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slashing_lorneTitle: Never Another Color
Pairing: Lorne/Kavanagh
Word Count: 527
Rating: PG
Summary: Oct 12 - US Navy is formed: write a drabble/ficlet about Lorne's interaction with the Navy, riding on a Navy ship, stationed with navy personnel, cheering for the Army at the Army/Navy game - anything. Single word prompt: navy (cuold be the colour)
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
It drove him insane, that little strip of blue--that teasing, torturing sliver of color. Blue is the color of temptation, Lorne decided, as the little errant bit of cloth flashed at him again--the color of need and madness borne from hours of watching and not touching.
Every time Calvin Kavanagh leaned over his laptop to type, curled up on the floor of the Ancient control room they'd only just found, a thin sliver of navy blue underwear slipped free of the back of his low-slung pants. Lorne continued to stand stolidly by, weapon in-hand incase some errant piece of tech decided to go rogue--but his mind wandered again and again to that tiny line of blue.
The first place they come together, they lie together, naked and sweating and unable to wait any longer, is a storeroom on the tower level. The sky is so blue overhead he can almost taste it, berry-sweet in his mouth. And when he pushes Kavanagh into the storeroom, their teeth clashing together in their haste to taste one another, he's not suprised that the small room is painted a deep, thoughtful blue.
The first room they share after the regulations are lifted, after Atlantis is declared soveriegn and free of trifling "don't ask don't tell" laws, is painted green. Lorne wonders why it doesn't fit into the grand scheme of things...why fate has deviated from her obvious course. Three days later when the entire sector floods and is closed off, he's almost amused--almost relieved, even, to find the new room's walls are a calming cerulean.
The sky on P7G 887 isn't quite the blue of home--more of a purplish undertone than the norm--but Lorne's not lookng up at it anymore. Cal's lips are blue, his familiar slate eyes flickering, rolling to whites--and there's nothing he can do. The bug had looked harmless enough--but they'd been warned alien allergens were different--were dangerous. A childhood allergy to bees had left him with a deadly allergy to whatever the damn thing was--and Lorne wasn't suprised to see it flicker it's iridescent blue wings as it flew away from Cal's exposed forearm. He breathes for him when Cal stops--when his throat is so tight only a soft whisper can be heard when he exhales. Beckett arrives promptly enough, and they begin CPR.
The infirmary sheets are white, as they should be--but the scrubs they have Cal dressed in are pale, pale blue--to match his pale, pale face. Lorne's hand is in his--has been since they'd let him touch--let him close. The open "v" of the scrubs shows bruises--blueish, of course, along Cal's chest where the CPR had been too rough.
"he'll be fine, Major--he'll recover...and the bruises, they'll fade."
Lorne knows, and gives Beckett a brief nod--he knows they'll be ok--they always are.
When Cal's eyes open, they're the soft greyblue they always are when he's exhausted, when he's been working too hard, and wtih to little caffeine. When Lorne closes his eyes to lean close, to kiss his lover with expert, gentle lips, he sees nothing but the wide expanse of open blue sky behind his lids.
Pairing: Lorne/Kavanagh
Word Count: 527
Rating: PG
Summary: Oct 12 - US Navy is formed: write a drabble/ficlet about Lorne's interaction with the Navy, riding on a Navy ship, stationed with navy personnel, cheering for the Army at the Army/Navy game - anything. Single word prompt: navy (cuold be the colour)
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
It drove him insane, that little strip of blue--that teasing, torturing sliver of color. Blue is the color of temptation, Lorne decided, as the little errant bit of cloth flashed at him again--the color of need and madness borne from hours of watching and not touching.
Every time Calvin Kavanagh leaned over his laptop to type, curled up on the floor of the Ancient control room they'd only just found, a thin sliver of navy blue underwear slipped free of the back of his low-slung pants. Lorne continued to stand stolidly by, weapon in-hand incase some errant piece of tech decided to go rogue--but his mind wandered again and again to that tiny line of blue.
The first place they come together, they lie together, naked and sweating and unable to wait any longer, is a storeroom on the tower level. The sky is so blue overhead he can almost taste it, berry-sweet in his mouth. And when he pushes Kavanagh into the storeroom, their teeth clashing together in their haste to taste one another, he's not suprised that the small room is painted a deep, thoughtful blue.
The first room they share after the regulations are lifted, after Atlantis is declared soveriegn and free of trifling "don't ask don't tell" laws, is painted green. Lorne wonders why it doesn't fit into the grand scheme of things...why fate has deviated from her obvious course. Three days later when the entire sector floods and is closed off, he's almost amused--almost relieved, even, to find the new room's walls are a calming cerulean.
The sky on P7G 887 isn't quite the blue of home--more of a purplish undertone than the norm--but Lorne's not lookng up at it anymore. Cal's lips are blue, his familiar slate eyes flickering, rolling to whites--and there's nothing he can do. The bug had looked harmless enough--but they'd been warned alien allergens were different--were dangerous. A childhood allergy to bees had left him with a deadly allergy to whatever the damn thing was--and Lorne wasn't suprised to see it flicker it's iridescent blue wings as it flew away from Cal's exposed forearm. He breathes for him when Cal stops--when his throat is so tight only a soft whisper can be heard when he exhales. Beckett arrives promptly enough, and they begin CPR.
The infirmary sheets are white, as they should be--but the scrubs they have Cal dressed in are pale, pale blue--to match his pale, pale face. Lorne's hand is in his--has been since they'd let him touch--let him close. The open "v" of the scrubs shows bruises--blueish, of course, along Cal's chest where the CPR had been too rough.
"he'll be fine, Major--he'll recover...and the bruises, they'll fade."
Lorne knows, and gives Beckett a brief nod--he knows they'll be ok--they always are.
When Cal's eyes open, they're the soft greyblue they always are when he's exhausted, when he's been working too hard, and wtih to little caffeine. When Lorne closes his eyes to lean close, to kiss his lover with expert, gentle lips, he sees nothing but the wide expanse of open blue sky behind his lids.
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Date: 2006-10-18 06:34 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-18 09:28 am (UTC)