants to ask when Evan chose the assignment over him, except he doesn't want to know the answer. He doesn't want to risk Evan saying that he'd choose Colby, if Colby asked; he's too scared of what he might do.
"I know," Evan says again. "But it's all I've got."
"So you're breaking up with me for my sake."
Evan shifts, looking right at Colby, his hands on Colby's wrists. He looks broken. "I'm doing it for mine," he says. "Because I'm not ready to leave the Air Force, not yet, and I don't know how much longer that's going to stay true if I stay with you."
It's the closest Colby's ever gotten to hearing a declaration of love from Evan. He hates that it's disguised as a goodbye. "Don't do this," he says.
"I have to." Evan pushes into his space, kisses him fast and hard before Colby can respond. "I have to," he says again, shoving himself away. "I'm sorry, I have to."
The door slams closed behind him. Colby picks up the FBI Academy envelope and turns it in his hands; maybe this will be better.
SGA, John/Evan, 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.
This entry was originally posted at http://bluflamingo.dreamwidth.org/184291.html, where it has
comments. I'd prefer comments there, but comments here are loved just as much