Away From You - Lorne/Parrish - PG
Title: Away From You
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Characters/Pairing: Lorne/Parrish, Stackhouse/Markham
Word Count: 1,849
Rating: PG
Notes: For clwilson2006. I don’t have the words.
Prompt: (At End)
They didn’t have ink or charcoal or crayons, not that it mattered; they wouldn’t give him paper; they said it was a waste of resources on a mere prisoner. Around the fifth day, as he was digging yet another cesspit, he discovered the stuff he started calling ‘super-henna’ in his head. It was an accidental discovery, he’d been sweaty and soaking wet and he hit a layer of the filmy material that was like orange clay, but wetter. He’d been barefoot and up to his ankles in the stuff, and it wouldn’t wash off.
Remembering the henna designs his teammates had come home wearing after a foreign-tour leave once, he’d collected some of the stuff and brought it back to his barracks in a broken cup that had been on the midden heap.
After some experimentation, he’d found a good consistency to be able to use the stuff like ink. He sharpened a stick, but the barracks guard has discovered it and seized it. He was allowed to use a small rock that he found in the compound, after clearing it as non-weapons grade with his captors.
Lacking any other canvas, Evan used what he had; his skin. Since it was a finite space, he had to be judicious in his artistic efforts. The ‘super-henna’ leant itself to more abstract designs than detailed drawing. That suited him fine; he was doing it as a meditation, a way of focusing his mind while at the same time letting it escape and flutter free for duration of the time he was able to paint.
He could only paint during the time they were released from working around the compound, in the down times. There was surprisingly a lot of it. Eventually, his activity drew the attention of the other prisoners. Nathan Stackhouse started sitting beside him keeping him company and standing guard over him, protecting him from molestation by any of the non-human denizens of the camp. Evan was glad of it, he’d gotten a broken nose the second day and several split lips since, from the other prisoners picking fights out of boredom.
He started with dots, which led him to Celtic knotwork. The design on his right calf kept him occupied for three days. Thinking of David, he added a vine. His mind on David, he ended up writing David’s name on his inner thigh in stylized calligraphy.
As he finished the last swoop around the lowercase ‘d’ - there was a tap on his shoulder. He looked up into Stack’s eyes. “That’s cool. Do one for me.” Stackhouse stripped his shirt off and presented Evan with his bared shoulder. Evan had not spoken much since coming here, growing more and more withdrawn. He appreciated the effort Stacks was making to draw him out.
He nodded and shuffled closer to his teammate, stirring the ‘super-henna’ and staring at the living canvas he’d been offered.
“The knots are cool, do that if you want. And write Jason.” Stacks glared at the ugly guy from some planet called Daska that was creeping too close; he was one of the bullies. The guys backed away. He had started allowing the harmless little guy from Huban to sit near Evan; he was fascinated with Evan’s artistry and he was also an extra layer of protection, a barrier on Evan’s other side as he sat near the wall of the barracks.
Without comment, Evan started the dots that would guide him for the lines of the knot. He started with Jason’s name, in a runic print, and then started a circle of knotted lines around it. He was able to finish it before the sun set. Stackhouse smiled and nodded his appreciation, patting Evan’s arm as they climbed to their feet to head to their bunks.
Stackhouse’s back became a new canvas. Evan had always loved calligraphy, and he found himself writing out words that came into his mind. “No light in this darkness without you,” ended up across Stackhouse’s lower back, with a border of stylized candle flames and dots that looked very henna-like when he was done.
His own leg had, “You are my safe refuge,” in flowing script along the outside, again with vines and flowers that he remembered drawing out on various reports for David over the years.
He switched to a tribal-tattoo inspired piece on his left arm, done while Stacks was busy working in the field one day and Evan was left behind to his own devices as part of the second crew that would be sent out the next day. The lines curved and swooped and were dark, like his mood.
The first design he’d done on his leg had not faded yet. He wondered how long it would last. He dotted his stomach with random designs, small little spiral doodles and swoops. Each floral abstract he did reminded him of David, of a day spent in the field with his botanist.
Thank heavens David had been sick with an ear infection and had not come on this mission. Before his radio had been seized, Zelenka had radioed back that he'd made it safely to the Gate and would bring back help. Their captors had dragged them through to a different planet before that help had arrived. He thought of David as he drew a rose of Sharon on Stackhouse’s belly. The sergeant’s giggles as the marking tickling him distracted Evan from what promised to be a bout of melancholy.
Bored one rainy day, Nathan had asked if he could try his hand at painting on Evan’s bare right arm. Evan had shrugged and handed over the rock and the bowl of ‘super-henna.’
Stackhouse didn’t have a bad hand. He’d also obviously been giving the design some thought. He wrote out, “He brings them to mind with a few lines.” He copied some of the simpler swoops, paisleys and swirls that Evan had painted all over each of them. Evan smiled at the result when Nathan finished. When the rain continued the next day, Evan took off his shirt and offered his bare back to Stacks. He wondered what Stacks had written or drawn, since the Sergeant had remained silent and had not offered amy descriptions. Without a mirror or anyone to that could read English, he might never know. But he considered it to be Stackhouse's meditation, and Evan did not let it bother him.
When he had done a similar design to the one on his arms - though with more spirals - on both of Stack’s legs, he eyed his work and chewed his lip one day. His voice was rust from disuse as he grunted, “Running out of room.”
“You are not drawing on my ass, Major.”
Evan snorted and shook his head. The little Hubani guy, Pilst, touched his fingertips to Evan’s thigh and looked up at him with pleading eyes. “Please, write words for me.” He extended his pale yellow forearm.
Tilting his head, Evan thought about it and then nodded. “Moora, my mate, the sun in my winter, please, for her.”
Suns were easy, Evan dis a setting sun with very middle-eastern looking rays emanating out. He wrote out “Moora” in a print that was barely legible as letters unless you looked closely, figuring the guy couldn’t read English anyway, and Evan surely spelled the name wrong since he spelled it out phonetically in his head. He wrote in a curving line over the sun, “Comfort to Pilst in the deep winter.”
The little man was thrilled, circling the design and looking on it with wonder. The sight of it sent Evan to his bunk with a smile on his face.
Their rescue was a surprise. One minute, Evan was on his bunk in the barracks, the next he was laying beside Nate on the cold deck of the Daedalus. “We’ve got them!” The transporter tech called into his radio.
~*~
Evan was cold. He’d been cold since the rescue, after months in the heat of their prison, his body was taking time to readjust to being home. Doctor Beckett had ordered warmed blankets tucked around both Evan and Nathan, and he was huddled gratefully under the covers with only the top of his head sticking out.
“Evan? Are you awake?” David’s voice was quiet and hesitant beside him. A hand fingered his hair, grown out past his shoulders during his captivity. A nurse had promised to come by later and trim it for him, when he wasn’t so chilled and could bear to have his head dampened again.
He dragged the blanket down to his chin and peered up at David. “Hi.”
David sobbed and grabbed his face, raining kisses over his eyes and cheeks. “I missed you. I was so afraid you were lost. I was so scared, Ev!”
“I’m good. I’m okay.” He would be, he and Stacks were both malnourished, and an IV infusion of antibiotics on the Daedalus was knocking out the minor infections they both had. The showers on the ship had been what started both men to shaking with cold.
“I was worried.”
“I missed you,” Evan reached up to touch David’s face, caressing his cheek.
Seizing Evan’s arm, David looked at the words Stackhouse had painted weeks earlier. With a puzzled expression, he turned Evan’s arm over, looking at the design. He gently put Evan’s arm down and then glanced up as he spotted more markings peeking out of the v-neck of the infirmary scrubs.
He lifted the blanket and peeked at Evan’s other arm and a slow smile spread over his lips as he figured out what must have happened. David knew him so well. “They wouldn’t give you paper, would they?”
“Nope.”
“Is this henna?”
“Close enough, it’s a clay mix, like ‘super-henna,’” he gave a shrug and a sheepish smile, and then started coughing. David rubbed his back through the blankets, concerned. Waving off David's concern, Evan tugged the blankets back up as he started shivering again.
“He did me too,” Stackhouse called from where he was curled on his side on the bed next to Evan’s. He stuck an arm out in illustration. David moved over and stroked his fingers over the Celtic swirls and knots, so obviously Evan’s work.
“I look forward to seeing the rest. Promise you’ll come and show me.” David carefully placed Nathan’s arm back under the blanket. Stacks nodded and tucked his hand under his chin and closed his eyes. By the time Markham ran into the infirmary, his eyes wild with excitement, Stackhouse was sound asleep and Evan was quickly following him, unable to keep his eyes open anymore.
David pulled a chair up beside his and patted the seat for Jason. “Sit with me?” Disappointed to find Nathan asleep, Jason dropped into the chair and had to content himself with staring at his partner.
Resting his chin on his hand, David pondered the words that Nathan must have written on Evan. “He brings them to mind with a few lines.”
He shouldn't have doubted. He’d been with Evan all along, after all.
Prompt: For Kinkbingo Fill: "Writing on the Body"
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Characters/Pairing: Lorne/Parrish, Stackhouse/Markham
Word Count: 1,849
Rating: PG
Notes: For clwilson2006. I don’t have the words.
Prompt: (At End)
They didn’t have ink or charcoal or crayons, not that it mattered; they wouldn’t give him paper; they said it was a waste of resources on a mere prisoner. Around the fifth day, as he was digging yet another cesspit, he discovered the stuff he started calling ‘super-henna’ in his head. It was an accidental discovery, he’d been sweaty and soaking wet and he hit a layer of the filmy material that was like orange clay, but wetter. He’d been barefoot and up to his ankles in the stuff, and it wouldn’t wash off.
Remembering the henna designs his teammates had come home wearing after a foreign-tour leave once, he’d collected some of the stuff and brought it back to his barracks in a broken cup that had been on the midden heap.
After some experimentation, he’d found a good consistency to be able to use the stuff like ink. He sharpened a stick, but the barracks guard has discovered it and seized it. He was allowed to use a small rock that he found in the compound, after clearing it as non-weapons grade with his captors.
Lacking any other canvas, Evan used what he had; his skin. Since it was a finite space, he had to be judicious in his artistic efforts. The ‘super-henna’ leant itself to more abstract designs than detailed drawing. That suited him fine; he was doing it as a meditation, a way of focusing his mind while at the same time letting it escape and flutter free for duration of the time he was able to paint.
He could only paint during the time they were released from working around the compound, in the down times. There was surprisingly a lot of it. Eventually, his activity drew the attention of the other prisoners. Nathan Stackhouse started sitting beside him keeping him company and standing guard over him, protecting him from molestation by any of the non-human denizens of the camp. Evan was glad of it, he’d gotten a broken nose the second day and several split lips since, from the other prisoners picking fights out of boredom.
He started with dots, which led him to Celtic knotwork. The design on his right calf kept him occupied for three days. Thinking of David, he added a vine. His mind on David, he ended up writing David’s name on his inner thigh in stylized calligraphy.
As he finished the last swoop around the lowercase ‘d’ - there was a tap on his shoulder. He looked up into Stack’s eyes. “That’s cool. Do one for me.” Stackhouse stripped his shirt off and presented Evan with his bared shoulder. Evan had not spoken much since coming here, growing more and more withdrawn. He appreciated the effort Stacks was making to draw him out.
He nodded and shuffled closer to his teammate, stirring the ‘super-henna’ and staring at the living canvas he’d been offered.
“The knots are cool, do that if you want. And write Jason.” Stacks glared at the ugly guy from some planet called Daska that was creeping too close; he was one of the bullies. The guys backed away. He had started allowing the harmless little guy from Huban to sit near Evan; he was fascinated with Evan’s artistry and he was also an extra layer of protection, a barrier on Evan’s other side as he sat near the wall of the barracks.
Without comment, Evan started the dots that would guide him for the lines of the knot. He started with Jason’s name, in a runic print, and then started a circle of knotted lines around it. He was able to finish it before the sun set. Stackhouse smiled and nodded his appreciation, patting Evan’s arm as they climbed to their feet to head to their bunks.
Stackhouse’s back became a new canvas. Evan had always loved calligraphy, and he found himself writing out words that came into his mind. “No light in this darkness without you,” ended up across Stackhouse’s lower back, with a border of stylized candle flames and dots that looked very henna-like when he was done.
His own leg had, “You are my safe refuge,” in flowing script along the outside, again with vines and flowers that he remembered drawing out on various reports for David over the years.
He switched to a tribal-tattoo inspired piece on his left arm, done while Stacks was busy working in the field one day and Evan was left behind to his own devices as part of the second crew that would be sent out the next day. The lines curved and swooped and were dark, like his mood.
The first design he’d done on his leg had not faded yet. He wondered how long it would last. He dotted his stomach with random designs, small little spiral doodles and swoops. Each floral abstract he did reminded him of David, of a day spent in the field with his botanist.
Thank heavens David had been sick with an ear infection and had not come on this mission. Before his radio had been seized, Zelenka had radioed back that he'd made it safely to the Gate and would bring back help. Their captors had dragged them through to a different planet before that help had arrived. He thought of David as he drew a rose of Sharon on Stackhouse’s belly. The sergeant’s giggles as the marking tickling him distracted Evan from what promised to be a bout of melancholy.
Bored one rainy day, Nathan had asked if he could try his hand at painting on Evan’s bare right arm. Evan had shrugged and handed over the rock and the bowl of ‘super-henna.’
Stackhouse didn’t have a bad hand. He’d also obviously been giving the design some thought. He wrote out, “He brings them to mind with a few lines.” He copied some of the simpler swoops, paisleys and swirls that Evan had painted all over each of them. Evan smiled at the result when Nathan finished. When the rain continued the next day, Evan took off his shirt and offered his bare back to Stacks. He wondered what Stacks had written or drawn, since the Sergeant had remained silent and had not offered amy descriptions. Without a mirror or anyone to that could read English, he might never know. But he considered it to be Stackhouse's meditation, and Evan did not let it bother him.
When he had done a similar design to the one on his arms - though with more spirals - on both of Stack’s legs, he eyed his work and chewed his lip one day. His voice was rust from disuse as he grunted, “Running out of room.”
“You are not drawing on my ass, Major.”
Evan snorted and shook his head. The little Hubani guy, Pilst, touched his fingertips to Evan’s thigh and looked up at him with pleading eyes. “Please, write words for me.” He extended his pale yellow forearm.
Tilting his head, Evan thought about it and then nodded. “Moora, my mate, the sun in my winter, please, for her.”
Suns were easy, Evan dis a setting sun with very middle-eastern looking rays emanating out. He wrote out “Moora” in a print that was barely legible as letters unless you looked closely, figuring the guy couldn’t read English anyway, and Evan surely spelled the name wrong since he spelled it out phonetically in his head. He wrote in a curving line over the sun, “Comfort to Pilst in the deep winter.”
The little man was thrilled, circling the design and looking on it with wonder. The sight of it sent Evan to his bunk with a smile on his face.
Their rescue was a surprise. One minute, Evan was on his bunk in the barracks, the next he was laying beside Nate on the cold deck of the Daedalus. “We’ve got them!” The transporter tech called into his radio.
~*~
Evan was cold. He’d been cold since the rescue, after months in the heat of their prison, his body was taking time to readjust to being home. Doctor Beckett had ordered warmed blankets tucked around both Evan and Nathan, and he was huddled gratefully under the covers with only the top of his head sticking out.
“Evan? Are you awake?” David’s voice was quiet and hesitant beside him. A hand fingered his hair, grown out past his shoulders during his captivity. A nurse had promised to come by later and trim it for him, when he wasn’t so chilled and could bear to have his head dampened again.
He dragged the blanket down to his chin and peered up at David. “Hi.”
David sobbed and grabbed his face, raining kisses over his eyes and cheeks. “I missed you. I was so afraid you were lost. I was so scared, Ev!”
“I’m good. I’m okay.” He would be, he and Stacks were both malnourished, and an IV infusion of antibiotics on the Daedalus was knocking out the minor infections they both had. The showers on the ship had been what started both men to shaking with cold.
“I was worried.”
“I missed you,” Evan reached up to touch David’s face, caressing his cheek.
Seizing Evan’s arm, David looked at the words Stackhouse had painted weeks earlier. With a puzzled expression, he turned Evan’s arm over, looking at the design. He gently put Evan’s arm down and then glanced up as he spotted more markings peeking out of the v-neck of the infirmary scrubs.
He lifted the blanket and peeked at Evan’s other arm and a slow smile spread over his lips as he figured out what must have happened. David knew him so well. “They wouldn’t give you paper, would they?”
“Nope.”
“Is this henna?”
“Close enough, it’s a clay mix, like ‘super-henna,’” he gave a shrug and a sheepish smile, and then started coughing. David rubbed his back through the blankets, concerned. Waving off David's concern, Evan tugged the blankets back up as he started shivering again.
“He did me too,” Stackhouse called from where he was curled on his side on the bed next to Evan’s. He stuck an arm out in illustration. David moved over and stroked his fingers over the Celtic swirls and knots, so obviously Evan’s work.
“I look forward to seeing the rest. Promise you’ll come and show me.” David carefully placed Nathan’s arm back under the blanket. Stacks nodded and tucked his hand under his chin and closed his eyes. By the time Markham ran into the infirmary, his eyes wild with excitement, Stackhouse was sound asleep and Evan was quickly following him, unable to keep his eyes open anymore.
David pulled a chair up beside his and patted the seat for Jason. “Sit with me?” Disappointed to find Nathan asleep, Jason dropped into the chair and had to content himself with staring at his partner.
Resting his chin on his hand, David pondered the words that Nathan must have written on Evan. “He brings them to mind with a few lines.”
He shouldn't have doubted. He’d been with Evan all along, after all.
Prompt: For Kinkbingo Fill: "Writing on the Body"