slashing_lorne | October 6th challenge:lorne/mckay:Sunday Morning Coming Down:mature/graphic

vagablonde.livejournal.com posting in

Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Title: Sunday Morning Coming Down
Characters/pairing: Lorne/mckay. Those of you who know me, don’t faint.
Prompt: Oct 6 - PBS begins broadcasting: write a drabble/ficlet about Lorne and his lover and a National Geographic Magazine. Single word prompt: native
Word Count: 1327
Rating: Mature/Graphic.
Summary: Just your basic Atlantis is declassified crack-fic.
Author's Notes: This is crackfic. I don’t do it often, but when I do, it’s totally crack.

Story is based on this manip by

iocane

The declassification of the Stargate project really hadn’t taken all that long after the Ori’s last secret Supergate had malfunctioned. The Wraith had discovered McKay’s Galactic Bridge and kidnapped Kavanagh in an attempt to rewrite the program and enter the Milky Way. A few bad keystrokes later and Kavanagh would be credited with saving the known Galaxy when the Wraith were diverted to the Ori Supergate and entered the Ori home galaxy. A variety of reports had come in after that, mostly from the Asgard, one or two from the few surviving Goa’uld system lords, and none of them very clear as to exactly what had happened.

The few facts that were undisputed though, were that the Wraith had never returned and the Ori had dropped off the face of the Universe. Kavanagh was hailed a hero and awarded the highest honour the President could bestow upon a civilian, the Congressional Gold Medal of Honour. Hopes were still high that one day he’d be back to collect it.

With the major threats to humanity seemingly AWOL, there’d been no reason to keep the Stargate program under strict military control and it’d been revealed to the public. Doctorates were written, papers hastily published, and an endless series of theories proposed, most of which made Daniel Jackson laugh when he wasn’t outright cringing. His own papers on the subject went mostly ignored as a mass of individuals clammoured for their share of the proverbial pie. After all, Daniel Jackson had been largely absent from their small, elitist archaeological community for the better part of ten years, how could he be taken seriously now?

With the Gates, the Goa’uld, the Pegasus Galaxy and the heretofore unknown plethora of humanity writhing across the galaxy declassified, mission reports kept under wraps for so long now seemed somewhat tame and were largely distributed for the public to read. Anyone with internet access could download a copy from StargateReports.gov in PDF complete with pictures and sound bites, or simply write Stargate Reports Free Copy, Pueblo, Colorado, 81009.

Follow-up articles appeared, mostly in tabloids, but a few were published in more notable publications as well. One such reputable magazine featured on its April 1st, 2007 cover the very first authorized picture of the city of the Ancients along with the feature article Atlantis - Lost City Rediscovered.

Other articles of note included in the issue were Anthosian Death Rituals Explored and a very well written proposal on whether or not the Unas were a product of natural evolution in a closed society or the victims of Goa’uld genetic manipulation. The final write-up in the issue was a short dissertation on the findings of one Dr. McKay and his last Earthside research endeavor in Siberia before leaving for the Pegasus Galaxy and Atlantis.

The same Dr. McKay sat at the breakfast table in the kitchen of his cozy – and shared – little apartment in Colorado Springs and harrumphed over the practical burial of his work in Siberia.

“Will you look at this? Look, look, look, look.”

Knowing he’d not see the bottom of his coffee cup anytime soon if he didn’t, Lorne obligingly did so.

“Yes, Rodney, I did. I even read it. It’s a nice article. Have you bothered to read it yet?”

“Why yes, I have, thank you very much,” McKay snipped.

“They mentioned you several times. Your theories – “

“My theories were not even plausibly represented and how could they be in an average publication aimed at the average person who would have no hope of ever understanding the work we were doing in Siberia?”

Lorne frowned. He was used to these “I’m-so-much-better-than-the-minions” outbursts and had long ago ceased to take them personally. Still, they were fun to tease Rodney over.

“That’s my favourite magazine,” he pointed out now. “In fact, that is my subscribed copy you’re getting all worked up over. But please don’t let that stop you from going on about how it’s aimed at average people who could never hope to understand you no matter what it might do to your chances of getting laid later today.”

McKay thought about backpedaling but knew he was in too deep already so instead charged ahead with his pissy-fit.

“It’s four pages.”

“Yeah,” Lorne agreed. “Four pages. Four really great pages. Aren’t they really great pages? I thought they were really great pages…” Evan finally just gave up. “How about more coffee?” he offered.

“The article on the Unas is twelve pages,” Rodney pointed out. “As if the Unas could even compare – “

Evan cut off the build up to the next tirade by sliding onto the bench beside Rodney and kissing him soundly.

“The world isn’t ready for all your brilliance,” he padded, soothing Rodney’s ruffled genius.

“You’re making fun of me, “ Rodney pouted, trying to prolong the Evan-sympathy.

Evan-sympathy usually produced the most wonderful results – things like wildberry muffins, caramel apples and mind-blowing blow-jobs.

“No, I’m not,” Lorne promised dutifully, playing out his part. “Look, we’ve finally got two days off together and I don’t want to waste them talking about articles on Siberia!”

McKay harrumphed again. Lorne picked up Rodney’s very favourite cream-cheese-icing-and-glazed-Danish concoction, unique to the local bakery they’d discovered two blocks down from the apartment they’d taken. Lorne stopped by every morning on his way back from his daily run and picked them up, along with McKay’s favourite coffee and loaf of Asiago cheese bread for himself. Breaking off a small piece, he fed it to Rodney, letting his fingers linger around Rodney’s crooked, soft lips, licking away the bits of icing left at the tips.

And Rodney let him. It was almost ritual; he’d complain about some perceived slight and Lorne would kiss it and make it all better. Like now. Like how Lorne’s mouth was traveling down Rodney’s neck and pushing aside his robe for a better lick at his collarbone. And his nipples.

Lorne’s tongue on his nipple, wet and a little rough and his teeth softly biting at it and Rodney was instantly hard. Lorne hauled him up off the bench and cleared one side of the square wooden table, pushing Rodney down across it. The robe was wide open now, falling to either side of Rodney and Lorne skipped the expanse of skin between nipples and cock, swallowing Rodney. Rodney came half off of the table as his stomach tightened around the sensation.

“Oh shit!” he offered, lacking anything more coherent to say.

Lorne’s mouth pulled at him, sucking him in and swallowing and Rodney was lost as soon as Lorne cupped his balls, rolling them around gentle fingers. He came, hard and fast and Lorne took it all in, riding it out with Rodney as he came down.

Slicking his finger, Lorne pushed slowly into Rodney, working his way past the tight muscle, feeling Rodney relax around him. He fumbled for the condoms Rodney always kept in his robe pockets and ripped the foil in his teeth, sliding the latex onto himself quickly, stroking his cock a couple of times before settling between Rodney’s legs.

“Yes,” Rodney gasped, “hurry.”

Lorne was used to getting directions, even during sex. Rodney never really gave up control for even a minute, but that was okay with him. He pushed into Rodney’s body, flexing his hips, resisting the urge to pound in harsh and hard and moved slowly, letting Rodney adjust to him.

“More!” Rodney urged, wrapping his legs around Lorne’s waist and pulling at him.

Lorne complied, thrusting into him. Their quickie morning sex usually didn’t last long, but it was a ritual they went through every morning they were both here, fast and familiar and hot as hell. He felt his balls tighten and concentrated on hitting Rodney’s prostate, bringing Rodney along with him.

Coming down himself now, he leaned forward, hands on the table on either side of Rodney.

“Good morning,” he grinned.

“Hey,” Rodney frowned. “You were on that Unas mission, weren’t you??”