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imagechild.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
slashing_lorne2006-07-26 03:08 pm
imagechild.livejournal.com) wrote in slashing_lorne2006-07-26 03:08 pm
Entry tags:
Kavanagh/Lorne fic and icons.
My entry for the fansquee bodypart challenge. I applied over at ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
shusu's and got
Major Lorne's neck
here are some icons to go with, and get you ready for the lil ficlet :P
comment if you wanna snag the icons n_n
Title: "observations"
Writer:imagechild
Warnings: none
Rating: PG
Pairing: Lorne/Kavanagh
words: 664
He'd always been a man of science, a scholar of the natural world, even when he'd been relegated to wall-sitting and hand-wringing. It really came as no suprise, if he'd taken the time to think on it, that he'd become fixated on the Marine. Lorne was, after all, the penultimate expression of the safety in military strength for Atlantis. As a learned, observant man (and an observer of men and women alike), Dr. Kavanagh had carefully inspected each Marine assigned to his labs, noting carefully the sharp jut of tendon in an exposed wrist, P-90 cradled carefully in overlarge hands. He'd inspected countless unwary throats, the owner's head turned just so to the side, watching for what trouble might befall the scientists on his team. Loscalzo had a fine collarbone, as seldom as it showed, only when he shifted his vest, always uncomfortable in his drab military overshell. Pennelton had the most handsome wrists he'd ever seen, somehow delicate and elegantly strong all at once, a dark smattering of hair creeping down to accentuate the soft curve of his wristbone. Peterson's jaw was a study in pure feminine mystery, the angle sharp, at odds with her soft, long throat, her chin a tiny point of pixie perfection when compared to the the strong muscles in her shoulder, juxtaposed with the tight tac vest she wore.
But no one, no one on the entire base, he'd wager--had a more perfectly formed neck than Major Lorne. More's the pity, the man had only been assigned to the labs twice, once during a wraith incursion, once when they'd become too punchy the day before and Castelli had left for home with two black eyes.
From the first moment, Kavanagh had been riveted...it was as if the flex and stretch of the tendons beneath the Major's skin were a gateway to an understanding of something vital. The way the skin tautened over a sharp ridge of tendon, drawn tight by the turn of the Major's head, the long, perfect line leading from beneath the starched collar of his uniform to the angular perfection of his jaw. The tendon's opposition, the dark shadow of warm skin beside it, hollow and soft-looking was a different pleasure--one that kept his eyes surreptitiously occupied for minutes at a time as the Major turned to speak to another officer. He imagined how that skin would taste, salty with a metallic undertone from the silvery tags he knew all the Marines wore next to their skin. His tongue would follow the hard line of that tendon perfectly, tasting, exploring until the visceral need to bite would become overwhelming. The Major would be sensitive, of course, responsive as only a man in fantasy can be. Biting would be his thing, he'd beg Kavanagh to do it again, grey eyes dark, to do it harder, to let his animal nature guide teeth sharp and dangerous against that delicate skin.
Kavanagh's far into the fantasy, field compression data forgotten on his datapad, fingers poised on keys as if any moment he'll resume work. His tongue darts out to wet suddenly-dry lips, and as he licks them, the Major's eyes turn on him. Of course he'd felt the presence of eyes on him, he was trained, he was experienced, he was observant as well, no doubt. Kavanagh had hoped he'd think it was one of the female scientists, Keiko or Evans--but he'd been wrong--of course he'd been wrong. The Major's eyes pass over him once, then stop, as if in suprise, a wry smile quirking his lips. He feigns suprise well, but Kavanagh can see the spark of hidden knowledge in his eyes. As they share a slow, warm smile together, he wonders if the Major will let him leave marks--or whether his explorations will have to be as clandestine and evidence-free as his long minutes of observation had been.
shusu's and got Major Lorne's neck
here are some icons to go with, and get you ready for the lil ficlet :P
comment if you wanna snag the icons n_n
Title: "observations"
Writer:
imagechildWarnings: none
Rating: PG
Pairing: Lorne/Kavanagh
words: 664
He'd always been a man of science, a scholar of the natural world, even when he'd been relegated to wall-sitting and hand-wringing. It really came as no suprise, if he'd taken the time to think on it, that he'd become fixated on the Marine. Lorne was, after all, the penultimate expression of the safety in military strength for Atlantis. As a learned, observant man (and an observer of men and women alike), Dr. Kavanagh had carefully inspected each Marine assigned to his labs, noting carefully the sharp jut of tendon in an exposed wrist, P-90 cradled carefully in overlarge hands. He'd inspected countless unwary throats, the owner's head turned just so to the side, watching for what trouble might befall the scientists on his team. Loscalzo had a fine collarbone, as seldom as it showed, only when he shifted his vest, always uncomfortable in his drab military overshell. Pennelton had the most handsome wrists he'd ever seen, somehow delicate and elegantly strong all at once, a dark smattering of hair creeping down to accentuate the soft curve of his wristbone. Peterson's jaw was a study in pure feminine mystery, the angle sharp, at odds with her soft, long throat, her chin a tiny point of pixie perfection when compared to the the strong muscles in her shoulder, juxtaposed with the tight tac vest she wore.
But no one, no one on the entire base, he'd wager--had a more perfectly formed neck than Major Lorne. More's the pity, the man had only been assigned to the labs twice, once during a wraith incursion, once when they'd become too punchy the day before and Castelli had left for home with two black eyes.
From the first moment, Kavanagh had been riveted...it was as if the flex and stretch of the tendons beneath the Major's skin were a gateway to an understanding of something vital. The way the skin tautened over a sharp ridge of tendon, drawn tight by the turn of the Major's head, the long, perfect line leading from beneath the starched collar of his uniform to the angular perfection of his jaw. The tendon's opposition, the dark shadow of warm skin beside it, hollow and soft-looking was a different pleasure--one that kept his eyes surreptitiously occupied for minutes at a time as the Major turned to speak to another officer. He imagined how that skin would taste, salty with a metallic undertone from the silvery tags he knew all the Marines wore next to their skin. His tongue would follow the hard line of that tendon perfectly, tasting, exploring until the visceral need to bite would become overwhelming. The Major would be sensitive, of course, responsive as only a man in fantasy can be. Biting would be his thing, he'd beg Kavanagh to do it again, grey eyes dark, to do it harder, to let his animal nature guide teeth sharp and dangerous against that delicate skin.
Kavanagh's far into the fantasy, field compression data forgotten on his datapad, fingers poised on keys as if any moment he'll resume work. His tongue darts out to wet suddenly-dry lips, and as he licks them, the Major's eyes turn on him. Of course he'd felt the presence of eyes on him, he was trained, he was experienced, he was observant as well, no doubt. Kavanagh had hoped he'd think it was one of the female scientists, Keiko or Evans--but he'd been wrong--of course he'd been wrong. The Major's eyes pass over him once, then stop, as if in suprise, a wry smile quirking his lips. He feigns suprise well, but Kavanagh can see the spark of hidden knowledge in his eyes. As they share a slow, warm smile together, he wonders if the Major will let him leave marks--or whether his explorations will have to be as clandestine and evidence-free as his long minutes of observation had been.