Tied Up
Patient’s Name: John Sheppard
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Prompt: 33-2. Discuss an uncomfortable situation you were put in by your partner.
Spoilers: None...
Word Count: 381
Partner: Larrin (canon)
The room John Sheppard found himself in was sparse. The low light cast slightly unsettling shadows over the farthest reaches of the room. Not that the room's farthest reaches were terribly far nor particularly reaching, but it would make a better story, and nobody who hadn't been here would know the difference. The closed doors and the beat-up bulkheads lent the place an aura of a dirty prison; the sorry state of affairs lent itself to the analogy, but the fact that he was a guest belied that notion as well.
John's chair was as uncomfortable as his previous visits, and the bindings holding him in place still cut into him if he moved. All-in-all, he supposed things could be worse. He sighed in resignation and let his head fall back on the headrest. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine that he was merely lounging pool-side in some tropical resort. The temperature in the room certainly helped the illusion, and he figured the heat was unavoidable on this wreck of a ship. This too would be given the status of a means of torture in his final report. Anything to shift the blame of his apparent capture to the ones holding him and diminished the shame of being tied up yet again. John didn't think he could handle the good-natured teasing of his teammates, otherwise.
The hiss of the door opening was no real cause for alarm, and her scent hit him before he casually opened his eyes. She stood before him, as impetuous and as regal as ever, the two bodyguards trailing behind flanking the door, lest he find a means to escape during the audience. Not likely, since he was here on business.
John let his gaze rake over her, taking in her sharp features and the halo of curly hair. She was dressed in the usual black leather, and he wondered briefly - and not for the first time - where she had managed to pick it up. Probably killed the poor beast herself.
"Larrin," he said, his lips twisting into a wry smile. "We gotta stop meeting like this."
She merely cast him a feral grin before slapping him across the face hard.
Pleasantries out of the way, they could now get down to business...
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Prompt: 33-2. Discuss an uncomfortable situation you were put in by your partner.
Spoilers: None...
Word Count: 381
Partner: Larrin (canon)
The room John Sheppard found himself in was sparse. The low light cast slightly unsettling shadows over the farthest reaches of the room. Not that the room's farthest reaches were terribly far nor particularly reaching, but it would make a better story, and nobody who hadn't been here would know the difference. The closed doors and the beat-up bulkheads lent the place an aura of a dirty prison; the sorry state of affairs lent itself to the analogy, but the fact that he was a guest belied that notion as well.
John's chair was as uncomfortable as his previous visits, and the bindings holding him in place still cut into him if he moved. All-in-all, he supposed things could be worse. He sighed in resignation and let his head fall back on the headrest. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine that he was merely lounging pool-side in some tropical resort. The temperature in the room certainly helped the illusion, and he figured the heat was unavoidable on this wreck of a ship. This too would be given the status of a means of torture in his final report. Anything to shift the blame of his apparent capture to the ones holding him and diminished the shame of being tied up yet again. John didn't think he could handle the good-natured teasing of his teammates, otherwise.
The hiss of the door opening was no real cause for alarm, and her scent hit him before he casually opened his eyes. She stood before him, as impetuous and as regal as ever, the two bodyguards trailing behind flanking the door, lest he find a means to escape during the audience. Not likely, since he was here on business.
John let his gaze rake over her, taking in her sharp features and the halo of curly hair. She was dressed in the usual black leather, and he wondered briefly - and not for the first time - where she had managed to pick it up. Probably killed the poor beast herself.
"Larrin," he said, his lips twisting into a wry smile. "We gotta stop meeting like this."
She merely cast him a feral grin before slapping him across the face hard.
Pleasantries out of the way, they could now get down to business...