SGA FIC: Tanlines & Dogtags - Lorne/Sheppard - NC-17 (pt 2)
Yes, the story with the naked pictures. Part 2.
Continued from part one
Sheppard had thoughtfully provided coffee for them both, in mugs with sealed lids. They walked side-by-side to the jumper bay, the colonel in a jacket over a black t-shirt and slouchy cargo pants. Lorne had just thrown on a long-sleeved sweatshirt and jeans.
It was always weird to see people out of uniform; to be out of uniform. Civilian clothes told you things that uniforms didn't, in how Sheppard carefully picked colors that looked good on him, but dressed way too young for his age, like he was twenty-five. Lorne knew he looked like he was on a first-name basis with L. L. Bean, which probably said something, too.
On the jumper ride over to the mainland, Lorne sipped his coffee and started to wake up to the fact that he might just be taking those pictures after all. Sheppard was in the pilot's seat, which was just so symbolic of their entire situation, Lorne chuckled and shook his head. John gave him a curious glance then returned his attention to flying.
There was an old saw about XOs and their commanding officers, how they became as alike as dogs and their owners. Lorne was starting to see why: The only way to deal with Sheppard was on his own terms.
It was peaceful, cutting through the glowing golden dawn over miles of blue water, gliding slower than their last trip. Heading west they outpaced the sun, and had the weird experience of watching it shrink to a bright yellow dot and seem to set in the east.
On the mainland, a pre-dawn purple-pink mist drifted in off the ocean as they landed on a narrow black sand beach, the surface as fine as silt and striped with lines from the lapping waves. It was high tide. A bluff of volcanic black rock behind them broke most of the morning breeze, but the air was too cool to take off their jackets still. With a nod and hand signals, Sheppard started collecting driftwood while Lorne set about building a fire.
Watching Sheppard separate the kindling, stand to brush off his hands and scan the area, soaking up the silence, Lorne realized Sheppard really was in his element. It wasn't just about Gate travel. He genuinely loved the outdoors. Without waiting to ask, Lorne slipped the camera out of its casing and snapped a photo. That got an amused glance from Sheppard.
Rather than opening an MRE, John produced a couple dozen of those tiny little Athosian sparrow eggs. They weren't much bigger than a large marble, but if you had enough of them, you could make a decent omelet. Eating in silence, they sat on the beach as their fire was buffeted left then right, stretching their legs on an Athosian beach rug. They listened to the waves break on the shore and sipped a second, grittier cup of camp coffee.
Lorne took pictures in a desultory way as Sheppard waded into the water barefoot and cleaned the coffee pot -- more to remind Sheppard the camera was there, get him used to it. That was part of Lorne's strategy.
As the sun rose high enough to burn off the mist, John rolled up his pant legs and went jogging down the beach, a disappearing shaggy-haired dot. Lorne kicked back for a nap because, hey, four-thirty am. On his day off.
~*~*~
He broke from a reverie between dreaming, thinking and sleep when a panting and sweaty Sheppard dropped next to him. Sheppard dripped sand as he sat, and Lorne swept it off the blanket with a complaining, "Hey."
"C'mon," Sheppard said, his voice impatient. "Wake up. It's a fantastic day."
It was. John had pulled off his shirt at some point and squinted up at a deep blue sky. Lorne was worried that he'd been too slow to snap that one. The angle was unusual from the blanket below John, and the moment said something about skies and flying.
"You're quick on the draw," Sheppard commented. "I thought you were still asleep."
Lorne hadn't really been asleep. Under half-closed eyes he'd watched John try -- and fail -- to skip rocks for the last twenty minutes. John really sucked at it.
He was pretty sure he got sand kicked on him on purpose as Sheppard took off for the beach line with a whoop. The look he cast back over his shoulder was definitely flirtatious.
Lorne missed that photo. But he caught the awkward bounce as Sheppard stripped down to his underwear, pausing mid-stride to kick off the second leg, and the splash as he hit the waves, diving in. His dog-tags glinted as he surfaced, flinging up an arc of water as he threw his head back. He paddled in the lee of a jagged rock outcropping, arms waving under the water.
"Come on in!" John shouted. "It's great."
Yeah, the liar. It was freezing cold, Lorne could tell from the way he spluttered and gasped. Lorne shaded his eyes. "Yeah, I think I'll stay here. Delicate equipment." He pointed to the camera, though he meant other equipment besides.
John got the double-entendre and laughed. He disappeared underwater, while Lorne walked around to the out-cropping so John wouldn't be back-lit. He glanced up. The sun bouncing off the surface of the water was playing hell with his light meter. All of these pictures were going to be washed out unless he disabled it.
Noon was a terrible time for photos anyway. But he figured most of these would be just to relax John.
John stroked along the surface of the waves till he hit the little bay the rocks created, then leaned his chin on his folded arms on the rock wall, water beading on his face. Lorne snapped that, screwed up lighting or not, because even if it didn't say much, it was worthy of a pin-up. Then he started to futz with the machine. He complained to Sheppard, who'd given him a curious look, "The more automatic they make these things, the worse it gets. More useful for the point and click people. A pain in the ass for the folks who know what they're doing."
He showed John the menus and felt him lean deliberately warm and close.
"Here." He handed it over for John to shoot a couple pictures -- and to distract him, though John just looked through the view screen studiously, as if trying to picture himself there. Lorne really regretted not having the camera at that moment. A typical neophyte, John then aimed the camera at the sky and the horizon, things you'd never be able to capture on film with nothing to frame or focus the shot.
Then John dangled the camera over the water, swinging it from the cord, his face a little too serious.
That had happened with Lorne's dog once. He'd been taking pictures of the dog, and the pooch got jealous of the camera and tried to bite it and knock it out of his hand.
"You do that and you're buying me another one." Actually, Lorne wasn't sure what effect the salt water would have.
John thought about it for an amused moment, coiled the camera back up into his hand and tossed it to Lorne. And then backstroked out of reach. Yeah. Lorne's dog had refused to have his picture taken for a while after that, too.
Baking in the full heat of the sun, Lorne took the opportunity to strip off his long-sleeved sweatshirt and put on some sunscreen before John got back, rubbing it in quickly. Because he was fairly sure that if John were here, he'd offer to apply it.
Lorne had had time to think during his nap. John Sheppard was crazy, but "crazy like a fox" as his grandma would say. He knew about John. Yet John had no guarantee of secrecy beyond just his word. He'd need more than that. He could either get rid of Lorne, or implicate him, give him good reason to keep his mouth shut. Sort of a mutually assured destruction, having each other by the balls -- in every sense of the word.
And Lorne was very familiar with the attitude of a lot of gay guys, that if you could step into the gay club, you could be had. Add that to Sheppard's probably non-existent alternate options, and oh yeah, Lorne knew what time it was. Sheppard was going to hit on him, and hit hard.
"I could have helped you with that."
John had stepped out of the ocean while Lorne wasn't paying attention, dripping flecks of cold water as he roughly toweled off his hair. He indicated the bottle of sunscreen with his chin.
"Nah, I'm all right," Lorne said, blinking up at him.
John tousled his hair with his fingers and tucked the towel around his waist. He stretched, swinging his arms as if completely innocent and unaware of how suggestive that towel was.
John Sheppard damn well knew he was good-looking. And was fully prepared to use it.
Lorne thought wryly, At least it solves the problem of his being camera shy.
Of course, John very deliberately readjusted his towel, giving Lorne a good look at the thin, wet cotton that looked flesh-colored clinging to his ass. A white air bubble just below the dimple of his lower back. He snapped that picture, wondering about the fine line between art and porn, and if he was good enough to keep from crossing it.
John looked down at the sound of the shutter with a private, secretive smile. Lorne figured John would have been surprised to know that the next shot was a close-up, showing nothing of his body. Just wet hair and wet lashes, and John radiating self-satisfied smugness.
It was a lucky shot. The white towel had reflected just enough soft light back up onto his face to make him glow. Lorne wished he could use studio lighting and reflectors, but that was out of the question, not to mention beyond his budget for the cargo space on the Daedalus. But no question, the camera loved John Sheppard. Lorne could name twenty photographers of any number of sexual persuasions who'd kill to be in his shoes right now.
He followed to where John had slumped to the blanket, leaning back on his elbows. Lorne cradled the camera in his palm and crowed inwardly.
"Happy?" John said with an amused undertone.
"You have no idea." Lorne rested his elbows on his knees as he sat. "If this one comes out it'll be worth the whole day."
"Glad I could help," John said dryly. He tossed Lorne the bottle of sunscreen, sitting up with a sigh. "Mind giving me a hand?"
Lorne rolled his eyes and almost laughed. He should've been prepared for that ploy, but it seemed a little obvious, even for Sheppard. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Uh. I don't want to get stuff on the camera."
"You can use the towel to wipe off." Sheppard's smirk reminded Lorne that the towel would be coming off.
Lorne looked around for an answer to that.
John added in a soft undertone, "Look. Lorne. I'm not going to jump you."
That made him feel instantly guilty. Yeah, John had really carefully respected the boundaries Lorne was just now realizing they'd established: he didn't touch Lorne's gear any more, and he avoided all physical contact where it wasn't strictly necessary. Which meant he touched Lorne a lot less now than he used to.
"All right," Lorne said with a warning glance, shaking his head as shook the bottle and squeezed some out into his hand. "But you start purring and it stops right here."
John gave a startled laugh and tipped his head back, squinting in the sunlight. He purred, then straightened almost eagerly, boyishly happy, eyes bright.
Regretfully, Lorne let an entire string of good (not great, he promised himself, shutting his eyes) photos slide as he kneaded the sunscreen into warm, pliant skin. John let his head drop forward and just breathed, soaking in the attention.
As Lorne's hands angled down to his waist, John murmured, "You know, I had leave down in Florida once. We took a boat to the Keys, this girl and I, and we found a deserted beach. It was perfect."
Lorne wondered why he was telling him this. To prove he liked women? He'd seen the security tapes of Chaya. He stroked sunscreen down John's arms, which were pretty well-muscled but longer than they looked.
"Anyhow, we had on sunscreen -- tropical sun, you have to be careful -- except for where the bathing suits covered." He nodded his head. "That is, until the bathing suits came off for an hour or two." He paused pointedly. "At high noon."
"Oh man...." Lorne laughed, getting his drift.
"Yep. Couldn't sit down for days." John's eyes glinted with mischief as he slanted a meaningful look at Lorne. "So I learned my lesson: You have to be thorough."
Lorne handed him the bottle of sunscreen with a sarcastic snort. "Yeah, I think you can handle that part."
John took the turn-down with patient cheer. "So. Uh...." He ran his thumbs along his waistband, which was peering out from under the slack towel. Then pulled his hands away, with a glance up at Lorne. "You sure you're not going to freak out on me?"
Lorne spread his arms. If he was going to freak out, he would've done so already.
"Okay." John dipped his head. "Just checking."
He peeked up again through messy tousled bangs. "Last chance...." He touched the waistband, then dropped his hands, turning away and blushing as his shoulders hunched and he shrank in on himself.
Lorne started laughing. "Oh, now who's freaking out?"
John licked his lips with a nervous smile. "It's just. The context is a little weird." John gestured between himself and Lorne. "Usually it's a little more-- no, wait. Usually it's a lot more mutual."
Of course, Lorne knew his lines. He was supposed to say, "You don't have to if you don't want to." But after having his ass dragged out of bed at four a.m., he couldn't bring himself to form the words. As far he was concerned, yeah, Sheppard damn well had to. Instead he offered, "You can leave the towel on."
"Like a girl taking her bra off under her shirt?"
Lorne gave a brief nod and dipped his head in a shrug.
John fumbled under the towel for a minute or so. The towel tugged loose, exposing a bare hip, then he yanked it back up with a quick dangerous glance at Lorne and swore. "Okay, I have no idea how they do that. This isn't going to work."
"I can look away if you like." Then Lorne added, "It's easier if you strip fast."
John looked away instead. "No pictures when I do this, okay?"
Reluctantly, Lorne set the camera down, out of reach. It was too bad. He was looking forward to a replay of that embarrassed blush, since John had made kind of a weird face the first time, messing up the shot. He was willing to bet almost no one got to see him blush.
Rolling to his stomach, John lifted up and dragged off the towel, then tugged down the wet underwear. No wonder he'd had a hard time taking them off. They were soaked. He was long, kind of half hard... Lorne blinked and rolled his eyes as he looked away.
"Ha!" John pointed at him. "I saw that! That was textbook freaking out."
Lorne glanced very quickly back, before looking away again. John was laying on his stomach, propped up on his elbows, bare ass white and naked to the sky. "It's always a little strange when a guy first gets naked. I told you that."
John stabbed his finger at the ground. "I want it on the record that there was mutual freaking out here."
"All right."
"Okay." John grabbed the sunscreen, looking at Lorne warily as he squeezed a spurt into his hand.
"Better hurry," Lorne joked, pointing at the sky. "Whole seconds are ticking by in the tropical sun."
John rubbed the sunscreen onto the nearer cheek. "You laugh, but just you try sitting in a chopper all day with a sunburned-Oh, I can't believe you're taking a picture of this." Because Lorne had picked up the camera. He thought it was rather natural and domestic. "That's like taking a picture of a guy with a wad toilet paper, wiping his ass."
Lorne tipped his head thoughtfully, still taking photos. Getting John through his semi-scatological discomfort here could smooth out other problems later.
"Actually," Lorne said, the shutter clicking softly, "I know this one artist who--"
"Don't." John raised a hand. "That's one kind of art I don't want to hear about."
"He got the idea from 18-month-old daughter; she'd reach into her diapers...." Lorne continued, his smile sly.
"Stop..."
"Relax. He shellacked everything, so it didn't stink." Lorne thought about it and added with a frown, "In a physical sense. The art, um..." He cringed and wrinkled his nose. "...I didn't think too much of it. Of course, it was wildly popular, played for shock value."
"It figures."
"Uh-huh. Not my kind of thing."
Sheppard had leaned up on his side a little, beginning to relax with the distraction. A hand still covering himself with a coiled fist, but he seemed unaware of it.
"I'm too old-fashioned to do well in the art world these days," Lorne said, taking a few casual shots. This was just cheesy, but hopefully he'd get something better later.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Too into aesthetics. Physical beauty."
John dropped his head in a shy smile. Perfect. Lorne leaned closer to cut John's still uncomfortably stiff body out of the shot as John said, "A guy could take that as a compliment."
"You could."
There was a hopeful light in John's eyes as he glanced up at that, his face soft. Even better. The composition wasn't brilliant, but his open expression, that sudden vulnerability, more than made up for it.
He looked Lorne up and down, the smile turning a shade wicked. His nervousness had dropped completely and smoothed out all the tension in his body. Lorne backed the camera angle up, fairly sure he was crossing the porn line now.
"So. Now I think it's your turn," John said.
"Hmm?" Lorne clicked several more shots before he missed this one. Devilish bad boy worked on John. Next they needed to lose the Athosian blanket, because those colors? Man.
With a smile that showed just the white line of his teeth, Sheppard nudged his chin in the direction of the button of Lorne's jeans, his eyes half-lidded as he looked down. And Lorne got the point. He laughed with an embarrassed shake of his head. "Uh. No thanks."
"You're kidding." John sat up, spoiling the current shot completely though Lorne could work with the new pose, arms around his knees.
"No, I'm not," Lorne explained more or less patiently. "I'm the photographer. The photographer, generally speaking, stays dressed."
"Half-dressed," John said, eyeing Lorne's bare chest.
"I was hot," he explained, not getting why this was so difficult to understand. He hadn't known they were going to a beach and he'd worn long sleeves.
"You still are," John said, looking him full in the face.
Hoo-boy. That was direct. Lorne flushed and let the camera fall an inch, though it was killing him to let these next shots go, because there it was: That charisma. The intense, focused look John got when he was going into a fight, narrow-eyed and determined, with a side of pleased self-confidence that was really attractive. "Um."
Once he'd picked up the camera for real, he'd blanked on the fact that this was his CO, that they were working at cross-purposes here. Dammit. It was all about light and shadow, composition, the sheer careless boyish grace with which Sheppard moved. There wasn't an ounce of fat on him anywhere, and while his right side was definitely better than his left, he didn't have any angle from which he couldn't be photographed. Just a little annoying habit of making weird faces every now and then.
"John...." Lorne swallowed as Sheppard shifted closer, hard and nope, not hiding anything now -- whoa, this was more than he bargained for. Their photo shoot was about to end and it had just gotten started, but he'd better lay his cards on the table. He shook his head. "Look. I'm--"
"I know you're not," Sheppard cut him off. He'd moved close enough that Lorne could feel his breath. "But. You like what you see. You can give it a try. At least."
He licked his lips, his eyes studying Lorne's face intently as he brushed a hand along Lorne's jaw line, feather-light. Lorne steeled himself not to flinch, but he did anyway.
"I'm pretty sure, sir," he explained as gently as he could. John pulled his hand away. "I've been around it a lot. I've been hit on a lot." He raised his eyebrows. "I'd know."
John rolled to his back with a frustrated groan, half laughing, hands over his face. "Augh. I can't believe this! You know that half my men would do me right now?" John said, peering out from behind his hands. "They all look at me like--like I've got something they want. Hungry."
"They adore you, sir." It hadn't occurred to Lorne what that was like from John's side, how he would perceive it, considering.
"I can't afford to give them what they want," John continued in vehement frustration, dropping his hands to the blanket, bouncing sand that they'd tracked on it. "Not even those who know exactly what that is. I just thought... with someone I trusted...."
Lorne pulled back in confusion. This was different than what he'd thought. "You trust me, sir?"
Then he took in the context: the beach, John bare naked on the blanket, a camera with more evidence than anyone could possibly ever want. John grabbed a shell and bounced it off Lorne's head with an irritated look.
"All right, fine," Lorne said. "Dumb question."
"Yeah!"
He rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand and winced. "Good aim, sir."
"I wish you'd stop calling me 'Sir,'" John said mournfully.
Lorne swallowed his next 'yes, sir' before it came out, though John gave him a wry, amused look that meant he'd heard it anyway, hanging in the air between them. Lorne swept a little of the black sand off the blanket, wondering how he'd gotten into this mess in the first place.
John sat up with his elbows on his knees, watching the roll of the waves and shaking his head. "Shit," he muttered under his breath, eyes narrowed and glittering, intense, hazel-green. The breakers crashed in an passionate cascade of white and blue just beyond him. Dark hair and dark eyelashes, the sand a gunmetal gray.
It was a terrific shot. Although tacitly, Lorne knew he didn't have permission any more. He stole it, feeling like a thief, but if this was the end of the day....
Sheppard turned at the repeating auto-click, open-mouthed, caught in freeze-frames slow enough that Lorne had time to consider if a camera could be shoved up his own ass, and would it affect the memory card? But he figured he could outrun Sheppard anyway. He'd been a quarterback in high school.
He tucked the camera protectively under his arm and launched, leaping the blanket, foot digging into sand as Sheppard sprang up behind him.
Taking to the beach was a tactical error; Lorne knew it right away. He should have dived for the jumper instead. Though he would have had to come back for his CO eventually.
As he hit the firmer wet sand at the waterline, the cuffs of his jeans getting wet, Lorne cast a quick look back over his shoulder. A very naked John was surprisingly far back but gaining, less than fifteen yards behind, wiry arms pumping, a determined look on his face.
Oh, great. John went running with Ronon almost every day. He'd thought it was masochism, but now he wasn't too sure. Lorne put on some more speed. His only hope was to trust to stamina and run him out. It was harder to take the ball than keep it. He tucked the camera tight and jumped a tangle of driftwood. Then dodged around a large jut of rock.
And he'd better stop looking back, because that was slowing him down.
Lorne gained a couple yards with the obstacle course, because John wasn't dumb enough to jump a snag of sharp sticks naked. But when they hit flat sand - straight ahead about a hundred feet away, Lorne glanced up a depressingly steep bluff. He'd run out of beach long before he could wear out John.
Behind him, John put on a confident burst of speed, lower to the ground and gaining fast. His little grim smile was revealing. John had gone jogging earlier. He probably knew the topography all along. The beach was wide here, with the tide running out. Time for John to find out what a quarterback could do, even fifteen years later.
John came within a few feet and Lorne dodged left, grinning as John's swipe at his arm went wide. John lost ground, and Lorne burst ahead, the camera clutched protectively in both hands now. John's speed was fierce, driving to the right side to try to force Lorne out of bounds -- into the water. Ooo. Smart.
It forced Lorne to use up some of his advantage to angle higher up the beach, running with his head down. This time John caught his left arm and swung Lorne around. Which was illegal holding, technically. But Lorne used illegal military tripping to break his grip, using his weight to throw John off-balance - and John seized his knees on the way down. Which was completely legal. Lorne's shoulder hit the beach, hard, and he rolled fast, away from Sheppard, who scrambled to get on top before Lorne could get his legs under him.
And Lorne was up! Leaving John in the dust. In Lorne's mind, the crowd cheered.
Sheppard scrambled up behind him, nothing if not a stubborn bastard -- and flung himself into a suicide tackle. Suicide, because if he missed, that'd be it.
Lorne felt the weight hit his hips and his head snap back just before he ate dirt. He had the presence of mind to pull his arm under his chest to protect the camera. A lot of people would have dropped it with a hit that hard.
John pinned his neck to the ground with a forearm and dug for it, panting heavily. And oh, wonderful, he could feel John's balls pressed against his back, as wiry, strong hands tore at the camera that Lorne gripped tighter to his chest. John was laughing in between gasps for breath.
"Let me guess..." He panted, as he viciously tried to pull Lorne's thumb back. "...Quarterback."
Lorne didn't fall for the distraction but tried some of his own. He yanked his thumb loose. "Your coach let you get away with shit like that?" That tackle was stupid. Even if it had worked.
"Not an issue...." John's hand dug into sand, trying to get at the camera from underneath. "I was..." He coughed, and Lorne was glad he'd at least winded John. "...Wide receiver."
Lorne leaned all the weight of his upper body on John's wrist, trapping it, crushing delicate bones. "Figures you'd go for the glory." John swore and pulled his wrist away. "Fuck you, Sheppard, you're not getting my camera," Lorne said with utmost sincerity.
Then Sheppard hauled back, curled his fist tight and did a tendon hit, teeth gritted. Lorne's eyes watered as he felt his hand go numb, but he held on. Still, this was more than just determination. Sheppard was scared, and this was getting out of hand.
"Ah, fuck." Lorne breathed helplessly at the second hit, though he'd pulled his arm deeper out of the way so it wasn't in the exact same place. Still, fuck that hurt. Sheppard was obviously prepared to break his arm if need be. "Okay, truce! Truce!" Lorne announced.
"Like hell," Sheppard growled, trying to take advantage of the moment to dig the camera away. Thank god he hadn't showed Sheppard where the memory card was, because he could easily pull it out at this angle.
"I'll cut you a deal! I'll make a deal!" Lorne said, rolling his head with pain.
"Talk," Sheppard said, leaning back a little to sit on Lorne's back.
Lorne could basically feel the butt print and rolled his eyes, feeling like the Xerox machine at the office Christmas party. He clutched the camera tighter, because he didn't trust John not to use the flag of truce to get what he wanted. "I'll give you copies of everything."
"Yeah, right." The words came out on a laugh and Sheppard leaned forward. "I'll give you copies of every piece of that thing." He paused and added in a very sweet, sarcastic tone, "And I'll even buy you a new one."
"No, wait!" Lorne said. "You can be the photographer."
He'd considered that before, actually, as a means to relax Sheppard. Early on, when he'd had no idea John might find photographing him more distracting than anything else.
Sheppard paused, considering the offer. Lorne twisted his neck around and watched Sheppard's eyes narrow suspiciously. But he had to see it solved his main problem without destroying beautiful work. If Sheppard went down because of those photos, Lorne would go down with him.
"I get copies of everything?" John asked.
"Yeah."
"The jeans come off?"
Lorne winced. He was going to be his commanding officer's soft core porn collection. "Sure."
"And...?" Sheppard raised his eyebrows with growing humor.
"Oh man...."
"Say it, or that camera's going down." Sheppard's voice was firm.
"Yes."
The colonel got up off of him, but Lorne didn't move, clutching the equipment tighter. His eyes slanted to the side. "I've got your word you won't destroy my camera - or the photos - at the earliest possible opportunity?"
"Yes," came the impatient answer.
"Or at any other time?" Lorne added, protectively curled around the camera.
"I'm not going to wriggle out of it, okay?" John said in disgust. "You've got my word."
John held out his hand, and Lorne accepted the help to his feet. He brushed dark sand off damp jeans, cringing at a twinge in his wrist.
"You practically broke my arm," Lorne grumbled, shaking it out, mouthing a curse. He frowned as he tried to figure out if he had a sprain or just a deep bruise.
They started the long walk back up the beach, retracing two sets of wide-spaced prints. There was a deeper gash where Sheppard had apparently fallen. It must have been Sheppard, since Lorne hadn't.
"I was going to," Sheppard assured him. "Oh, um. By the way." He put a finger to his lips and paused. "The puddlejumper's locked against you. You'll need a password to get on board."
Ah. Lorne had wondered why John had been so far behind in the first place.
"You should have gone for the jumper, Major," Sheppard patted his shoulder, with a tight, smug smile. The no-touching rule was apparently off the table. "I'll expect better tactical decisions from you in the future."
"Yes, sir."
~*~*~
If Lorne had thought about it for ten seconds, he could have predicted John would give him a hard time. The bright salacious smile he didn't even try to hide as Lorne pulled down his jeans. The little comments, "Yeah, yeah...that's good," as he stripped them off. Then the dirty snicker as Lorne went to pull down his underwear. Lorne rolled his eyes and stopped.
"Hey, don't freak out on me," John joked. "Turn around and give me the back view." He made a spinning gesture with one finger.
Getting naked wasn't a problem. Okay, it wasn't much of a problem. Evan had done some modeling as an undergrad. But the micro-managing, on the other hand, was starting to get on his nerves.
"Oh! Lean back against the jumper over there." John pointed.
"And get second degree burns on my ass? Nah, I don't think so," Lorne said. "You know, the pictures will come out better if you let it be natural. People aren't poseable dolls."
"Uh-huh," John said from behind the camera. "Given that we'll be lucky if I don't have a thumb print on every single one of these, I don't think it matters. Now give us some skin," John ordered with a bright smile, cocking the camera at a ridiculous diagonal.
"I went easy on you," Lorne reminded him.
"That's because you were busy leading me on." Sheppard snapped several more photos.
He hadn't been... Lorne froze, examining his actions, and words, with growing concern. Up until today he was fine, he'd been clean and up front with Sheppard. But once it meant getting John in front of the camera he couldn't say the same, although he'd thought of it as "managing the talent" at the time. Which you did on a photo shoot. You flirted -- or in John's case let him flirt -- if it got you the picture. Lorne swallowed. But John wasn't a paid model.
"Lorne -- I should call you Evan now, shouldn't I? -- Evan, with that expression, you look like you're taking a shit." John took the photo anyway.
"Oh, these pictures are going to be great," Lorne said sarcastically.
"Well. Naked is always good."
A little pissed at himself, Lorne obliged, stepping out of his underwear as he said, "At least let me show you how to take decent pictures."
"Oh fuck...." Sheppard said, and the camera fell silent.
Lorne looked up, startled.
John had dropped to the ground, but not before Lorne saw. Holy fuck. John really was into guys. Which he already knew, and it should've hit home earlier -- certainly earlier today -- but it was different seeing the hard evidence, pun intended, when it was specifically due to him getting naked.
"You are really good-looking," John said in a shuddery, shaky voice. He gestured with his thumb over his shoulder. "I, uh, gotta take care of something first before we can go any further."
"What?" The words were out of Lorne's mouth before he thought it through, and he mentally slapped his face at the dumbest question ever.
The dismal look John gave him was the only answer that one deserved. John wrapped the white towel around his waist, forcefully, as if frustrated with himself, then stood and started to leave.
Evan didn't say a word, didn't mean to ask, but his chin raised a pleading inch as John started to walk away. The thought had just skittered across Evan's mind, just for an instant, but John read it telegraphed in the gesture. He paused a breath. Then inclined his head for Evan to follow.
Evan scooped up the camera up from the beach blanket on the way.
~*~*~
The space between the jumper and the sand dune was cut off from the wind on three sides, the air still and hot.
The lighting was harsh, interesting, the bright noon sun reflecting metallic gold from the jumper on John's shiny-slick skin, while dark sweat beaded on his upper lip and temples, staining his hair black where it dripped behind his ears.
He hoped John wouldn't be disappointed that he wasn't pointing the camera at his dick, where John was stroking hard and fast, speeding up, then slowing as he glanced up at Lorne, eyes flickering. He dropped his head back, working himself again. Lorne had never seen a guy's face look like that before, with head tipped back, mouth sultry soft, his eyes closed. Sometimes John bit his lip and he gasped.
Evan let John see that this got him hard. No doubt. It was weird to have that reaction to a guy, but he didn't think anyone would hold it against him, under the circumstances. This was intense. He thought John should get something out of this besides just pictures anyway.
Lorne wondered, turning the camera to get the jumper out of the frame: Was this how he looked when he did this?
He had to look away when John was done, ducking his head and blinking.
John leaned up, languid now, his elbow leaned on his knee. He'd cleaned himself off, Lorne noticed, and he was suddenly grateful he'd taken that photo a moment ago, come on a sweat sheened body, chest rising and falling, John's arm draped over his eyes -- though who knew why, except that the shot would have been gone for good. Sometimes a man's body was as beautiful as a machine.
John's gaze swept to where Evan was still hard. He asked, eyes squinting against the sun, "You want some help with that?"
"Um. No." Lorne stepped back hurriedly, but his dick jerked at the suggestion.
John's smile warmed with amusement. "I'm getting a few mixed messages here," he teased in a still hoarse voice.
Lorne swallowed, cringing, and very emphatically thought about blueprints of engine schematics, soothing engine schematics, until he'd calmed himself down. When he opened his eyes, John's smirk said that he had a good idea just how he'd handled that problem.
The waves had grown quieter, maybe from a lull in the afternoon air currents or else the tide running out. Overhead bright red sea birds dodged each other against a cloudless, flawless blue sky. Lorne started to notice that it was blazing hot behind the jumper, a tickle of sweat sliding down the back of his neck.
"Lunch?" John suggested brightly, eyebrows raised.
Of course he was hungry. Lorne smiled, snickering at him as he shook his head. "Yeah."
~*~*~
They had a pretty spaced-out lunch where he and Sheppard didn't say much. Just watching the sky and the water. Sheppard unlocked the jumper and handed out sandwiches, settling in the sand with a sigh, his legs sprawled out.
"Ham or turkey?"
"No preference." Lorne shrugged.
"Turkey then, because I'm feeling generous."
Finishing first, Lorne dusted crumbs off his hands, noticing his thighs were pasty white. He palmed the camera and slipped quietly into the jumper. The window faced the ocean, the sound of waves soothing and hushed from inside.
With a soft click, Lorne gently, almost reverently, removed the memory card, handling it with deft fingers by its edges. He knelt and tucked it into a protected pocket deep within his pack. He pulled out another card and snapped it into place like an extra clip.
It wasn't like he didn't trust John. He did. It's just that Lorne didn't like to take unnecessary chances.
The Marines on his team constantly teased him about the "arsenal" of extra ammo he carried. But from them it was a sign of respect. Lorne couldn't think of a time in recent memory that he'd run out, either.
A move behind him startled Lorne. Sheppard was there, an arm leaned against the door of the jumper.
"Thought you'd come for this," Sheppard said, dipping down with one arm still draped on the door. He held up a football, spinning it expertly in his hands. Well, a Nerf ball, but who was complaining? Lorne grinned, setting the camera down.
He directed John to go long with a sweeping gesture, falling easily into the role of the game as they lengthened the distance between them. The quarterback was the boss, and John's speed made him pretty capable in the field, able to get into position for anything, scrambling through sand after the ball when he missed. Lorne threw a couple wide, just to make John work for it. For which he got suitably punished as John punted it back, the football flipping end over end. Lorne had to dive after it, laughing as he jumped into freezing cold waves.
"Oh yeah, that water's real nice," Lorne said sarcastically, dashing out. He snapped the ball back.
"Refreshing!" Sheppard called back, catching it.
"Like hell."
Once they'd covered the beach in footprints, they took a break, digging their toes into the sand and chatting about different Atlantis personnel who might make good players for an intramural team. Just their usual kind of conversation. They were stuck with mostly the Marines since they made up the bulk of the Americans, which led them into a dissection of just how lame soccer was, but that rugby was okay. John showed him where he'd shattered his anklebone playing rugby.
"Four hours of surgery," he said proudly, pointing out the white incision line along the jut of bone.
Not to be outdone, Lorne described the hit he took in high school that was so hard, it knocked him out cold. "Couldn't remember the entire game," Lorne said, swiping at his mouth and ducking his head. "Which was too bad because we actually won that one." He hadn't exactly had a winning team.
John tossed the football from one hand to the other. "Yeah. Know how you feel."
~*~*~
Lorne had explained that early evening and dusk was the best time for photography, the shadows more distinct, colors richer from the warmth of the setting sun. It didn't take any convincing to get John to stretch out on the dark sand -- away from the Athosian blanket, thank god -- and continue the conversation in front of the camera, the gold sunlight sculpting muscles as he stretched his hands playfully behind his head with a twitch of his eyebrow and a confident smile. The smooth wash of water on a much broader beach behind him.
Lorne had to shove away uncomfortable thoughts, like how the shot would change and intensify if he touched him. The dark glimmer of John's eyes followed him, intense and steady, looking past the camera as if reading his mind. On the other hand, he was capturing a frank and open sexuality that was a million times better than his shots earlier today.
Some people looked very naked with their clothes off, like their armor had been stripped away. Others seemed to enjoy it, gleeful, like they were free. (McKay had been like that on 9Y7-M4A, past his complaints and hiding behind the sheet, though he'd probably never admit it.)
For Sheppard, being naked seemed to mean only one thing. Or at least that's what the gleam in his narrow eyes seemed to suggest when he pushed himself up from the sand. Lorne couldn't resist the humor of the shot with the dark sand still stuck to his ass. Sheppard stood and stretched, arms overhead, apparently thinking he looked a lot cooler than he did.
"What?" John asked, peering behind his shoulder with an annoyed little pout.
"Nothing," Lorne said. And managed to keep a straight face, too.
John figured it out with a glare. And Evan got several good shots of him playing in the froth at the water's edge, the follow-up look as he washed it off, embarrassed and kind of sweet. He was a little late with that one, the shutter clicking just after John dipped his head. Lorne switched the camera back to auto-shoot, frustrated with his distraction.
The tide had run out enough that the tall stacks of black rock that had been surrounded by water (and probably dangerous tides) now had a shallow run of rocks leading to them. John balanced on these barefoot, arms out as he tipped left then right, jumping several till he reached the base of the stack. He reached for a testing handhold, one foot up in place, eyes sharp.
"You're officially crazy," Lorne said, following him on the slippery, seaweed-covered rocks much more cautiously.
"No. There're plenty of handholds," John said, eyeing the thirty foot stack, sizing it up with a calculating intent stare. Lorne took close-ups of that look; he'd seen it a thousand times in more military contexts. He backed further out on the little rocks for a picture of the full stack, John staring up it from the bottom. Then John started to climb.
"Ah, fuck!" John said, a few hand-holds up, jerking his foot with a sudden jolt.
"You okay?" Lorne asked, lowering the camera. "That rock...."
"...It's sharp, yeah, I'm finding that out. Wish I'd worn shoes. I'll get a band aid back at the jumper later."
Lorne put the camera back to his eye. "Is this where I pretend to be McKay and freak out about infectious organisms in an alien biosphere?" he said dryly.
The warm smile was predictable. John's head dipped in boyish shyness, and Lorne snapped it. Perfect. Always good to know your subject. Lorne wasn't sure about John's feelings for his teammate but the two were definitely tight. He wasn't sure how he felt about that at the moment, but McKay was probably oblivious anyway.
"Yeah, let's skip that part," John said, measuring the distance to the top of the stack with his eyes.
Once at the top, John had the bright idea that Lorne should throw him the Nerf ball.
"No way, man, we'll lose it," Lorne said, shading his eyes as he squinted up at John.
"No! You're good. You'll get it," John assured him, pleading.
"No, I'm thinking that you'll miss," Lorne said. ."
Of course they missed the first time. Lorne had to swim for it, swearing at John as he broke through the waves. The ball bobbed out of reach. John, of course, blamed his aim and laughed at him from the top of the stack, swinging his feet where he sat.
Climbing out of the water, spluttering and cold, Lorne rolled his eyes and slumped when John insisted they do it again.
"No."
"C'mon... chicken. Boc-boc-boc-chicken!" John called down.
Which was the most childish argument Evan had ever heard. It also worked.
"I'm feeling like Charlie Brown, here," Lorne said, lining the ball up. "You miss this time and I'm not going after it." It was a complete and utter lie. No one could afford to lose a Nerf ball in the Pegasus Galaxy.
"You missed. But I have a good feeling about this time," John said with a self-satisfied nod.
It was worth the glorious moment of disbelief when John actually caught it. He held the ball high in the air with a whoop of laughter, as incredulous as Lorne. He almost forgot the camera, but scrambled it back into place to capture John's last victory lap around the top of the stack.
Victory savored, John tossed the ball back. Lorne didn't bother to catch it, just let it hit the dry sand, instead capturing John's excellent throwing form on film. Then John sat on the edge of the stack and looked down, examining the long climb dispiritedly. He winced. "I don't suppose you can bring the jumper up here?"
"I think you can get down the same way you got up," Lorne said, reaching for the football.
"I could make it an order," John suggested hopefully, curling his toes.
"Yeah. I'll just explain that when I tell Dr. Weir how we attempted a dangerous hover operation over sharp rocks because you were too lazy to climb."
John licked his lips and shot him a resentful look as he swung over the edge.
~*~*~
Actually, the water wasn't that bad once you got used to it. He and Sheppard decided to skip dinner in favor of enjoying the last of their day off, the air cooling and the water comparatively warmer as the sun dipped low and hazy on the horizon. He gave up on trying to keep up with Sheppard -- which really wasn't fair, considering he was younger than John by at least two years.
The lee John had swum in that morning had turned into a tidal pool of warm water about four feet deep. Lorne fetched the camera and his military-issue sunglasses, and now stretched his arms out on the rock with a relaxed sigh, head slumped against his shoulder. John slid in next to him, the surface of the water sparkling.
"How about you and I just stay out here? Forget about this whole Wraith problem and build a lean-to right-" He turned and pointed to a protected curve, mid-way up the bluff. "-up there."
"What would we eat?" Lorne murmured, wondering idly how detailed this fantasy was.
"Hunting and gathering," John declared with a haphazard flip of his hand. "It was good enough for our ancestors, it's good enough for me."
It was the dumbest idea ever. But also, "It sounds like paradise, sir," Lorne said. He rubbed his eyes under the sunglasses then pushed them back up, chin tipped to the warm sun in satisfaction. He heard the soft click of the camera. Lorne looked over the rim of the sunglasses and it clicked again.
"I want to keep that one," Sheppard said.
"You get to keep all of them," Lorne reminded him.
He motioned for Sheppard to hand the camera over, and as he took it back, Sheppard borrowed the sunglasses right off his face without asking. Lorne blinked up at him in blank-faced surprise as Sheppard slipped them on with a smirk. Then Lorne remembered the camera, shaking his head, and directed John over to the other side of the tidal pool where he wouldn't be back-lit.
John's motions were tired and slow, arms washing lazily across the surface of the water. It had been a long day, and that's probably why, when Lorne turned the camera to check how it was handling the bright light on the water, he fumbled it into the pool. He snapped it up right away, shaking it off, with a quick guilty look up at Sheppard, who looked absolutely forlorn.
"It's probably waterproof," Lorne explained hastily as he dried it. John's expression changed, eyebrows drawing together, but he still looked perturbed. "It says it is anyway. On the box. I just don't trust that-you're not supposed to submerge these things."
He didn't mention that he wasn't sure about the effects of salt water. Because John just looked so relieved.
"It better be," John said. "Or I'm sending a note of complaint to the manufacturer. And enclosing their very own Wraith."
~*~*~
The sky turning purple and red in the last traces of sunlight, they raced each other back to the jumper. John tagged it just inches before Evan.
John kicked over the last traces of their fire while Lorne gathered their stuff, shaking off the sandy Athosian blanket and throwing it unceremoniously inside. He found a half-empty bottle of sunscreen in the space behind the jumper, with a blink of memory and understanding what that had been for. He stared around the beach bemused at what had changed in just one day.
Inside the half-light of the jumper, they got dressed again, the clothes feeling alien, their civvies looking even weirder than before. They looked shyly away from each other, which just seemed ridiculous to Lorne but he couldn't stop.
Lorne took the helm, beginning the pre-flight check while John stowed the Nerf ball and coffee pot, slamming the compartment door. He settled into the co-pilot's seat, shutting the back of the jumper remotely. They breathed a moment.
"I wanted to kiss you," Sheppard said, staring out the window, not looking at him. "Back at the pool. So badly."
Lorne didn't know how to answer that. "I don't know how I would have reacted," he said with fervent honesty.
"Yeah," Sheppard said with a sigh. "I know."
With a few tapped commands, Lorne took the jumper into the air and hovered, turning as he used scanners to check for anything they might have left.
"Ready?" Lorne asked.
"Yeah," John said.
~*~*~
The jumper glided through the air gently, the sky rapidly turning dark as they flew east, sun seeming to set on fast-forward from their perspective. Officially, they'd be back at 2100 even though it was a one-hour flight and they were leaving at 1800. Lorne flew a little slower than he normally would, and higher too, avoiding any sudden down drafts. Because John had tipped his head back in his chair, arms folded across his chest, and now slumped, fast asleep.
Lorne held it steady, glancing over at him with a soft look, glad that the jumpers were so quiet.
~*~*~
When they docked in Atlantis, John started awake looking confused for a moment as he sniffed and took in his surroundings. His hair was sticking up and flattened on one side from falling asleep with wet hair, his eyes puffy as he rubbed his face. Lorne couldn't quite suppress an affectionate smile.
"You didn't have to fly the whole way," John said once he recognized they were back in Atlantis, stretching.
"Nah. It's all right," Lorne said.
They could have downloaded the pictures that night of course, it was only nine o'clock, but Lorne was feeling a little doped up with sunlight and strangeness and needed some time alone. He wasn't too sure how John was feeling either, but he seemed a little fragile, the way he wasn't letting himself look straight at Lorne and fidgeted with his watchband.
"So, I'll, uh, check the memory cards. But I'm sure they're all right," Lorne said, rubbing the back of his head.
"Yeah, yeah, you do that," John said absently.
"So. Barring any emergencies, I can check them out tomorrow." Lorne said, looking at the ground with a nervous swipe at his lips. He didn't think he could handle it tonight.
"Yeah. That's good," Sheppard agreed with an eloquent sigh.
They said good night and did what could, in all fairness, be called a strategic retreat.
On to part three!
Continued from part one
Sheppard had thoughtfully provided coffee for them both, in mugs with sealed lids. They walked side-by-side to the jumper bay, the colonel in a jacket over a black t-shirt and slouchy cargo pants. Lorne had just thrown on a long-sleeved sweatshirt and jeans.
It was always weird to see people out of uniform; to be out of uniform. Civilian clothes told you things that uniforms didn't, in how Sheppard carefully picked colors that looked good on him, but dressed way too young for his age, like he was twenty-five. Lorne knew he looked like he was on a first-name basis with L. L. Bean, which probably said something, too.
On the jumper ride over to the mainland, Lorne sipped his coffee and started to wake up to the fact that he might just be taking those pictures after all. Sheppard was in the pilot's seat, which was just so symbolic of their entire situation, Lorne chuckled and shook his head. John gave him a curious glance then returned his attention to flying.
There was an old saw about XOs and their commanding officers, how they became as alike as dogs and their owners. Lorne was starting to see why: The only way to deal with Sheppard was on his own terms.
It was peaceful, cutting through the glowing golden dawn over miles of blue water, gliding slower than their last trip. Heading west they outpaced the sun, and had the weird experience of watching it shrink to a bright yellow dot and seem to set in the east.
On the mainland, a pre-dawn purple-pink mist drifted in off the ocean as they landed on a narrow black sand beach, the surface as fine as silt and striped with lines from the lapping waves. It was high tide. A bluff of volcanic black rock behind them broke most of the morning breeze, but the air was too cool to take off their jackets still. With a nod and hand signals, Sheppard started collecting driftwood while Lorne set about building a fire.
Watching Sheppard separate the kindling, stand to brush off his hands and scan the area, soaking up the silence, Lorne realized Sheppard really was in his element. It wasn't just about Gate travel. He genuinely loved the outdoors. Without waiting to ask, Lorne slipped the camera out of its casing and snapped a photo. That got an amused glance from Sheppard.
Rather than opening an MRE, John produced a couple dozen of those tiny little Athosian sparrow eggs. They weren't much bigger than a large marble, but if you had enough of them, you could make a decent omelet. Eating in silence, they sat on the beach as their fire was buffeted left then right, stretching their legs on an Athosian beach rug. They listened to the waves break on the shore and sipped a second, grittier cup of camp coffee.
Lorne took pictures in a desultory way as Sheppard waded into the water barefoot and cleaned the coffee pot -- more to remind Sheppard the camera was there, get him used to it. That was part of Lorne's strategy.
As the sun rose high enough to burn off the mist, John rolled up his pant legs and went jogging down the beach, a disappearing shaggy-haired dot. Lorne kicked back for a nap because, hey, four-thirty am. On his day off.
~*~*~
He broke from a reverie between dreaming, thinking and sleep when a panting and sweaty Sheppard dropped next to him. Sheppard dripped sand as he sat, and Lorne swept it off the blanket with a complaining, "Hey."
"C'mon," Sheppard said, his voice impatient. "Wake up. It's a fantastic day."
It was. John had pulled off his shirt at some point and squinted up at a deep blue sky. Lorne was worried that he'd been too slow to snap that one. The angle was unusual from the blanket below John, and the moment said something about skies and flying.
"You're quick on the draw," Sheppard commented. "I thought you were still asleep."
Lorne hadn't really been asleep. Under half-closed eyes he'd watched John try -- and fail -- to skip rocks for the last twenty minutes. John really sucked at it.
He was pretty sure he got sand kicked on him on purpose as Sheppard took off for the beach line with a whoop. The look he cast back over his shoulder was definitely flirtatious.
Lorne missed that photo. But he caught the awkward bounce as Sheppard stripped down to his underwear, pausing mid-stride to kick off the second leg, and the splash as he hit the waves, diving in. His dog-tags glinted as he surfaced, flinging up an arc of water as he threw his head back. He paddled in the lee of a jagged rock outcropping, arms waving under the water.
"Come on in!" John shouted. "It's great."
Yeah, the liar. It was freezing cold, Lorne could tell from the way he spluttered and gasped. Lorne shaded his eyes. "Yeah, I think I'll stay here. Delicate equipment." He pointed to the camera, though he meant other equipment besides.
John got the double-entendre and laughed. He disappeared underwater, while Lorne walked around to the out-cropping so John wouldn't be back-lit. He glanced up. The sun bouncing off the surface of the water was playing hell with his light meter. All of these pictures were going to be washed out unless he disabled it.
Noon was a terrible time for photos anyway. But he figured most of these would be just to relax John.
John stroked along the surface of the waves till he hit the little bay the rocks created, then leaned his chin on his folded arms on the rock wall, water beading on his face. Lorne snapped that, screwed up lighting or not, because even if it didn't say much, it was worthy of a pin-up. Then he started to futz with the machine. He complained to Sheppard, who'd given him a curious look, "The more automatic they make these things, the worse it gets. More useful for the point and click people. A pain in the ass for the folks who know what they're doing."
He showed John the menus and felt him lean deliberately warm and close.
"Here." He handed it over for John to shoot a couple pictures -- and to distract him, though John just looked through the view screen studiously, as if trying to picture himself there. Lorne really regretted not having the camera at that moment. A typical neophyte, John then aimed the camera at the sky and the horizon, things you'd never be able to capture on film with nothing to frame or focus the shot.
Then John dangled the camera over the water, swinging it from the cord, his face a little too serious.
That had happened with Lorne's dog once. He'd been taking pictures of the dog, and the pooch got jealous of the camera and tried to bite it and knock it out of his hand.
"You do that and you're buying me another one." Actually, Lorne wasn't sure what effect the salt water would have.
John thought about it for an amused moment, coiled the camera back up into his hand and tossed it to Lorne. And then backstroked out of reach. Yeah. Lorne's dog had refused to have his picture taken for a while after that, too.
Baking in the full heat of the sun, Lorne took the opportunity to strip off his long-sleeved sweatshirt and put on some sunscreen before John got back, rubbing it in quickly. Because he was fairly sure that if John were here, he'd offer to apply it.
Lorne had had time to think during his nap. John Sheppard was crazy, but "crazy like a fox" as his grandma would say. He knew about John. Yet John had no guarantee of secrecy beyond just his word. He'd need more than that. He could either get rid of Lorne, or implicate him, give him good reason to keep his mouth shut. Sort of a mutually assured destruction, having each other by the balls -- in every sense of the word.
And Lorne was very familiar with the attitude of a lot of gay guys, that if you could step into the gay club, you could be had. Add that to Sheppard's probably non-existent alternate options, and oh yeah, Lorne knew what time it was. Sheppard was going to hit on him, and hit hard.
"I could have helped you with that."
John had stepped out of the ocean while Lorne wasn't paying attention, dripping flecks of cold water as he roughly toweled off his hair. He indicated the bottle of sunscreen with his chin.
"Nah, I'm all right," Lorne said, blinking up at him.
John tousled his hair with his fingers and tucked the towel around his waist. He stretched, swinging his arms as if completely innocent and unaware of how suggestive that towel was.
John Sheppard damn well knew he was good-looking. And was fully prepared to use it.
Lorne thought wryly, At least it solves the problem of his being camera shy.
Of course, John very deliberately readjusted his towel, giving Lorne a good look at the thin, wet cotton that looked flesh-colored clinging to his ass. A white air bubble just below the dimple of his lower back. He snapped that picture, wondering about the fine line between art and porn, and if he was good enough to keep from crossing it.
John looked down at the sound of the shutter with a private, secretive smile. Lorne figured John would have been surprised to know that the next shot was a close-up, showing nothing of his body. Just wet hair and wet lashes, and John radiating self-satisfied smugness.
It was a lucky shot. The white towel had reflected just enough soft light back up onto his face to make him glow. Lorne wished he could use studio lighting and reflectors, but that was out of the question, not to mention beyond his budget for the cargo space on the Daedalus. But no question, the camera loved John Sheppard. Lorne could name twenty photographers of any number of sexual persuasions who'd kill to be in his shoes right now.
He followed to where John had slumped to the blanket, leaning back on his elbows. Lorne cradled the camera in his palm and crowed inwardly.
"Happy?" John said with an amused undertone.
"You have no idea." Lorne rested his elbows on his knees as he sat. "If this one comes out it'll be worth the whole day."
"Glad I could help," John said dryly. He tossed Lorne the bottle of sunscreen, sitting up with a sigh. "Mind giving me a hand?"
Lorne rolled his eyes and almost laughed. He should've been prepared for that ploy, but it seemed a little obvious, even for Sheppard. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Uh. I don't want to get stuff on the camera."
"You can use the towel to wipe off." Sheppard's smirk reminded Lorne that the towel would be coming off.
Lorne looked around for an answer to that.
John added in a soft undertone, "Look. Lorne. I'm not going to jump you."
That made him feel instantly guilty. Yeah, John had really carefully respected the boundaries Lorne was just now realizing they'd established: he didn't touch Lorne's gear any more, and he avoided all physical contact where it wasn't strictly necessary. Which meant he touched Lorne a lot less now than he used to.
"All right," Lorne said with a warning glance, shaking his head as shook the bottle and squeezed some out into his hand. "But you start purring and it stops right here."
John gave a startled laugh and tipped his head back, squinting in the sunlight. He purred, then straightened almost eagerly, boyishly happy, eyes bright.
Regretfully, Lorne let an entire string of good (not great, he promised himself, shutting his eyes) photos slide as he kneaded the sunscreen into warm, pliant skin. John let his head drop forward and just breathed, soaking in the attention.
As Lorne's hands angled down to his waist, John murmured, "You know, I had leave down in Florida once. We took a boat to the Keys, this girl and I, and we found a deserted beach. It was perfect."
Lorne wondered why he was telling him this. To prove he liked women? He'd seen the security tapes of Chaya. He stroked sunscreen down John's arms, which were pretty well-muscled but longer than they looked.
"Anyhow, we had on sunscreen -- tropical sun, you have to be careful -- except for where the bathing suits covered." He nodded his head. "That is, until the bathing suits came off for an hour or two." He paused pointedly. "At high noon."
"Oh man...." Lorne laughed, getting his drift.
"Yep. Couldn't sit down for days." John's eyes glinted with mischief as he slanted a meaningful look at Lorne. "So I learned my lesson: You have to be thorough."
Lorne handed him the bottle of sunscreen with a sarcastic snort. "Yeah, I think you can handle that part."
John took the turn-down with patient cheer. "So. Uh...." He ran his thumbs along his waistband, which was peering out from under the slack towel. Then pulled his hands away, with a glance up at Lorne. "You sure you're not going to freak out on me?"
Lorne spread his arms. If he was going to freak out, he would've done so already.
"Okay." John dipped his head. "Just checking."
He peeked up again through messy tousled bangs. "Last chance...." He touched the waistband, then dropped his hands, turning away and blushing as his shoulders hunched and he shrank in on himself.
Lorne started laughing. "Oh, now who's freaking out?"
John licked his lips with a nervous smile. "It's just. The context is a little weird." John gestured between himself and Lorne. "Usually it's a little more-- no, wait. Usually it's a lot more mutual."
Of course, Lorne knew his lines. He was supposed to say, "You don't have to if you don't want to." But after having his ass dragged out of bed at four a.m., he couldn't bring himself to form the words. As far he was concerned, yeah, Sheppard damn well had to. Instead he offered, "You can leave the towel on."
"Like a girl taking her bra off under her shirt?"
Lorne gave a brief nod and dipped his head in a shrug.
John fumbled under the towel for a minute or so. The towel tugged loose, exposing a bare hip, then he yanked it back up with a quick dangerous glance at Lorne and swore. "Okay, I have no idea how they do that. This isn't going to work."
"I can look away if you like." Then Lorne added, "It's easier if you strip fast."
John looked away instead. "No pictures when I do this, okay?"
Reluctantly, Lorne set the camera down, out of reach. It was too bad. He was looking forward to a replay of that embarrassed blush, since John had made kind of a weird face the first time, messing up the shot. He was willing to bet almost no one got to see him blush.
Rolling to his stomach, John lifted up and dragged off the towel, then tugged down the wet underwear. No wonder he'd had a hard time taking them off. They were soaked. He was long, kind of half hard... Lorne blinked and rolled his eyes as he looked away.
"Ha!" John pointed at him. "I saw that! That was textbook freaking out."
Lorne glanced very quickly back, before looking away again. John was laying on his stomach, propped up on his elbows, bare ass white and naked to the sky. "It's always a little strange when a guy first gets naked. I told you that."
John stabbed his finger at the ground. "I want it on the record that there was mutual freaking out here."
"All right."
"Okay." John grabbed the sunscreen, looking at Lorne warily as he squeezed a spurt into his hand.
"Better hurry," Lorne joked, pointing at the sky. "Whole seconds are ticking by in the tropical sun."
John rubbed the sunscreen onto the nearer cheek. "You laugh, but just you try sitting in a chopper all day with a sunburned-Oh, I can't believe you're taking a picture of this." Because Lorne had picked up the camera. He thought it was rather natural and domestic. "That's like taking a picture of a guy with a wad toilet paper, wiping his ass."
Lorne tipped his head thoughtfully, still taking photos. Getting John through his semi-scatological discomfort here could smooth out other problems later.
"Actually," Lorne said, the shutter clicking softly, "I know this one artist who--"
"Don't." John raised a hand. "That's one kind of art I don't want to hear about."
"He got the idea from 18-month-old daughter; she'd reach into her diapers...." Lorne continued, his smile sly.
"Stop..."
"Relax. He shellacked everything, so it didn't stink." Lorne thought about it and added with a frown, "In a physical sense. The art, um..." He cringed and wrinkled his nose. "...I didn't think too much of it. Of course, it was wildly popular, played for shock value."
"It figures."
"Uh-huh. Not my kind of thing."
Sheppard had leaned up on his side a little, beginning to relax with the distraction. A hand still covering himself with a coiled fist, but he seemed unaware of it.
"I'm too old-fashioned to do well in the art world these days," Lorne said, taking a few casual shots. This was just cheesy, but hopefully he'd get something better later.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Too into aesthetics. Physical beauty."
John dropped his head in a shy smile. Perfect. Lorne leaned closer to cut John's still uncomfortably stiff body out of the shot as John said, "A guy could take that as a compliment."
"You could."
There was a hopeful light in John's eyes as he glanced up at that, his face soft. Even better. The composition wasn't brilliant, but his open expression, that sudden vulnerability, more than made up for it.
He looked Lorne up and down, the smile turning a shade wicked. His nervousness had dropped completely and smoothed out all the tension in his body. Lorne backed the camera angle up, fairly sure he was crossing the porn line now.
"So. Now I think it's your turn," John said.
"Hmm?" Lorne clicked several more shots before he missed this one. Devilish bad boy worked on John. Next they needed to lose the Athosian blanket, because those colors? Man.
With a smile that showed just the white line of his teeth, Sheppard nudged his chin in the direction of the button of Lorne's jeans, his eyes half-lidded as he looked down. And Lorne got the point. He laughed with an embarrassed shake of his head. "Uh. No thanks."
"You're kidding." John sat up, spoiling the current shot completely though Lorne could work with the new pose, arms around his knees.
"No, I'm not," Lorne explained more or less patiently. "I'm the photographer. The photographer, generally speaking, stays dressed."
"Half-dressed," John said, eyeing Lorne's bare chest.
"I was hot," he explained, not getting why this was so difficult to understand. He hadn't known they were going to a beach and he'd worn long sleeves.
"You still are," John said, looking him full in the face.
Hoo-boy. That was direct. Lorne flushed and let the camera fall an inch, though it was killing him to let these next shots go, because there it was: That charisma. The intense, focused look John got when he was going into a fight, narrow-eyed and determined, with a side of pleased self-confidence that was really attractive. "Um."
Once he'd picked up the camera for real, he'd blanked on the fact that this was his CO, that they were working at cross-purposes here. Dammit. It was all about light and shadow, composition, the sheer careless boyish grace with which Sheppard moved. There wasn't an ounce of fat on him anywhere, and while his right side was definitely better than his left, he didn't have any angle from which he couldn't be photographed. Just a little annoying habit of making weird faces every now and then.
"John...." Lorne swallowed as Sheppard shifted closer, hard and nope, not hiding anything now -- whoa, this was more than he bargained for. Their photo shoot was about to end and it had just gotten started, but he'd better lay his cards on the table. He shook his head. "Look. I'm--"
"I know you're not," Sheppard cut him off. He'd moved close enough that Lorne could feel his breath. "But. You like what you see. You can give it a try. At least."
He licked his lips, his eyes studying Lorne's face intently as he brushed a hand along Lorne's jaw line, feather-light. Lorne steeled himself not to flinch, but he did anyway.
"I'm pretty sure, sir," he explained as gently as he could. John pulled his hand away. "I've been around it a lot. I've been hit on a lot." He raised his eyebrows. "I'd know."
John rolled to his back with a frustrated groan, half laughing, hands over his face. "Augh. I can't believe this! You know that half my men would do me right now?" John said, peering out from behind his hands. "They all look at me like--like I've got something they want. Hungry."
"They adore you, sir." It hadn't occurred to Lorne what that was like from John's side, how he would perceive it, considering.
"I can't afford to give them what they want," John continued in vehement frustration, dropping his hands to the blanket, bouncing sand that they'd tracked on it. "Not even those who know exactly what that is. I just thought... with someone I trusted...."
Lorne pulled back in confusion. This was different than what he'd thought. "You trust me, sir?"
Then he took in the context: the beach, John bare naked on the blanket, a camera with more evidence than anyone could possibly ever want. John grabbed a shell and bounced it off Lorne's head with an irritated look.
"All right, fine," Lorne said. "Dumb question."
"Yeah!"
He rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand and winced. "Good aim, sir."
"I wish you'd stop calling me 'Sir,'" John said mournfully.
Lorne swallowed his next 'yes, sir' before it came out, though John gave him a wry, amused look that meant he'd heard it anyway, hanging in the air between them. Lorne swept a little of the black sand off the blanket, wondering how he'd gotten into this mess in the first place.
John sat up with his elbows on his knees, watching the roll of the waves and shaking his head. "Shit," he muttered under his breath, eyes narrowed and glittering, intense, hazel-green. The breakers crashed in an passionate cascade of white and blue just beyond him. Dark hair and dark eyelashes, the sand a gunmetal gray.
It was a terrific shot. Although tacitly, Lorne knew he didn't have permission any more. He stole it, feeling like a thief, but if this was the end of the day....
Sheppard turned at the repeating auto-click, open-mouthed, caught in freeze-frames slow enough that Lorne had time to consider if a camera could be shoved up his own ass, and would it affect the memory card? But he figured he could outrun Sheppard anyway. He'd been a quarterback in high school.
He tucked the camera protectively under his arm and launched, leaping the blanket, foot digging into sand as Sheppard sprang up behind him.
Taking to the beach was a tactical error; Lorne knew it right away. He should have dived for the jumper instead. Though he would have had to come back for his CO eventually.
As he hit the firmer wet sand at the waterline, the cuffs of his jeans getting wet, Lorne cast a quick look back over his shoulder. A very naked John was surprisingly far back but gaining, less than fifteen yards behind, wiry arms pumping, a determined look on his face.
Oh, great. John went running with Ronon almost every day. He'd thought it was masochism, but now he wasn't too sure. Lorne put on some more speed. His only hope was to trust to stamina and run him out. It was harder to take the ball than keep it. He tucked the camera tight and jumped a tangle of driftwood. Then dodged around a large jut of rock.
And he'd better stop looking back, because that was slowing him down.
Lorne gained a couple yards with the obstacle course, because John wasn't dumb enough to jump a snag of sharp sticks naked. But when they hit flat sand - straight ahead about a hundred feet away, Lorne glanced up a depressingly steep bluff. He'd run out of beach long before he could wear out John.
Behind him, John put on a confident burst of speed, lower to the ground and gaining fast. His little grim smile was revealing. John had gone jogging earlier. He probably knew the topography all along. The beach was wide here, with the tide running out. Time for John to find out what a quarterback could do, even fifteen years later.
John came within a few feet and Lorne dodged left, grinning as John's swipe at his arm went wide. John lost ground, and Lorne burst ahead, the camera clutched protectively in both hands now. John's speed was fierce, driving to the right side to try to force Lorne out of bounds -- into the water. Ooo. Smart.
It forced Lorne to use up some of his advantage to angle higher up the beach, running with his head down. This time John caught his left arm and swung Lorne around. Which was illegal holding, technically. But Lorne used illegal military tripping to break his grip, using his weight to throw John off-balance - and John seized his knees on the way down. Which was completely legal. Lorne's shoulder hit the beach, hard, and he rolled fast, away from Sheppard, who scrambled to get on top before Lorne could get his legs under him.
And Lorne was up! Leaving John in the dust. In Lorne's mind, the crowd cheered.
Sheppard scrambled up behind him, nothing if not a stubborn bastard -- and flung himself into a suicide tackle. Suicide, because if he missed, that'd be it.
Lorne felt the weight hit his hips and his head snap back just before he ate dirt. He had the presence of mind to pull his arm under his chest to protect the camera. A lot of people would have dropped it with a hit that hard.
John pinned his neck to the ground with a forearm and dug for it, panting heavily. And oh, wonderful, he could feel John's balls pressed against his back, as wiry, strong hands tore at the camera that Lorne gripped tighter to his chest. John was laughing in between gasps for breath.
"Let me guess..." He panted, as he viciously tried to pull Lorne's thumb back. "...Quarterback."
Lorne didn't fall for the distraction but tried some of his own. He yanked his thumb loose. "Your coach let you get away with shit like that?" That tackle was stupid. Even if it had worked.
"Not an issue...." John's hand dug into sand, trying to get at the camera from underneath. "I was..." He coughed, and Lorne was glad he'd at least winded John. "...Wide receiver."
Lorne leaned all the weight of his upper body on John's wrist, trapping it, crushing delicate bones. "Figures you'd go for the glory." John swore and pulled his wrist away. "Fuck you, Sheppard, you're not getting my camera," Lorne said with utmost sincerity.
Then Sheppard hauled back, curled his fist tight and did a tendon hit, teeth gritted. Lorne's eyes watered as he felt his hand go numb, but he held on. Still, this was more than just determination. Sheppard was scared, and this was getting out of hand.
"Ah, fuck." Lorne breathed helplessly at the second hit, though he'd pulled his arm deeper out of the way so it wasn't in the exact same place. Still, fuck that hurt. Sheppard was obviously prepared to break his arm if need be. "Okay, truce! Truce!" Lorne announced.
"Like hell," Sheppard growled, trying to take advantage of the moment to dig the camera away. Thank god he hadn't showed Sheppard where the memory card was, because he could easily pull it out at this angle.
"I'll cut you a deal! I'll make a deal!" Lorne said, rolling his head with pain.
"Talk," Sheppard said, leaning back a little to sit on Lorne's back.
Lorne could basically feel the butt print and rolled his eyes, feeling like the Xerox machine at the office Christmas party. He clutched the camera tighter, because he didn't trust John not to use the flag of truce to get what he wanted. "I'll give you copies of everything."
"Yeah, right." The words came out on a laugh and Sheppard leaned forward. "I'll give you copies of every piece of that thing." He paused and added in a very sweet, sarcastic tone, "And I'll even buy you a new one."
"No, wait!" Lorne said. "You can be the photographer."
He'd considered that before, actually, as a means to relax Sheppard. Early on, when he'd had no idea John might find photographing him more distracting than anything else.
Sheppard paused, considering the offer. Lorne twisted his neck around and watched Sheppard's eyes narrow suspiciously. But he had to see it solved his main problem without destroying beautiful work. If Sheppard went down because of those photos, Lorne would go down with him.
"I get copies of everything?" John asked.
"Yeah."
"The jeans come off?"
Lorne winced. He was going to be his commanding officer's soft core porn collection. "Sure."
"And...?" Sheppard raised his eyebrows with growing humor.
"Oh man...."
"Say it, or that camera's going down." Sheppard's voice was firm.
"Yes."
The colonel got up off of him, but Lorne didn't move, clutching the equipment tighter. His eyes slanted to the side. "I've got your word you won't destroy my camera - or the photos - at the earliest possible opportunity?"
"Yes," came the impatient answer.
"Or at any other time?" Lorne added, protectively curled around the camera.
"I'm not going to wriggle out of it, okay?" John said in disgust. "You've got my word."
John held out his hand, and Lorne accepted the help to his feet. He brushed dark sand off damp jeans, cringing at a twinge in his wrist.
"You practically broke my arm," Lorne grumbled, shaking it out, mouthing a curse. He frowned as he tried to figure out if he had a sprain or just a deep bruise.
They started the long walk back up the beach, retracing two sets of wide-spaced prints. There was a deeper gash where Sheppard had apparently fallen. It must have been Sheppard, since Lorne hadn't.
"I was going to," Sheppard assured him. "Oh, um. By the way." He put a finger to his lips and paused. "The puddlejumper's locked against you. You'll need a password to get on board."
Ah. Lorne had wondered why John had been so far behind in the first place.
"You should have gone for the jumper, Major," Sheppard patted his shoulder, with a tight, smug smile. The no-touching rule was apparently off the table. "I'll expect better tactical decisions from you in the future."
"Yes, sir."
~*~*~
If Lorne had thought about it for ten seconds, he could have predicted John would give him a hard time. The bright salacious smile he didn't even try to hide as Lorne pulled down his jeans. The little comments, "Yeah, yeah...that's good," as he stripped them off. Then the dirty snicker as Lorne went to pull down his underwear. Lorne rolled his eyes and stopped.
"Hey, don't freak out on me," John joked. "Turn around and give me the back view." He made a spinning gesture with one finger.
Getting naked wasn't a problem. Okay, it wasn't much of a problem. Evan had done some modeling as an undergrad. But the micro-managing, on the other hand, was starting to get on his nerves.
"Oh! Lean back against the jumper over there." John pointed.
"And get second degree burns on my ass? Nah, I don't think so," Lorne said. "You know, the pictures will come out better if you let it be natural. People aren't poseable dolls."
"Uh-huh," John said from behind the camera. "Given that we'll be lucky if I don't have a thumb print on every single one of these, I don't think it matters. Now give us some skin," John ordered with a bright smile, cocking the camera at a ridiculous diagonal.
"I went easy on you," Lorne reminded him.
"That's because you were busy leading me on." Sheppard snapped several more photos.
He hadn't been... Lorne froze, examining his actions, and words, with growing concern. Up until today he was fine, he'd been clean and up front with Sheppard. But once it meant getting John in front of the camera he couldn't say the same, although he'd thought of it as "managing the talent" at the time. Which you did on a photo shoot. You flirted -- or in John's case let him flirt -- if it got you the picture. Lorne swallowed. But John wasn't a paid model.
"Lorne -- I should call you Evan now, shouldn't I? -- Evan, with that expression, you look like you're taking a shit." John took the photo anyway.
"Oh, these pictures are going to be great," Lorne said sarcastically.
"Well. Naked is always good."
A little pissed at himself, Lorne obliged, stepping out of his underwear as he said, "At least let me show you how to take decent pictures."
"Oh fuck...." Sheppard said, and the camera fell silent.
Lorne looked up, startled.
John had dropped to the ground, but not before Lorne saw. Holy fuck. John really was into guys. Which he already knew, and it should've hit home earlier -- certainly earlier today -- but it was different seeing the hard evidence, pun intended, when it was specifically due to him getting naked.
"You are really good-looking," John said in a shuddery, shaky voice. He gestured with his thumb over his shoulder. "I, uh, gotta take care of something first before we can go any further."
"What?" The words were out of Lorne's mouth before he thought it through, and he mentally slapped his face at the dumbest question ever.
The dismal look John gave him was the only answer that one deserved. John wrapped the white towel around his waist, forcefully, as if frustrated with himself, then stood and started to leave.
Evan didn't say a word, didn't mean to ask, but his chin raised a pleading inch as John started to walk away. The thought had just skittered across Evan's mind, just for an instant, but John read it telegraphed in the gesture. He paused a breath. Then inclined his head for Evan to follow.
Evan scooped up the camera up from the beach blanket on the way.
~*~*~
The space between the jumper and the sand dune was cut off from the wind on three sides, the air still and hot.
The lighting was harsh, interesting, the bright noon sun reflecting metallic gold from the jumper on John's shiny-slick skin, while dark sweat beaded on his upper lip and temples, staining his hair black where it dripped behind his ears.
He hoped John wouldn't be disappointed that he wasn't pointing the camera at his dick, where John was stroking hard and fast, speeding up, then slowing as he glanced up at Lorne, eyes flickering. He dropped his head back, working himself again. Lorne had never seen a guy's face look like that before, with head tipped back, mouth sultry soft, his eyes closed. Sometimes John bit his lip and he gasped.
Evan let John see that this got him hard. No doubt. It was weird to have that reaction to a guy, but he didn't think anyone would hold it against him, under the circumstances. This was intense. He thought John should get something out of this besides just pictures anyway.
Lorne wondered, turning the camera to get the jumper out of the frame: Was this how he looked when he did this?
He had to look away when John was done, ducking his head and blinking.
John leaned up, languid now, his elbow leaned on his knee. He'd cleaned himself off, Lorne noticed, and he was suddenly grateful he'd taken that photo a moment ago, come on a sweat sheened body, chest rising and falling, John's arm draped over his eyes -- though who knew why, except that the shot would have been gone for good. Sometimes a man's body was as beautiful as a machine.
John's gaze swept to where Evan was still hard. He asked, eyes squinting against the sun, "You want some help with that?"
"Um. No." Lorne stepped back hurriedly, but his dick jerked at the suggestion.
John's smile warmed with amusement. "I'm getting a few mixed messages here," he teased in a still hoarse voice.
Lorne swallowed, cringing, and very emphatically thought about blueprints of engine schematics, soothing engine schematics, until he'd calmed himself down. When he opened his eyes, John's smirk said that he had a good idea just how he'd handled that problem.
The waves had grown quieter, maybe from a lull in the afternoon air currents or else the tide running out. Overhead bright red sea birds dodged each other against a cloudless, flawless blue sky. Lorne started to notice that it was blazing hot behind the jumper, a tickle of sweat sliding down the back of his neck.
"Lunch?" John suggested brightly, eyebrows raised.
Of course he was hungry. Lorne smiled, snickering at him as he shook his head. "Yeah."
~*~*~
They had a pretty spaced-out lunch where he and Sheppard didn't say much. Just watching the sky and the water. Sheppard unlocked the jumper and handed out sandwiches, settling in the sand with a sigh, his legs sprawled out.
"Ham or turkey?"
"No preference." Lorne shrugged.
"Turkey then, because I'm feeling generous."
Finishing first, Lorne dusted crumbs off his hands, noticing his thighs were pasty white. He palmed the camera and slipped quietly into the jumper. The window faced the ocean, the sound of waves soothing and hushed from inside.
With a soft click, Lorne gently, almost reverently, removed the memory card, handling it with deft fingers by its edges. He knelt and tucked it into a protected pocket deep within his pack. He pulled out another card and snapped it into place like an extra clip.
It wasn't like he didn't trust John. He did. It's just that Lorne didn't like to take unnecessary chances.
The Marines on his team constantly teased him about the "arsenal" of extra ammo he carried. But from them it was a sign of respect. Lorne couldn't think of a time in recent memory that he'd run out, either.
A move behind him startled Lorne. Sheppard was there, an arm leaned against the door of the jumper.
"Thought you'd come for this," Sheppard said, dipping down with one arm still draped on the door. He held up a football, spinning it expertly in his hands. Well, a Nerf ball, but who was complaining? Lorne grinned, setting the camera down.
He directed John to go long with a sweeping gesture, falling easily into the role of the game as they lengthened the distance between them. The quarterback was the boss, and John's speed made him pretty capable in the field, able to get into position for anything, scrambling through sand after the ball when he missed. Lorne threw a couple wide, just to make John work for it. For which he got suitably punished as John punted it back, the football flipping end over end. Lorne had to dive after it, laughing as he jumped into freezing cold waves.
"Oh yeah, that water's real nice," Lorne said sarcastically, dashing out. He snapped the ball back.
"Refreshing!" Sheppard called back, catching it.
"Like hell."
Once they'd covered the beach in footprints, they took a break, digging their toes into the sand and chatting about different Atlantis personnel who might make good players for an intramural team. Just their usual kind of conversation. They were stuck with mostly the Marines since they made up the bulk of the Americans, which led them into a dissection of just how lame soccer was, but that rugby was okay. John showed him where he'd shattered his anklebone playing rugby.
"Four hours of surgery," he said proudly, pointing out the white incision line along the jut of bone.
Not to be outdone, Lorne described the hit he took in high school that was so hard, it knocked him out cold. "Couldn't remember the entire game," Lorne said, swiping at his mouth and ducking his head. "Which was too bad because we actually won that one." He hadn't exactly had a winning team.
John tossed the football from one hand to the other. "Yeah. Know how you feel."
~*~*~
Lorne had explained that early evening and dusk was the best time for photography, the shadows more distinct, colors richer from the warmth of the setting sun. It didn't take any convincing to get John to stretch out on the dark sand -- away from the Athosian blanket, thank god -- and continue the conversation in front of the camera, the gold sunlight sculpting muscles as he stretched his hands playfully behind his head with a twitch of his eyebrow and a confident smile. The smooth wash of water on a much broader beach behind him.
Lorne had to shove away uncomfortable thoughts, like how the shot would change and intensify if he touched him. The dark glimmer of John's eyes followed him, intense and steady, looking past the camera as if reading his mind. On the other hand, he was capturing a frank and open sexuality that was a million times better than his shots earlier today.
Some people looked very naked with their clothes off, like their armor had been stripped away. Others seemed to enjoy it, gleeful, like they were free. (McKay had been like that on 9Y7-M4A, past his complaints and hiding behind the sheet, though he'd probably never admit it.)
For Sheppard, being naked seemed to mean only one thing. Or at least that's what the gleam in his narrow eyes seemed to suggest when he pushed himself up from the sand. Lorne couldn't resist the humor of the shot with the dark sand still stuck to his ass. Sheppard stood and stretched, arms overhead, apparently thinking he looked a lot cooler than he did.
"What?" John asked, peering behind his shoulder with an annoyed little pout.
"Nothing," Lorne said. And managed to keep a straight face, too.
John figured it out with a glare. And Evan got several good shots of him playing in the froth at the water's edge, the follow-up look as he washed it off, embarrassed and kind of sweet. He was a little late with that one, the shutter clicking just after John dipped his head. Lorne switched the camera back to auto-shoot, frustrated with his distraction.
The tide had run out enough that the tall stacks of black rock that had been surrounded by water (and probably dangerous tides) now had a shallow run of rocks leading to them. John balanced on these barefoot, arms out as he tipped left then right, jumping several till he reached the base of the stack. He reached for a testing handhold, one foot up in place, eyes sharp.
"You're officially crazy," Lorne said, following him on the slippery, seaweed-covered rocks much more cautiously.
"No. There're plenty of handholds," John said, eyeing the thirty foot stack, sizing it up with a calculating intent stare. Lorne took close-ups of that look; he'd seen it a thousand times in more military contexts. He backed further out on the little rocks for a picture of the full stack, John staring up it from the bottom. Then John started to climb.
"Ah, fuck!" John said, a few hand-holds up, jerking his foot with a sudden jolt.
"You okay?" Lorne asked, lowering the camera. "That rock...."
"...It's sharp, yeah, I'm finding that out. Wish I'd worn shoes. I'll get a band aid back at the jumper later."
Lorne put the camera back to his eye. "Is this where I pretend to be McKay and freak out about infectious organisms in an alien biosphere?" he said dryly.
The warm smile was predictable. John's head dipped in boyish shyness, and Lorne snapped it. Perfect. Always good to know your subject. Lorne wasn't sure about John's feelings for his teammate but the two were definitely tight. He wasn't sure how he felt about that at the moment, but McKay was probably oblivious anyway.
"Yeah, let's skip that part," John said, measuring the distance to the top of the stack with his eyes.
Once at the top, John had the bright idea that Lorne should throw him the Nerf ball.
"No way, man, we'll lose it," Lorne said, shading his eyes as he squinted up at John.
"No! You're good. You'll get it," John assured him, pleading.
"No, I'm thinking that you'll miss," Lorne said. ."
Of course they missed the first time. Lorne had to swim for it, swearing at John as he broke through the waves. The ball bobbed out of reach. John, of course, blamed his aim and laughed at him from the top of the stack, swinging his feet where he sat.
Climbing out of the water, spluttering and cold, Lorne rolled his eyes and slumped when John insisted they do it again.
"No."
"C'mon... chicken. Boc-boc-boc-chicken!" John called down.
Which was the most childish argument Evan had ever heard. It also worked.
"I'm feeling like Charlie Brown, here," Lorne said, lining the ball up. "You miss this time and I'm not going after it." It was a complete and utter lie. No one could afford to lose a Nerf ball in the Pegasus Galaxy.
"You missed. But I have a good feeling about this time," John said with a self-satisfied nod.
It was worth the glorious moment of disbelief when John actually caught it. He held the ball high in the air with a whoop of laughter, as incredulous as Lorne. He almost forgot the camera, but scrambled it back into place to capture John's last victory lap around the top of the stack.
Victory savored, John tossed the ball back. Lorne didn't bother to catch it, just let it hit the dry sand, instead capturing John's excellent throwing form on film. Then John sat on the edge of the stack and looked down, examining the long climb dispiritedly. He winced. "I don't suppose you can bring the jumper up here?"
"I think you can get down the same way you got up," Lorne said, reaching for the football.
"I could make it an order," John suggested hopefully, curling his toes.
"Yeah. I'll just explain that when I tell Dr. Weir how we attempted a dangerous hover operation over sharp rocks because you were too lazy to climb."
John licked his lips and shot him a resentful look as he swung over the edge.
~*~*~
Actually, the water wasn't that bad once you got used to it. He and Sheppard decided to skip dinner in favor of enjoying the last of their day off, the air cooling and the water comparatively warmer as the sun dipped low and hazy on the horizon. He gave up on trying to keep up with Sheppard -- which really wasn't fair, considering he was younger than John by at least two years.
The lee John had swum in that morning had turned into a tidal pool of warm water about four feet deep. Lorne fetched the camera and his military-issue sunglasses, and now stretched his arms out on the rock with a relaxed sigh, head slumped against his shoulder. John slid in next to him, the surface of the water sparkling.
"How about you and I just stay out here? Forget about this whole Wraith problem and build a lean-to right-" He turned and pointed to a protected curve, mid-way up the bluff. "-up there."
"What would we eat?" Lorne murmured, wondering idly how detailed this fantasy was.
"Hunting and gathering," John declared with a haphazard flip of his hand. "It was good enough for our ancestors, it's good enough for me."
It was the dumbest idea ever. But also, "It sounds like paradise, sir," Lorne said. He rubbed his eyes under the sunglasses then pushed them back up, chin tipped to the warm sun in satisfaction. He heard the soft click of the camera. Lorne looked over the rim of the sunglasses and it clicked again.
"I want to keep that one," Sheppard said.
"You get to keep all of them," Lorne reminded him.
He motioned for Sheppard to hand the camera over, and as he took it back, Sheppard borrowed the sunglasses right off his face without asking. Lorne blinked up at him in blank-faced surprise as Sheppard slipped them on with a smirk. Then Lorne remembered the camera, shaking his head, and directed John over to the other side of the tidal pool where he wouldn't be back-lit.
John's motions were tired and slow, arms washing lazily across the surface of the water. It had been a long day, and that's probably why, when Lorne turned the camera to check how it was handling the bright light on the water, he fumbled it into the pool. He snapped it up right away, shaking it off, with a quick guilty look up at Sheppard, who looked absolutely forlorn.
"It's probably waterproof," Lorne explained hastily as he dried it. John's expression changed, eyebrows drawing together, but he still looked perturbed. "It says it is anyway. On the box. I just don't trust that-you're not supposed to submerge these things."
He didn't mention that he wasn't sure about the effects of salt water. Because John just looked so relieved.
"It better be," John said. "Or I'm sending a note of complaint to the manufacturer. And enclosing their very own Wraith."
~*~*~
The sky turning purple and red in the last traces of sunlight, they raced each other back to the jumper. John tagged it just inches before Evan.
John kicked over the last traces of their fire while Lorne gathered their stuff, shaking off the sandy Athosian blanket and throwing it unceremoniously inside. He found a half-empty bottle of sunscreen in the space behind the jumper, with a blink of memory and understanding what that had been for. He stared around the beach bemused at what had changed in just one day.
Inside the half-light of the jumper, they got dressed again, the clothes feeling alien, their civvies looking even weirder than before. They looked shyly away from each other, which just seemed ridiculous to Lorne but he couldn't stop.
Lorne took the helm, beginning the pre-flight check while John stowed the Nerf ball and coffee pot, slamming the compartment door. He settled into the co-pilot's seat, shutting the back of the jumper remotely. They breathed a moment.
"I wanted to kiss you," Sheppard said, staring out the window, not looking at him. "Back at the pool. So badly."
Lorne didn't know how to answer that. "I don't know how I would have reacted," he said with fervent honesty.
"Yeah," Sheppard said with a sigh. "I know."
With a few tapped commands, Lorne took the jumper into the air and hovered, turning as he used scanners to check for anything they might have left.
"Ready?" Lorne asked.
"Yeah," John said.
~*~*~
The jumper glided through the air gently, the sky rapidly turning dark as they flew east, sun seeming to set on fast-forward from their perspective. Officially, they'd be back at 2100 even though it was a one-hour flight and they were leaving at 1800. Lorne flew a little slower than he normally would, and higher too, avoiding any sudden down drafts. Because John had tipped his head back in his chair, arms folded across his chest, and now slumped, fast asleep.
Lorne held it steady, glancing over at him with a soft look, glad that the jumpers were so quiet.
~*~*~
When they docked in Atlantis, John started awake looking confused for a moment as he sniffed and took in his surroundings. His hair was sticking up and flattened on one side from falling asleep with wet hair, his eyes puffy as he rubbed his face. Lorne couldn't quite suppress an affectionate smile.
"You didn't have to fly the whole way," John said once he recognized they were back in Atlantis, stretching.
"Nah. It's all right," Lorne said.
They could have downloaded the pictures that night of course, it was only nine o'clock, but Lorne was feeling a little doped up with sunlight and strangeness and needed some time alone. He wasn't too sure how John was feeling either, but he seemed a little fragile, the way he wasn't letting himself look straight at Lorne and fidgeted with his watchband.
"So, I'll, uh, check the memory cards. But I'm sure they're all right," Lorne said, rubbing the back of his head.
"Yeah, yeah, you do that," John said absently.
"So. Barring any emergencies, I can check them out tomorrow." Lorne said, looking at the ground with a nervous swipe at his lips. He didn't think he could handle it tonight.
"Yeah. That's good," Sheppard agreed with an eloquent sigh.
They said good night and did what could, in all fairness, be called a strategic retreat.
On to part three!