Title: Leaping Tall Buildings
Rating: I’ll say PG-13 just because um, there is mention of men who sit in bed naked together and kiss and grope a little. But seriously, other than that, there’s not a lot to be pissy about here.
Paul Davis/Major Lorne sap? And humor, I guess. With angst, too, because I
Timeline: Sometime before “Runner”, I suppose. Use your imagination to fill in the blanks of Lorne and Davis meeting sometime around “Descent” and jumping each other on a regular basis since then.
Disclaimer: Not mine, sad though it be.
Author’s Note: My first (and probably only) attempt at the world of slash fanfic, such as it is. Written for my fanfic10 challenge with control_freak80, who kindly included only this one off the wall pairing that she knew I found too pretty to resist (because OMGtehhot!!). I also blatantly stole one of the fic prompts that I wrote for her fanfic10 because, uh, it was too perfect not to? What resulted is perhaps the weirdest piece of fic I’ve ever written—and dude, I’ve written some pretty bizarre stuff. (Jack baking cookies, anyone?) Thanks to control_freak80 for the insta-beta and the sharing of squee.
“Can I ask you something?”
Paul Davis lazily rolled toward the warmth Lorne provided, feeling too content in post-coital haze to let the potential harbinger that question posed fully sink in. “What?”
“…Why do you only wear bright red briefs?”
Well, that certainly caught his attention, and not in a good way. Feeling more than a little miffed, Paul cracked an eye open. “Seriously?” he asked.
“Well, I didn’t think much of it at first, but I mean…we’ve been doing this on and off for nearly two years now and every single time—bright red. Crimson, even. I just wondered if there was a reason or if you just really like the color.”
Of course there was a reason—a man did not prance around every day in
bright red underpants without a damn good reason. But it was…well, not
something Paul particularly wanted to talk about, especially not right now. So,
Blue eyes squinted at him, perplexed. “Well, not if you’re going to get all huffy and withhold more sex. A man’s got his priorities, you know. I was just curious.”
Knowing he was being stupid and really not wanting to ruin their last
night together in God only knew how long,
This reply only seemed to fuel Lorne’s interest—exactly the opposite reaction Paul had been hoping for. “And how, exactly, does one get in that habit?”
The realization began to sink in that there was no good way out of this
“Sure. I wanted to be a cowboy.”
Justifiably, the mental image of Lorne in spurs distracted him for a pleasant moment. One elbow in the side later, he shook his head and got back on track. “Right. Well, I wanted to be Superman.”
“Superman as in…Superman? As in flies around in a cape and changes in a phone booth Superman?”
“Yes,” was Paul somewhat testy reply. After a moment of silence, he added a bit sheepishly, “After all, why aim small?”
He had steeled himself for the laughter, and while some came, it wasn’t the guffaws he expected. Just a quiet chuckle. Looking down at Lorne, he saw nothing more than amused affection. “It’s just so very…you,” Lorne explained. “So you started wearing them as a part of the uniform?”
Lorne nodded, seeming thoughtful. “Okay, that makes sense—when you’re eight. Why do you still wear them now, though?”
Here was where they headed towards tricky ground. “I just…use them as a reminder, I guess.”
“A reminder of what?”
Paul heaved a sigh and flopped back onto the bed in what he suspected was a slightly melodramatic motion. “Nothing. Just that I wanted to be—to do—something more.”
A hand slid over his shoulder and Paul looked up to see Lorne’s serious face hovering above him. “Hey. What you are and what you do is pretty amazing.”
It drew a smile from him because of how earnest Lorne could be. “I suppose. But it’s not….”
Lorne blinked and Paul could see the moment it all slid into place. “But it’s not saving the world?”
Now that it had been said out loud, Paul felt more than a little silly. “Yeah.”
Looking resolute, Lorne nodded and offered Paul a hand. “Come on, get up. I want to show you something.”
Grumbling at the idea of having to get out of bed,
“I told you, I want to show you something,” Lorne said by way of reply, grabbing his hand and tugging him in front of the now open luggage. “Look.”
Lorne sigh and took a hold of his chin, guiding it down to face the contents of the suitcase. “Look.”
So Paul looked and finally, he saw the stack of bright red briefs folded neatly in one corner. A smile began to spread across his face without warning. “Nothing but red?”
“Absolutely nothing,” Lorne confirmed with a grin.
Uncertain of a response that was fitting such an occasion, Paul finally settled on a joke—it was entirely possible that he had spent too much time around Jack O’Neill over the years. “So, what, you’re telling me that my great contribution to mankind is going to be starting an intergalactic fashion trend?”
Luckily, Lorne didn’t fall for it. “Well, originally, it was just an ‘I’ll be thinking of you’ thing. Now, maybe I’m trying to tell you that you’ll get your chance. And until then, you’ve got people carrying the flag in your name. So to speak.”
It was touching and true and more than a little strange, but as Paul pulled Lorne close for a kiss, he couldn’t help but laugh. It just figured that they would finally work their way around to being something serious the night before they would be separated by several billion light years.
Pulling away, he could only think to simply say, “Thank you.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Lorne said dismissively. “We need to get back to the kissing now.”
Because Paul Davis was widely known throughout the Air Force for his amazing ability to follow orders, he complied. As usual with Lorne, one thing led to another and they were back to being horizontal on the bed before the other man pulled away.
“Say, did you ever go through a blue tight phase?” he asked, a mischievous light in his eyes.
Both amused and a little annoyed, Paul narrowed his eyes. “No.”
Lorne sighed and shook his head, groping Paul’s ass in a rather toe-curling manner. “Damn shame, that.”