SG_rarepairings fic: Last Call, Ronon Dex & Evan Lorne, "tequila", gen, PG-13
Title: Last Call
Author: Vain_Glorious
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Ronon Dex meets tequila.
Word Count: 574
Disclaimer: Not mine
“What in the hell happened here?” Sheppard’s boot was sticking to the floor, which was also apparently covered in some kind of grit. Both things were kind of weird, since in general Atlantis was incredibly almost clinically clean.
It was also kind of weird that his second in command was reporting in while wearing boxers and a ripped black t-shirt. And not so much ‘reporting in’ as swaying dangerously in place, his face flushed and his eyes glazed.
“Major Lorne?” Sheppard prompted.
“Shir,” Lorne said, immediately. “Shir, ssss, ssss, sir.” And if the slurring wasn’t enough, he huffed the unmistakable scent of alcohol directly into Sheppard’s face.
The Apollo had left yesterday. It wasn’t hard to make the connection. Sheppard sighed, and let Lorne stagger to the wall, which he leaned against gratefully.
“What was it, Evan?”
Lorne was just drunk enough to know he wasn’t supposed to tell, and just drunk enough that he was going to tell everything.
“Tequila,” he said, almost sadly. “A lot.”
“Can’t you handle your liquor?” Sheppard asked, since smashing up the practice room wasn’t something Evan had ever done before and Sheppard knew he got shipments of liquor just about every rendezvous. He and Zelenka ran the underground bar, because Zelenka could get the best Vodka. Lorne’s sister-in-law was Mexican and she sent the smoothest tequila John had ever tasted. He would be kind of pissed if it was all gone. Sometimes a multinational mission was awesome, particularly when it came to the diversity of beer.
“Wasn’t me,” Lorne slurred, and then he slid right down the wall. “Ronon,” he moaned.
“Ronon?” He didn’t usually partake, since he thought most Milky Way beverages were gross.
“He really liked it,” Lorne muttered. He touched his torn shirt. “He likes to fight when he’s drunk.”
“He likes to fight when he’s sober,” Sheppard pointed out.
That was when Rodney showed up, repair kit in hand, bitching about the report of massive systems damage in the room.
“What the hell?” He asked, staring at the smashed panels. “What happened here?”
“Ronon plus tequila,” John told him.
“Oh.” Rodney made a face. “Of course he liked liquid cactus. Did he drink it all and then smash the place? What did the room do to him?”
“I only gave him a lil,” Lorne protested. He made a hand gesture that was apparently supposed to indicate how little. “He said he’d fight me for the rest.”
“Brilliant,” Rodney snapped.
Sheppard agreed, although he imagined that Lorne refusing the offer wouldn’t have helped.
“Only fought a lil,” Lorne announced from the floor. “Lost,” he said.
“Oh?” asked Sheppard.
Lorne looked down. “Drinking contest,” he said, making a long story short. “Also lost.”
“So why did Ronon break everything in here?” Rodney demanded, looking angrily around.
Lorne shrugged. “Think he was trying to leave. Couldn’t find the door?”
Sheppard was very proud of himself for keeping a straight face.
“Well, Major, I’m sure you’ve learned your lesson. When you can stand up without puking, it’ll be your job to clean this place up. There’s crap all over the floor.”
“It’s salt,” Rodney said, straightening up from fingering the grainy stuff. “Ahh! And a lime!” He kicked something green across the floor.
Sheppard left him there, harping about unsafe working conditions. He followed the sticky trail of tequila out the door. Ronon shouldn’t be hard to find, especially if any more walls got in his way.
~please feed the author~
Author: Vain_Glorious
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Ronon Dex meets tequila.
Word Count: 574
Disclaimer: Not mine
“What in the hell happened here?” Sheppard’s boot was sticking to the floor, which was also apparently covered in some kind of grit. Both things were kind of weird, since in general Atlantis was incredibly almost clinically clean.
It was also kind of weird that his second in command was reporting in while wearing boxers and a ripped black t-shirt. And not so much ‘reporting in’ as swaying dangerously in place, his face flushed and his eyes glazed.
“Major Lorne?” Sheppard prompted.
“Shir,” Lorne said, immediately. “Shir, ssss, ssss, sir.” And if the slurring wasn’t enough, he huffed the unmistakable scent of alcohol directly into Sheppard’s face.
The Apollo had left yesterday. It wasn’t hard to make the connection. Sheppard sighed, and let Lorne stagger to the wall, which he leaned against gratefully.
“What was it, Evan?”
Lorne was just drunk enough to know he wasn’t supposed to tell, and just drunk enough that he was going to tell everything.
“Tequila,” he said, almost sadly. “A lot.”
“Can’t you handle your liquor?” Sheppard asked, since smashing up the practice room wasn’t something Evan had ever done before and Sheppard knew he got shipments of liquor just about every rendezvous. He and Zelenka ran the underground bar, because Zelenka could get the best Vodka. Lorne’s sister-in-law was Mexican and she sent the smoothest tequila John had ever tasted. He would be kind of pissed if it was all gone. Sometimes a multinational mission was awesome, particularly when it came to the diversity of beer.
“Wasn’t me,” Lorne slurred, and then he slid right down the wall. “Ronon,” he moaned.
“Ronon?” He didn’t usually partake, since he thought most Milky Way beverages were gross.
“He really liked it,” Lorne muttered. He touched his torn shirt. “He likes to fight when he’s drunk.”
“He likes to fight when he’s sober,” Sheppard pointed out.
That was when Rodney showed up, repair kit in hand, bitching about the report of massive systems damage in the room.
“What the hell?” He asked, staring at the smashed panels. “What happened here?”
“Ronon plus tequila,” John told him.
“Oh.” Rodney made a face. “Of course he liked liquid cactus. Did he drink it all and then smash the place? What did the room do to him?”
“I only gave him a lil,” Lorne protested. He made a hand gesture that was apparently supposed to indicate how little. “He said he’d fight me for the rest.”
“Brilliant,” Rodney snapped.
Sheppard agreed, although he imagined that Lorne refusing the offer wouldn’t have helped.
“Only fought a lil,” Lorne announced from the floor. “Lost,” he said.
“Oh?” asked Sheppard.
Lorne looked down. “Drinking contest,” he said, making a long story short. “Also lost.”
“So why did Ronon break everything in here?” Rodney demanded, looking angrily around.
Lorne shrugged. “Think he was trying to leave. Couldn’t find the door?”
Sheppard was very proud of himself for keeping a straight face.
“Well, Major, I’m sure you’ve learned your lesson. When you can stand up without puking, it’ll be your job to clean this place up. There’s crap all over the floor.”
“It’s salt,” Rodney said, straightening up from fingering the grainy stuff. “Ahh! And a lime!” He kicked something green across the floor.
Sheppard left him there, harping about unsafe working conditions. He followed the sticky trail of tequila out the door. Ronon shouldn’t be hard to find, especially if any more walls got in his way.
~please feed the author~