Kylie Lee | Slash fan fiction

You left when I told you I was curious,
I never said that I was brave.

—Leonard Cohen, So Long Marianne

He stands at the door, ready to knock, and he thinks, Earth.

How strange to be home, how odd the thickness of the air seems, how wrong it all feels. His painter's eye dislikes the quality of the sun. Too blue? Too yellow? Too something.

He raises up his hand, makes a fist. He raises his hand, and he needs to do it. He will regret it for the rest of his life if he doesn't do it. If he couldn't do it there, he can do it here, the world all possibility once more, just like this moment is possibility.

He raises his hand.

And.

---

"Oh, hey, Major," Sheppard said as Lorne turned a corner. His voice was lazy. "Back from PX-whatever?"

Lorne stopped; the rest of his team walked around him with brief nods in Sheppard's direction. "PX4-389," Lorne said automatically, because his heart had started racing. Shit, he thought. Shit. He didn't need this now—and thank god his team was going on without him, because Sheppard and Lorne had had conversations just like this a few times now, and it wasn't pretty. He strove for casual, aware of the eyes on them as they paused in the corridor at the SGC. "Just got back." He indicated a direction with his head. "Just stopping by to visit the doctors. You know how they like to take samples whenever we get back."

"I know. So invasive," Sheppard agreed. "You enjoying being back on SG-11?"

"Sure," Lorne said cautiously, because apparently they were going to have a conversation where they would pretend that everything was normal. "How about you? How's your team?"

"What team?" Sheppard shrugged. Lorne thought he could see wariness. He wasn't sure what he wanted to see there. Or, no, he knew exactly what he wanted to see there: happiness, good humor, something other than let's pretend we're colleagues. Because of course they were colleagues. "I'm going through guys like crazy. Gals too," Sheppard added as an afterthought. "I could request you." Sheppard paused, clearly struck by the idea. "Your legendary curiosity ought to endear you to my latest acquisition—some archaeologist who thinks she's had field training." He slightly emphasized the word curiosity.

Lorne froze. So much for a normal conversation. Wasn't going to happen. He knew Sheppard hadn't forgotten, but it also seemed that he hadn't forgiven.

"Thanks for thinking of me, but SG-11 is where I belong," Lorne managed, even though his team was all new: one dead, one promoted, one injured and off duty for a couple months. And then there was him, just back from Atlantis, where he had led his own team. He'd been busted down to simple team member, but he was fine with it. Fine. Just like he was fine with Sheppard's baiting.

"Yeah, I figured," Sheppard said. He turned, ready to resume his trip down the SGC's corridor. "I've got a meeting with Landry," he called over his shoulder. "Nice running into you." Only Lorne could hear the irony in those words. To anyone else, two colleagues had chatted for a minute in a corridor. Nothing to see here; move along. "Say hi to that new doc for me. She owes me a Jell-O. Tell her I haven't forgotten."

"Will do," Lorne said, but of course Sheppard couldn't see him, because he'd rounded the corner.

That had gone surprisingly well.

He should transfer to ship duty. The Daedalus looked good.

Or he should stay, and risk running into Sheppard. They were home, and everything was different.

He squared his shoulders and headed for the infirmary. He felt hot and flushed, like he had a fever.

---

It could take an eternity for his knuckles to hit the door. The strangeness he feels, the dissociation, only intensifies.

It would go half the distance, then half that distance, and half again, and again, and again, and he'd never quite touch the door. It would recede endlessly.

Paradox.

Of course his fist hits the door, shattering the halves. Of course sound reverberates. One knock, the start of something, because two knocks become a pattern, and with three, pattern becomes demand.

Half the distance, and half of the half. Halve that, and halve it again, let it diminish with motion, and his fist does it again.

Lorne knocks.

---

"Oh fuck," Sheppard said in a voice Lorne had never heard before. He'd heard "oh fuck" to mean "man, that's a lot of guys, and look! they are remarkably well armed." He'd heard "oh fuck" to mean "do not even go there with me right now." And he'd heard "oh fuck" to mean "I forgot that incredibly important thing, and Elizabeth Weir is going to have my head." He hadn't heard "oh fuck" to mean "yes," and "don't stop," and "you, please, you."

Sheppard grabbed his head, and Lorne opened his mouth against Sheppard's, inviting him in. Lorne was trying not to think too much about all this, because thinking when Sheppard was passionately kissing him was really not possible. Pressure, and teeth, and tongue, and all of it hard. Lorne backed Sheppard up against a tree and pressed him against it, holding him there with his body, so he could feel every move Sheppard made—so he could feel the heat in Sheppard's groin. When he rubbed low, ghosting over the hardness there, not daring to do more, Sheppard made a desperate noise into his mouth. When he cupped Sheppard's buttock, Sheppard raised the leg and curled it around him, nice and low, bringing him in close. It was like an embrace.

He wasn't sure how they'd gotten here, making out wildly against a tree on some offworld jaunt.

No, that wasn't true. He knew exactly how they'd gotten here.

There'd been that time they'd been sparring while Ronon watched and Sheppard had lain atop him for a few long seconds too many, their eyes locked together. There'd been the hand on the back of his neck for longer than was strictly necessary. It wasn't just Sheppard. Once Lorne had scooted around Sheppard in the supply room. He'd dared to put a hand on Sheppard's hip as he murmured, "Excuse me," then slid his groin against Sheppard's buttocks, a little too slow, a lot too close, as he'd maneuvered past, all while Sheppard had talked to McKay about something they needed to fix, and Sheppard had turned to look at him, and Lorne knew, and he smiled.

Things like that.

They meant that it really shouldn't have been a surprise, what he'd finally dared to do. Lorne had encountered Sheppard at night, both off to visit friendly trees while the rest of the small camp slept, Athosians and expedition members segregated by tent. They'd walked together away from the camp until Sheppard stepped in a hole and lost his footing. Lorne had caught him. Eye to eye, face to face. Suddenly Lorne was breathing hard, and Sheppard sounded like he'd been in a footrace. Lorne hadn't thought about it. He'd reached out, because he'd wanted it forever, and Sheppard hadn't pulled away.

"Oh, god," Lorne moaned as Sheppard's hands wormed under his shirt. They both wore their vests, but open, which made the shirts easy to ruck up. "Okay. Yeah. There." Then there was Sheppard's mouth again, sweet and hot. It was like they'd been engaging in foreplay the whole time they'd known each other, every lingering touch, every held gaze, every slight smile, all meant for the other alone.

Now, here it was, two men who couldn't get close enough to each other. Sheppard stroked Lorne's stomach, then slid his hand around to cup Lorne's shoulder blade, sending waves of warmth through Lorne's body. But mostly it was Sheppard's lips against his, the sharp tug of his teeth, the demanding mouth, wet and wanting.

"Tell me how you want it," Sheppard whispered, trailing his tongue to Lorne's ear, making Lorne shudder.

Lorne shook his head, gasped when Sheppard took his ear into his mouth and sucked. "I don't know," he managed. "I don't—this—not actually—with a guy." He hadn't wanted to admit that. He'd wanted to let it all happen. Sheppard would never know. He hadn't counted on the strength of his own response.

Sheppard pulled back, fingers buried in Lorne's hair. "Okay," he gasped, even though Lorne was pretty sure he hadn't made sense. "Uh—okay." His fingers dropped, ran briefly down Lorne's bared stomach, and reached for Lorne's fly. "Let's try this."

He moved away from the tree, went down on his knees, and Lorne realized what Sheppard intended to do. The excitement that pumped through his veins then wasn't strictly sexual. He'd wanted this almost his whole life, had given it up as a lost cause when he joined the military and made it his career, and now he had a guy on his knees.

"John," he said unsteadily as Sheppard freed his erection. "I haven't—I mean—" When Sheppard put his mouth on him, for a moment, he couldn't speak. Sheppard had taken his voice away, had reduced his existence to the shock of sheer pleasure that went beyond thought. Sheppard's tongue swirled as he started in on Lorne in earnest.

It struck him then: he was standing in the woods with his commanding officer on his knees blowing him. He would explode in pleasure. He would die of it. And then Sheppard would know.

"Stop," his mouth said distinctly, his mouth separate from his body, which had tightened under Sheppard's hands, which had wanted to push and push and push against Sheppard until he buried himself inside and didn't have to think but only needed to feel.

It seemed that he couldn't not think.

"Lorne," Sheppard said, sitting back, and, hands shaking, Lorne pulled up his pants and tucked his glistening penis back in. It hurt because he was so excited. His balls ached, and he knew that if Sheppard's mouth touched him there again, he'd lose control. He'd come immediately.

"I didn't mean for any of this to happen." Lorne buttoned himself back up, fighting for control, not meeting Sheppard's eyes. His voice didn't sound like his own. He'd remember the feel of Sheppard's tongue on his dick for the rest of his life. It wasn't only his body that ached, after all. "I was curious," he admitted. He hadn't known that it would be like this, all-consuming. He hadn't known he could lose himself. "I wanted—I don't know what I wanted."

"Curious," Sheppard said, voice flat. "I kind of thought it was more than curious."

Lorne resisted the urge to speak, because then it would all come out. How could he be surprised that when he let himself go, it would annihilate him? He didn't know what Sheppard was after, but he doubted he wanted to listen to an angsting guy work through his feelings. He would rather not let Sheppard see how much Lorne needed him.

He hadn't known. Such a pathetic defense.

Sheppard stared at him, as if waiting for a response, and then shrugged. "If you're new to this, you probably don't know the drill," he said conversationally. "This never happened."

Lorne gave a half laugh, a humorless bark. Oh yes. This never happened.

Sheppard stood up and tucked in his shirt, then did up his vest, movements slow and deliberate. He turned toward the camp, then stopped, shoulder to shoulder with Lorne, bodies not quite touching. "Don't mess with me that way ever again," Sheppard whispered. "Ever."

Lorne stared straight ahead. His body blazed with heat.

"No," he murmured when he was alone.

---

There it is, his swinging fist, ready to knock, knocking, always already having knocked, frozen in this moment in time, caught between terror and desire, all suspended in this moment.

Curious had never been the right word. He'd never said he was brave. Afraid. That's the right word.

His fist, connecting with a Wraith, the dull thud through his arm when Ronon catches his fist, the shock when Sheppard slaps his fist away.

And his fist descends, incrementally, to knock on a door.

---

"What'd you do to him, Major?" Landry asked mildly as the door shut behind Sheppard.

"Me, sir?" Lorne asked, raising his eyebrows in what he hoped looked like innocence. "Not a thing."

"So I take it you're legendarily curious." Landry had draped his jacket over his chair during their brief meeting, and now he picked it up and gave it a shake.

"Apparently so, sir," Lorne said repressively.

"Curiosity," Landry mused. "Not a bad quality in an SG team member."

"Yes, sir." Lorne, unlike Sheppard, would wait until his superior officer had dismissed him. He would not simply stand up and leave.

Landry pulled his jacket on, looking thoughtful. "It just seemed to me that Colonel Sheppard's problem with turnover might be mitigated by your presence, and you're a friendly face from the Atlantis expedition." He buttoned next, but his eyes never left Lorne's face as Lorne stood quietly. "And it has not escaped my attention that SG-11's personnel has completely turned over since your tenure there. Not really your team anymore."

"No, sir."

Landry sighed. "I was not aware you'd discussed it informally."

"I thought my place was on my assigned team, sir." Lorne could play it by the book. He'd been doing it for years now. See where messing with chain of command had gotten him? Well, it had gotten him here, being dressed down by someone very important.

"Well. A great idea shot down. I can't say I didn't try." Landry held up a hand. "And don't say 'yes, sir.'"

"No, sir," Lorne agreed, and Landry winced as he adjusted his cuffs.

"A bit of advice, Major?"

Landry paused expectantly, but Lorne did not fill it in. Instead, he did his best to look politely interested.

Landry continued, "Whatever you and the colonel have between you? Please resolve it. It would make life a lot easier on me. You may be unaware of this, but he's scheduling around your team's arrival dates."

"I was indeed unaware of that, sir," Lorne said truthfully. "Just a minor misunderstanding on an offworld mission a couple months ago."

"Apparently not so minor. You may be over it, but he's not." Landry turned to the door, set his hand on the handle. "Take him out, buy him a beer, work it out. Clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good."

Lorne stared at the door as it gently swung shut after Landry's retreating back, turned to face the empty conference room.

He wasn't over it. But then again, neither was Sheppard.

He smiled, because he understood now. He'd been wrong about Sheppard. It went beyond the little verbal digs. If Sheppard was altering his team's schedule to avoid Lorne, then suddenly, the possibilities were endless.

---

Suspended between knocks, remembering, he thinks of sound slowed to flat infinity, a ribbon so featureless that it sounds like silence. In this moment, everything has fled: he doesn't breathe, his heart does not beat, his blood does not pump.

Possibility roars around him, diving into the interstices left by the vacuum of sound. Anything could happen in that moment: Lorne could turn and leave. He could be struck down by a meteorite. Hell could freeze over.

Sheppard could open the door.

Lorne could say, "I was curious. I'm sorry." He could say, "I wasn't brave enough to lose myself in you, because what we were doing wasn't what I wanted. It was you I wanted, and you didn't know that."

He could say nothing but speak to Sheppard with his body. He could let Sheppard see. Body and pleasure and self and explosion, all of it, and with it, forgiveness. That's what he wants. Curiosity, bravery. He has them now, because he has the knowledge that Sheppard feels...something. He wants to know what.

He looks at his raised hand, suspended midknock.

And.