M is for Marked
Title: M is for Marked
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Characters/Pairing: Lorne/Dex/Sheppard
Rating: R
Orientation: Slash
Word Count: 1,073
Prompt: Kink Bingo Fill: “Possession/Marking”
Slashing Lorne Prompt: Lorne/Dex/Sheppard - Stranded on an alien planet where you're either owned or own, in order to keep each other safe the three make a decision to fit in. They eventually realized it's not actually a hardship.
The last thing Sheppard remembered before the crash was Lorne yelling back over his shoulder, telling them to brace for impact. After the crash, Ronon had dragged them all out before the jumper exploded. Doctor Manxson was dead. Ronon had a bunch of broken ribs, Lorne’s arm was broken and he had a nasty gash on the side of his face. Sheppard had hit his head hard enough to really do damage this time, his vision kept going in and out and he was suffering from agonizing headaches.
“This isn’t a good place,” Ronon said as they huddled around the fire. They were all in a quiet mood. Hurt, exhausted and saddened after burying Manxson.
“No. We’ve got no gear to speak of either.” Lorne’s pack that Ronon had thrown out of the jumper before it blew had only contained the barest kit and a change of clothing. They had maybe half a dozen powerbars to share between them. They all had the weapons that they had been wearing during the crash, but there were only two extra clips of ammo between John and Evan.
Nodding, John threw another stick into the fire. Evan shifted in place, wincing as his splinted arm moved. “I saw readings on the overhead, I think there’s a settlement to our east.”
And that was how they ended up hauling their asses across Telmara to the city of Lulp.
Their reception at the gates of Lulp was less than warm. When they could not show proper identification, they were taken into custody. When a strip search revealed that Lorne and Dex each had markings on their bodies, the authorities demanded that Sheppard show their ownership papers.
Catching on quickly that this society was quite black and white on the subject of owners and those they owned, Sheppard had pulled out and dusted off his best snotty rich kid attitude and thrown it back on them, demanding to know why he had to carry papers if his men were already properly marked. There was some discussion because Evan and Ronon’s tattoos were not of the same style and clearly not done by the same hand. Sheppard rolled his eyes and told them that the artist that had done Evan had died and the new one that took his place had marked Ronon. They seemed to buy it.
An officious man in ornate robes came in and sniffed the air in annoyance as the guards explained why he had been called. He looked down his nose at Sheppard, Lorne and Dex. “Well, if they’re his, then they’ll obey his command.” He said snottily to the guards. “Have them service you,” he ordered John.
Service? Oh, damn. Evan wasn’t a problem, they’d been together for years. But Ronon? He looked up at his friend. Ronon rolled his eyes and then shrugged. “You first,” John said figuring if Ronon objected, he’d punch him or otherwise react and get things moving.
Ronon glared over at the magistrate and slid slowly to his knees in front of Sheppard, moving stiffly because of his broken ribs. He undid Sheppard’s belt and fly and pulled him out, seeing to the matter quickly and purposefully. John tried not to move his hips - this wasn’t the time. He didn’t like performing in front of an audience. “Enough. Lorne.” John dropped a hand on top of Ronon’s head and pushed him away then snapped his fingers at Evan. This was about establishing possession and ownership, not about getting off.
“That one is clearly injured, I have seen enough,” the magistrate declared as Lorne put one knee to the floor and grimaced in pain. Their cover story of being attacked and robbed seemed to be holding water.
Annoyed to be shown up by Sheppard’s quick answers and obviously foreign attitude, the magistrate ruled that Lulp would honor the odd markings, but that Ronon and Evan had to be remarked with a sanctioned design recognizable within the city.
They were released, which was good because John’s sight had gone out again and his head was pounding. He leaned heavily on Ronon’s arm as they were taken to a tattoo artist not far from the gatehouse where they had been questioned.
“Colonel?” Evan whispered, leaning close to his ear. “Are you okay?”
“Call me John here, Evan and no, my eyes again.”
Ronon steered him to a seat on a bench and sat beside him. There was a thud in front of him. “Choose from these,” a voice said.
“Evan is senior, he may choose, if Ronon agrees,” John replied, looking away and pretending disinterest.
He heard pages turn. “This one?” Evan asked and Ronon grunted in assent. “This one will do,” Evan declared.
When his vision cleared after a couple of hours, he saw Ronon leaning forward, his hair pulled to one side as the tattoo maker tapped ink under his skin with a tiny hammer and needle. It looked painful. Evan was sitting beside John on the bench, his mark already in place. John leaned back and looked at Evan’s neck. He’d chosen a stylized bird with wings extended upwards. It wasn’t too large, about two inches across, slightly larger vertically. John dropped a hand onto Evan’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze.
“We’ll need work, where can we see about that?” John asked the guardsman that had accompanied them there to see that the magistrate’s orders were carried out.
“There’s a harvest to be brought in, they’re always looking for help. Go see the barkeep at the Two Feathers, he’ll know someone.”
“Sorry about this guys,” John said when they were alone and walking along the road to the tavern. They had to eat while they waited for a rescue that might never come. Fitting in here was their best hope for survival.
Ronon shrugged and Evan said, “Could have been worse, they could have sold us off to strangers.”
“We okay, big guy?” John asked.
“We’re good. What Lorne said.”
Getting information out of Ronon was a trial in patience. Sighing, John asked, “And the whole demonstration thing?”
“Wish you hadn’t stopped me, I’ve wanted to do that for years.”
Evan, damn him, snorted in amusement and a warning glare from John only made him burst into laughter.
“Well then. Okay.” Thankfully they had reached the tavern and they had to suspend the conversation. But John’s mind was churning with the new knowledge he had.
The End Originally posted at http://rinkafic.dreamwidth.org/
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Characters/Pairing: Lorne/Dex/Sheppard
Rating: R
Orientation: Slash
Word Count: 1,073
Prompt: Kink Bingo Fill: “Possession/Marking”
Slashing Lorne Prompt: Lorne/Dex/Sheppard - Stranded on an alien planet where you're either owned or own, in order to keep each other safe the three make a decision to fit in. They eventually realized it's not actually a hardship.
The last thing Sheppard remembered before the crash was Lorne yelling back over his shoulder, telling them to brace for impact. After the crash, Ronon had dragged them all out before the jumper exploded. Doctor Manxson was dead. Ronon had a bunch of broken ribs, Lorne’s arm was broken and he had a nasty gash on the side of his face. Sheppard had hit his head hard enough to really do damage this time, his vision kept going in and out and he was suffering from agonizing headaches.
“This isn’t a good place,” Ronon said as they huddled around the fire. They were all in a quiet mood. Hurt, exhausted and saddened after burying Manxson.
“No. We’ve got no gear to speak of either.” Lorne’s pack that Ronon had thrown out of the jumper before it blew had only contained the barest kit and a change of clothing. They had maybe half a dozen powerbars to share between them. They all had the weapons that they had been wearing during the crash, but there were only two extra clips of ammo between John and Evan.
Nodding, John threw another stick into the fire. Evan shifted in place, wincing as his splinted arm moved. “I saw readings on the overhead, I think there’s a settlement to our east.”
And that was how they ended up hauling their asses across Telmara to the city of Lulp.
Their reception at the gates of Lulp was less than warm. When they could not show proper identification, they were taken into custody. When a strip search revealed that Lorne and Dex each had markings on their bodies, the authorities demanded that Sheppard show their ownership papers.
Catching on quickly that this society was quite black and white on the subject of owners and those they owned, Sheppard had pulled out and dusted off his best snotty rich kid attitude and thrown it back on them, demanding to know why he had to carry papers if his men were already properly marked. There was some discussion because Evan and Ronon’s tattoos were not of the same style and clearly not done by the same hand. Sheppard rolled his eyes and told them that the artist that had done Evan had died and the new one that took his place had marked Ronon. They seemed to buy it.
An officious man in ornate robes came in and sniffed the air in annoyance as the guards explained why he had been called. He looked down his nose at Sheppard, Lorne and Dex. “Well, if they’re his, then they’ll obey his command.” He said snottily to the guards. “Have them service you,” he ordered John.
Service? Oh, damn. Evan wasn’t a problem, they’d been together for years. But Ronon? He looked up at his friend. Ronon rolled his eyes and then shrugged. “You first,” John said figuring if Ronon objected, he’d punch him or otherwise react and get things moving.
Ronon glared over at the magistrate and slid slowly to his knees in front of Sheppard, moving stiffly because of his broken ribs. He undid Sheppard’s belt and fly and pulled him out, seeing to the matter quickly and purposefully. John tried not to move his hips - this wasn’t the time. He didn’t like performing in front of an audience. “Enough. Lorne.” John dropped a hand on top of Ronon’s head and pushed him away then snapped his fingers at Evan. This was about establishing possession and ownership, not about getting off.
“That one is clearly injured, I have seen enough,” the magistrate declared as Lorne put one knee to the floor and grimaced in pain. Their cover story of being attacked and robbed seemed to be holding water.
Annoyed to be shown up by Sheppard’s quick answers and obviously foreign attitude, the magistrate ruled that Lulp would honor the odd markings, but that Ronon and Evan had to be remarked with a sanctioned design recognizable within the city.
They were released, which was good because John’s sight had gone out again and his head was pounding. He leaned heavily on Ronon’s arm as they were taken to a tattoo artist not far from the gatehouse where they had been questioned.
“Colonel?” Evan whispered, leaning close to his ear. “Are you okay?”
“Call me John here, Evan and no, my eyes again.”
Ronon steered him to a seat on a bench and sat beside him. There was a thud in front of him. “Choose from these,” a voice said.
“Evan is senior, he may choose, if Ronon agrees,” John replied, looking away and pretending disinterest.
He heard pages turn. “This one?” Evan asked and Ronon grunted in assent. “This one will do,” Evan declared.
When his vision cleared after a couple of hours, he saw Ronon leaning forward, his hair pulled to one side as the tattoo maker tapped ink under his skin with a tiny hammer and needle. It looked painful. Evan was sitting beside John on the bench, his mark already in place. John leaned back and looked at Evan’s neck. He’d chosen a stylized bird with wings extended upwards. It wasn’t too large, about two inches across, slightly larger vertically. John dropped a hand onto Evan’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze.
“We’ll need work, where can we see about that?” John asked the guardsman that had accompanied them there to see that the magistrate’s orders were carried out.
“There’s a harvest to be brought in, they’re always looking for help. Go see the barkeep at the Two Feathers, he’ll know someone.”
“Sorry about this guys,” John said when they were alone and walking along the road to the tavern. They had to eat while they waited for a rescue that might never come. Fitting in here was their best hope for survival.
Ronon shrugged and Evan said, “Could have been worse, they could have sold us off to strangers.”
“We okay, big guy?” John asked.
“We’re good. What Lorne said.”
Getting information out of Ronon was a trial in patience. Sighing, John asked, “And the whole demonstration thing?”
“Wish you hadn’t stopped me, I’ve wanted to do that for years.”
Evan, damn him, snorted in amusement and a warning glare from John only made him burst into laughter.
“Well then. Okay.” Thankfully they had reached the tavern and they had to suspend the conversation. But John’s mind was churning with the new knowledge he had.
The End Originally posted at http://rinkafic.dreamwidth.org/