Ficlet!
Ficlet for those playing mafia in stargateland. Anyone can read it, but it probably won't make sense if you're not in the game. :)
((And for those of you in mafia - I've no idea if Lorne is evil or not. For the purposes of my 250 words, he isn't, but I have no idea, actually.))
“This is nice.”
It’s been a tough day, Evan thinks as he relaxes into the soft blankets. All of this Goa’uld shit is insane. It’s making it hard enough to trust anyone - everyone - but at least he can trust that he’s still him, and that David’s still David.
Probably.
But for now, at least, David’s being David, and they’re safe and warm in Momma Mitchell’s barn with some of that Athosian not-weed and two half-eaten pies - one pumpkin, one apple, both amazing - and blankets to spread in the hay.
“Yeah,” David agrees, smiling a big, lazy smile as he flicks Evan’s lighter on and off. It’s mesmerizing, the play of light on David’s face, the way he looks right now, so completely at ease, naked and sprawled across a green blanket.
“So,” Evan grins, nabbing a forkful of pie and holding it up for David, who takes the bite from the fork with his teeth. “How was your day?”
“Trying to prove I’m not a Goa’uld, trying to prove you’re not a Goa’uld, you know how it goes,” David says, trying to play the whole thing off. Like it hasn’t been bothering him, like it doesn’t bother him that either one of them could wake up dead, or get lynched by the mob.
“Don’t think about it,” Evan suggests, making his way to David’s side.
David just raises an eyebrow. “Got a plan for distracting me?” he asks.
“I could probably come up with something.” Evan grins, leaning in to taste David’s mouth, sweet and spiced and entirely David. “Interested?”
David smirks back at him. “Oh, yeah.”
((And for those of you in mafia - I've no idea if Lorne is evil or not. For the purposes of my 250 words, he isn't, but I have no idea, actually.))
“This is nice.”
It’s been a tough day, Evan thinks as he relaxes into the soft blankets. All of this Goa’uld shit is insane. It’s making it hard enough to trust anyone - everyone - but at least he can trust that he’s still him, and that David’s still David.
Probably.
But for now, at least, David’s being David, and they’re safe and warm in Momma Mitchell’s barn with some of that Athosian not-weed and two half-eaten pies - one pumpkin, one apple, both amazing - and blankets to spread in the hay.
“Yeah,” David agrees, smiling a big, lazy smile as he flicks Evan’s lighter on and off. It’s mesmerizing, the play of light on David’s face, the way he looks right now, so completely at ease, naked and sprawled across a green blanket.
“So,” Evan grins, nabbing a forkful of pie and holding it up for David, who takes the bite from the fork with his teeth. “How was your day?”
“Trying to prove I’m not a Goa’uld, trying to prove you’re not a Goa’uld, you know how it goes,” David says, trying to play the whole thing off. Like it hasn’t been bothering him, like it doesn’t bother him that either one of them could wake up dead, or get lynched by the mob.
“Don’t think about it,” Evan suggests, making his way to David’s side.
David just raises an eyebrow. “Got a plan for distracting me?” he asks.
“I could probably come up with something.” Evan grins, leaning in to taste David’s mouth, sweet and spiced and entirely David. “Interested?”
David smirks back at him. “Oh, yeah.”