Home Archives July 2007

SGA Fic: David Parrish, Bewildered Sex Object of Atlantis (Parrish/various; Parrish Lorne; R)

[Previous entry: "SGA Fic: Out of Place (Firefly/SGA crossover; Simon Tam, Ronon Dex)"]
[Next entry: "SGA Fic: Snapshots from an odd AU (SGA/Fantastic Four/CSI crossover; Sheppard, McKay, Reed Richards, Nick Stokes; PG)"]

07/29/2007: "SGA Fic: David Parrish, Bewildered Sex Object of Atlantis (Parrish/various; Parrish Lorne; R)"

Title: David Parrish, Bewildered Sex Object of Atlantis.
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Pairings: Parrish/various; Parrish/Lorne
Rating: R? Just to be certain
Summary: David should have seen this coming.
Notes: MK wondered where the Parrish sex pollen fic was. I decided to write some. casspeach came up with David as Parrish's first name. Also, I know this theme has been done so many times, but! I couldn't resist.

He probably should have seen it coming – he is, after all, part of the Stargate program, and he does spend most of his work and down time surrounded by alien plant life. "Dedicated," David Parrish has heard other people say when talking about him. And no one can find fault with that, even if sometimes they wonder what he does for fun.

Ultimately, though, no one cares if he spends too much time alone, or too little time sleeping.

After all, it isn't as though he'll electrocute himself if he gets over tired. His work won't short-circuit the city, or overload a generator. He won't flood a section or crash a jumper or accidentally delete important Ancient data. His requests for material and resources are reasonable and politely phrased.

So, people more or less let David do what he wants, when he wants. And that suits him very well.

*

The plant blooms in large, blousy blossoms, pale blue and purple. They're fragrant, but not heady, and people exclaim with pleasure when they pass by.

"They certainly complement the Atlantis aesthetic," Weir says, breathing deeply. She's right – it looks like a decorator chose them.

In general, the flowers' scent is relaxing, even buoying, and David postulates that they release a substance that encourages a sense of well-being.

"Is it a security threat?" Sheppard asks, when David reports his findings.

"No. It's not addictive, it isn't dangerous, and the blooms won't last more than a week." David doesn't look up from his microscope as he speaks. "I've checked several times."

"If you say so." Sheppard doesn't sound particularly convinced.

David shrugs. "I've sealed off the ventilation shafts to other parts of the city, just to be sure. I left open the vents to outside, of course."

Atlantis will vent anything problematic anyway.

*

The plant – not quite a succulent, but certainly waxy in appearance – blooms for five days. On the sixth day, it attempts to propagate.

David is in the lab.

Alone.

Ventilation is at a minimum.

David doesn't notice anything, not the slight hiss made when the pollen is released, not the way the room is suddenly – and briefly – filled with a thick scent. He doesn't even notice the faint layer of pollen that settles on his clothes, in his hair, and all over his workspace.

Hours later, however, he does finally realize that it's long past lunch.

*

"Dr. Parrish!"

David turns, balance slightly off-kilter, and finds Teyla smiling at him. It's odd – they rarely have any contact, certainly not enough for her to call out to him. "Er. Hi."

"You are in a rush, I see." Her smile widens, slowly.

"Ah. Yes. I've got some cell cultures that I was working on, and I want to see the – well, it's boring really, but before I can get to that, I really have to get something to eat, so I'm just heading to the –"

He trails off when it becomes obvious that she's not listening to him. That in itself isn't unusual – most people tune out when he starts talking botany. What is unusual is that she's moving closer, her strides purposeful, and her expression intent and – wanting. It's odd.

"Dr. Parrish," she says, "I have something to show you." And she pulls him into an alcove, one hand undoing the laces on her top.

He feels like he's just been hit over the head. And also, he's a little terrified. "Hands! Hands –" he gasps out, as she puts her hands in places that really, really are not for public consumption.

Sheppard – oh, god, Ronon - will kill him if they see this. And he'll never live it down in the science labs. He starts struggling against her. "Er. I'm flattered, Teyla, really I am, and I'm wondering if there's something wrong with you, because we hardly ever speak, and I think you've looked at me twice, maybe, but um, you're not my type because you're a little too, ah, female – no offence – and anyway I think Ronon might kill me, so –" He twists, presses against the wall, and somehow slides out of her reach.

And then he's running.

"Your running technique is very poor! Perhaps we could practice together!" Teyla calls out behind him, and David runs a little faster, because she might decide to chase him.

*

A few minutes later, he's slowing down, although he's still checking behind him to make sure he isn't being followed. Teyla would be disturbing enough, but what if it's Colonel Sheppard or Ronon who are tracking him down?

Each scenario is equally nervewracking, although for different reasons.

He's focussed on what might be behind him, so it's entirely his own fault when he runs – face first – into someone.

"Damn it," he says, rubbing at his lip. There's a faint copper taste in his mouth.

"You're bleeding," Ronon says to him, looking down.

"Oh, this is not good," David mutters, stepping back, because he's pretty sure the scrape is going to pale in comparison to what's coming next. He's heard the rumours, and with Ronon, he's thinking knives. "I wasn't trying anything – I would never – honestly, I was just –"

"Come on," Ronon says, one hand reaching out to cup David's shoulder. He's smiling, and David relaxes slightly.

"I don't think I need to go to the infirmary," he starts, because it's just a little blood, and it's not like he hasn't had worse. But Ronon keeps guiding him, hand heavy on his shoulder.

It takes David a minute to realize that they're not heading toward the infirmary. It takes him another minute to realize that Ronon is grinning even more widely, an expression that is faintly disconcerting.

And then they're in an alcove, David pushed up against the wall, Ronon's body pressing into him. It's faintly bizarre – because David wouldn't call himself a wallflower or unattractive, but two hot aliens in less than half an hour? It just seems. Off.

"Ronon –" he says, grunting a little as Ronon presses into him even harder, leaning down to smell his hair.

"Hair smells good."

And that's odd, kind of weird, but hell, "I'm very flattered, but –"

"No time for talking," Ronon replies, one hand opening his own pants, the other sliding up inside David's shirt.

David's eyes close automatically, because warm hand, warm capable hand against his stomach, fingers stroking, and it's been too long. He breathes in the scent of Ronon, slides his own hands around Ronon's waist, and yeah, this is weird, but maybe just the once it won't hurt. It's not like he gets these kinds of offers every day.

So when Ronon gets his pants open, and pushes down lightly on David's shoulder, David goes, grinning. And when Ronon pulls him back up, later, and kisses David hard and deep, David just kisses back. Ronon's hand on David's cock is fantastic, amazing, and David just goes with it, hoping that no one will walk by.

After, Ronon says, "Thanks," voice a little rough, and steps out of the alcove.

David leans back against the wall and thinks longingly about food and cell cultures, and especially a shower.

Now he's really hungry. Running, sex, hours in the lab – it all builds up.

*

On the way to the mess hall he meets up with Carson.

Carson, he finds out, can be insistent and pushy and downright demanding. He speaks while he comes, and David has to kiss him to muffle the sounds. The alcove might be slightly dim, but it isn't soundproof.

"You're a good lad," Carson says, grinning, after, his mouth flushed and slick. David isn't sure what to make of that, because he hasn't been a 'lad' for years.

But he grins anyway. Carson is a nice guy, and also, it's a mistake to make an enemy of a doctor. And then he decides he'd better get to his room, because something is clearly very, very wrong.

So much for food.

*

He tries to sneak back to his room, and he's almost there, so close, when McKay sees him. McKay, who's walking down the hall, scowling, and yelling obscenities at some unknown person far behind him.

He sees David, and his eyes narrow. It's a relief, more than anything, and David says, "I think there's something wrong, I keep –"

He doesn't get to say anything else, because McKay is saying, "Perfect," and, "Exactly what I need right now," and, "Why are you so messed up, are your pants even done up right, and is this a tear in your shirt?", and McKay's hands – warm, like Ronon's, but somehow smoother – are opening up David's pants, and his mouth is pressed against David's neck, and quite honestly, David hasn't had this much sex in months.

Still. "McKay –" he starts saying.

But McKay bites down on his neck, and mutters, "Alcove," and shoves David back, back, until they're in yet another poorly lit corner.

"This is getting old," he mutters.

"Shut up and get with the program," McKay says, glaring.

*

After McKay, David realizes three things – first, whatever is happening is completely out of control. Second, there are far too many dark alcoves in Atlantis. He doesn't even want to think about what this says about the Ancients. And third, being an irresistible sex object is really exhausting.

He's standing in the hall, still panting, one hand holding his pants closed, when he hears footsteps. Looking up, he groans. Colonel Sheppard is walking towards him, and dear god, no. There is no way he's going to let this happen with the head of Atlantis military operations.

David steps back into the alcove, pushing as far into the shadows as possible. This time, he's deeply thankful for the dark little space and its ability to hide secrets and insanity.

He stays there until Sheppard has walked past. And then he wonders if it's a good idea to leave the alcove at all, if maybe he can wait out whatever is going on right here, safe and sound.

But he's not stupid. Someone will notice him, eventually. And besides, he really, really needs a shower. At this point, it's just a little obscene. So he takes a deep breath, buttons up his pants, and steps back out of the alcove.

And straight into Major Lorne.

"Hey, Parrish," Lorne says, grinning, "you look like you've had a rough day." He's looking David up and down, slowly, a knowing expression on his face. "Hey, were you just – wow. Scientists. Who knew? So. You gonna –"

Oh, shit. "No," David says, because really, he's tired of this. It's fun, sure, but a man has to draw a line somewhere. "I'm not doing this. Not again. Do you know how many alcoves I've seen today? And I'm not going back in that one." It's too much. And if anyone finds them, it could be Lorne's job. It's one thing to be ravished by aliens and other scientists. But this military thing is just too damn much. "Look. I know something weird is going on here. But if you want to," he waves his hand vaguely, "do this, we're going somewhere else. And first I need a shower. In my room." He grabs Lorne, pulling him away from the alcove.

Being proactive, he's been told, is the best way with these military types.

Lorne looks vaguely bemused, vaguely intrigued, and a little flushed, but he comes along, and it takes them less than two minutes to get to David's room.

David shoves him inside, locks the door, and says, "You want to do this right, or just up against the wall like everyone else?"

"Er. The wall?"

Figures. No sense of finesse, the military. Then again, it doesn't look like Ronon, Carson or Rodney have any either. "Forget it. Get your clothes off. I'll be right back." He walks towards the bathroom, shedding his shirt – filthy – and his pants – appallingly disgusting – on the way.

Behind him, he can hear a gun being set down on the table.

Lorne better take off his boots, too.

*

When he gets out of the shower – god, it had been perfect – he wraps a towel around his waist, even though it's pointless to pretend to some modesty at this point. Lorne is standing in the middle of the bedroom, a confused look on his face, and his shirt off.

Well, at least it's something, and Lorne was certainly made for walking around shirtless. "Are we going to do this? Because you're pretty hot, and I really am starving, and once we're done, I think the least you could do would be to go and get me some food. It's not like I can go out there myself, what with all of you just throwing yourselves at me."

Lorne's frown deepens. "What am I doing here?"

Oh, wonderful. At least the others had known what they wanted. Now David's going to have to work for it, and that's just –

Well, actually, it's rather nice. "What do you want to do? It's not like we're in an alcove, so if you really want to go to town, we might as well." He doesn't add, "And make up your mind quickly, because I'm starving." It just seems ungracious to mention food again.

"Is there something wrong with you?"

He tells himself that his laughter isn't slightly hysterical. And when Lorne moves closer, David just leans forward, kissing him, laughing against his mouth. Lorne starts slightly, but his hands settle tentatively on David's hips, and god, his skin is warm and perfect, and David wants more.

He lets his towel fall to the ground, and walks backwards to the bed.

*

Hours later – clean again, and no longer hungry, thanks to Lorne's foray into the mess hall – he sneaks back to the lab, and finds the fine layer of pollen on his work surface. The plant is sitting innocently, all blossoms closed.

It isn't hard to put things together, and it's a relief to have an explanation. He dons a hazmat suit and cleans the area carefully. Then he notifies Dr. Weir that there were some previously unanticipated effects of the species.

"Is it a security threat?" she asks, over the radio.

Security threat isn't exactly how he'd put it, but he does recommend placing the plant in isolation.

And that ends his day as David Parrish, bewildered sex object of Atlantis.

The next day, it's a relief when Teyla's eyes pass right over him in the mess hall, and when Ronon walks by without even seeing him. McKay scowls at him, but that's not unusual, and Beckett just smiles absently at him when he catches David hovering around the medical labs. "Are you ill?" he asks, and David smiles back, shaking his head.

One left, he thinks, and considers tracking Lorne down, and seeing how he reacts, because he's most nervous about Lorne. He'd showered before Lorne, the pollen washing away. But when he asks, he's told that Lorne is out on a mission.

Still, even without seeing Lorne, by the evening David has convinced himself that none of them remember what happened. No one mentions it, and if they do remember, he's certainly not going to be the one to bring it up. And if they truly don't remember – well, it's interesting, and the pollen might have some interesting applications if they could isolate the particular memory-suppressing aspect.

Three days later, Lorne's team returns to Atlantis. They're two days late. David happens to be in the infirmary when the team arrives. He's discussing preliminary results from the pollen analysis with Dr. Biro, including that the flower didn't release pollen, it releases spores. But when he sees Lorne, all thoughts of spores and memory loss are pushed aside.

"Hey, Parrish," Lorne says, as he walks by. He's limping slightly.

"Major," David replies, his mouth suddenly dry. For a few brief moments, he thinks that's it, that Lorne has conveniently forgotten too. But that would be too much to ask for. It is the Stargate program, after all.

"Know what?" Lorne stops, turning around. He looks exhausted, and he's filthy.

"What?"

"I'm really hungry. It's been a busy few days."

Oh, shit. "Hungry?"

"Yeah. You know what that's like, don't you? Being really, really tired and hungry?"

David can feel the flush spreading across his face. After a moment, he manages to ask, "Should I. Um. Do you want me to get some food for you?" Lorne just looks at him, half-smiling. David adds hastily, "And for the rest of your team?"

"Nah. We can hold out. Dealt with worse." He steps closer, lowering his voice. "Maybe I'll see you later, though?"

"Well, I'm heading back to the botany lab, so probably not, unless your team found something that we need to – " he starts, before he gets it, before he understands the slightly uncertain look on Lorne's face. Oh. "Oh," he says, because he's not sure what else to say.

"Hey, don't worry about it, doc." Lorne's expression is suddenly terribly neutral.

Damn. "Er. No. I think that would be very good. Thank you, Major. I look forward to hearing about your, ah, mission." And maybe – "I have a story to tell you too."

Lorne winks, slow and careful. "Looking forward to it."

He's not the only one.

End.




	Home Archives July 2007 SGA Fic: David Parrish, Bewildered Sex Object of Atlantis (Parrish/various; Parrish Lorne; R) [Previous entry: "SGA Fic: Out of Place (Firefly/SGA crossover; Simon Tam, Ronon Dex)"] [Next entry: "SGA Fic: Snapshots from an odd AU (SGA/Fantastic Four/CSI crossover; Sheppard, McKay, Reed Richards, Nick Stokes; PG)"] 07/29/2007: "SGA Fic: David Parrish, Bewildered Sex Object of Atlantis (Parrish/various; Parrish Lorne; R)" Title: David Parrish, Bewildered Sex Object of Atlantis. Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis Pairings: Parrish/various; Parrish/Lorne Rating: R? Just to be certain Summary: David should have seen this coming. Notes: MK wondered where the Parrish sex pollen fic was. I decided to write some. casspeach came up with David as Parrish's first name. Also, I know this theme has been done so many times, but! I couldn't resist. He probably should have seen it coming – he is, after all, part of the Stargate program, and he does spend most of his work and down time surrounded by alien plant life. "Dedicated," David Parrish has heard other people say when talking about him. And no one can find fault with that, even if sometimes they wonder what he does for fun. Ultimately, though, no one cares if he spends too much time alone, or too little time sleeping. After all, it isn't as though he'll electrocute himself if he gets over tired. His work won't short-circuit the city, or overload a generator. He won't flood a section or crash a jumper or accidentally delete important Ancient data. His requests for material and resources are reasonable and politely phrased. So, people more or less let David do what he wants, when he wants. And that suits him very well. * The plant blooms in large, blousy blossoms, pale blue and purple. They're fragrant, but not heady, and people exclaim with pleasure when they pass by. "They certainly complement the Atlantis aesthetic," Weir says, breathing deeply. She's right – it looks like a decorator chose them. In general, the flowers' scent is relaxing, even buoying, and David postulates that they release a substance that encourages a sense of well-being. "Is it a security threat?" Sheppard asks, when David reports his findings. "No. It's not addictive, it isn't dangerous, and the blooms won't last more than a week." David doesn't look up from his microscope as he speaks. "I've checked several times." "If you say so." Sheppard doesn't sound particularly convinced. David shrugs. "I've sealed off the ventilation shafts to other parts of the city, just to be sure. I left open the vents to outside, of course." Atlantis will vent anything problematic anyway. * The plant – not quite a succulent, but certainly waxy in appearance – blooms for five days. On the sixth day, it attempts to propagate. David is in the lab. Alone. Ventilation is at a minimum. David doesn't notice anything, not the slight hiss made when the pollen is released, not the way the room is suddenly – and briefly – filled with a thick scent. He doesn't even notice the faint layer of pollen that settles on his clothes, in his hair, and all over his workspace. Hours later, however, he does finally realize that it's long past lunch. * "Dr. Parrish!" David turns, balance slightly off-kilter, and finds Teyla smiling at him. It's odd – they rarely have any contact, certainly not enough for her to call out to him. "Er. Hi." "You are in a rush, I see." Her smile widens, slowly. "Ah. Yes. I've got some cell cultures that I was working on, and I want to see the – well, it's boring really, but before I can get to that, I really have to get something to eat, so I'm just heading to the –" He trails off when it becomes obvious that she's not listening to him. That in itself isn't unusual – most people tune out when he starts talking botany. What is unusual is that she's moving closer, her strides purposeful, and her expression intent and – wanting. It's odd. "Dr. Parrish," she says, "I have something to show you." And she pulls him into an alcove, one hand undoing the laces on her top. He feels like he's just been hit over the head. And also, he's a little terrified. "Hands! Hands –" he gasps out, as she puts her hands in places that really, really are not for public consumption. Sheppard – oh, god, Ronon - will kill him if they see this. And he'll never live it down in the science labs. He starts struggling against her. "Er. I'm flattered, Teyla, really I am, and I'm wondering if there's something wrong with you, because we hardly ever speak, and I think you've looked at me twice, maybe, but um, you're not my type because you're a little too, ah, female – no offence – and anyway I think Ronon might kill me, so –" He twists, presses against the wall, and somehow slides out of her reach. And then he's running. "Your running technique is very poor! Perhaps we could practice together!" Teyla calls out behind him, and David runs a little faster, because she might decide to chase him. * A few minutes later, he's slowing down, although he's still checking behind him to make sure he isn't being followed. Teyla would be disturbing enough, but what if it's Colonel Sheppard or Ronon who are tracking him down? Each scenario is equally nervewracking, although for different reasons. He's focussed on what might be behind him, so it's entirely his own fault when he runs – face first – into someone. "Damn it," he says, rubbing at his lip. There's a faint copper taste in his mouth. "You're bleeding," Ronon says to him, looking down. "Oh, this is not good," David mutters, stepping back, because he's pretty sure the scrape is going to pale in comparison to what's coming next. He's heard the rumours, and with Ronon, he's thinking knives. "I wasn't trying anything – I would never – honestly, I was just –" "Come on," Ronon says, one hand reaching out to cup David's shoulder. He's smiling, and David relaxes slightly. "I don't think I need to go to the infirmary," he starts, because it's just a little blood, and it's not like he hasn't had worse. But Ronon keeps guiding him, hand heavy on his shoulder. It takes David a minute to realize that they're not heading toward the infirmary. It takes him another minute to realize that Ronon is grinning even more widely, an expression that is faintly disconcerting. And then they're in an alcove, David pushed up against the wall, Ronon's body pressing into him. It's faintly bizarre – because David wouldn't call himself a wallflower or unattractive, but two hot aliens in less than half an hour? It just seems. Off. "Ronon –" he says, grunting a little as Ronon presses into him even harder, leaning down to smell his hair. "Hair smells good." And that's odd, kind of weird, but hell, "I'm very flattered, but –" "No time for talking," Ronon replies, one hand opening his own pants, the other sliding up inside David's shirt. David's eyes close automatically, because warm hand, warm capable hand against his stomach, fingers stroking, and it's been too long. He breathes in the scent of Ronon, slides his own hands around Ronon's waist, and yeah, this is weird, but maybe just the once it won't hurt. It's not like he gets these kinds of offers every day. So when Ronon gets his pants open, and pushes down lightly on David's shoulder, David goes, grinning. And when Ronon pulls him back up, later, and kisses David hard and deep, David just kisses back. Ronon's hand on David's cock is fantastic, amazing, and David just goes with it, hoping that no one will walk by. After, Ronon says, "Thanks," voice a little rough, and steps out of the alcove. David leans back against the wall and thinks longingly about food and cell cultures, and especially a shower. Now he's really hungry. Running, sex, hours in the lab – it all builds up. * On the way to the mess hall he meets up with Carson. Carson, he finds out, can be insistent and pushy and downright demanding. He speaks while he comes, and David has to kiss him to muffle the sounds. The alcove might be slightly dim, but it isn't soundproof. "You're a good lad," Carson says, grinning, after, his mouth flushed and slick. David isn't sure what to make of that, because he hasn't been a 'lad' for years. But he grins anyway. Carson is a nice guy, and also, it's a mistake to make an enemy of a doctor. And then he decides he'd better get to his room, because something is clearly very, very wrong. So much for food. * He tries to sneak back to his room, and he's almost there, so close, when McKay sees him. McKay, who's walking down the hall, scowling, and yelling obscenities at some unknown person far behind him. He sees David, and his eyes narrow. It's a relief, more than anything, and David says, "I think there's something wrong, I keep –" He doesn't get to say anything else, because McKay is saying, "Perfect," and, "Exactly what I need right now," and, "Why are you so messed up, are your pants even done up right, and is this a tear in your shirt?", and McKay's hands – warm, like Ronon's, but somehow smoother – are opening up David's pants, and his mouth is pressed against David's neck, and quite honestly, David hasn't had this much sex in months. Still. "McKay –" he starts saying. But McKay bites down on his neck, and mutters, "Alcove," and shoves David back, back, until they're in yet another poorly lit corner. "This is getting old," he mutters. "Shut up and get with the program," McKay says, glaring. * After McKay, David realizes three things – first, whatever is happening is completely out of control. Second, there are far too many dark alcoves in Atlantis. He doesn't even want to think about what this says about the Ancients. And third, being an irresistible sex object is really exhausting. He's standing in the hall, still panting, one hand holding his pants closed, when he hears footsteps. Looking up, he groans. Colonel Sheppard is walking towards him, and dear god, no. There is no way he's going to let this happen with the head of Atlantis military operations. David steps back into the alcove, pushing as far into the shadows as possible. This time, he's deeply thankful for the dark little space and its ability to hide secrets and insanity. He stays there until Sheppard has walked past. And then he wonders if it's a good idea to leave the alcove at all, if maybe he can wait out whatever is going on right here, safe and sound. But he's not stupid. Someone will notice him, eventually. And besides, he really, really needs a shower. At this point, it's just a little obscene. So he takes a deep breath, buttons up his pants, and steps back out of the alcove. And straight into Major Lorne. "Hey, Parrish," Lorne says, grinning, "you look like you've had a rough day." He's looking David up and down, slowly, a knowing expression on his face. "Hey, were you just – wow. Scientists. Who knew? So. You gonna –" Oh, shit. "No," David says, because really, he's tired of this. It's fun, sure, but a man has to draw a line somewhere. "I'm not doing this. Not again. Do you know how many alcoves I've seen today? And I'm not going back in that one." It's too much. And if anyone finds them, it could be Lorne's job. It's one thing to be ravished by aliens and other scientists. But this military thing is just too damn much. "Look. I know something weird is going on here. But if you want to," he waves his hand vaguely, "do this, we're going somewhere else. And first I need a shower. In my room." He grabs Lorne, pulling him away from the alcove. Being proactive, he's been told, is the best way with these military types. Lorne looks vaguely bemused, vaguely intrigued, and a little flushed, but he comes along, and it takes them less than two minutes to get to David's room. David shoves him inside, locks the door, and says, "You want to do this right, or just up against the wall like everyone else?" "Er. The wall?" Figures. No sense of finesse, the military. Then again, it doesn't look like Ronon, Carson or Rodney have any either. "Forget it. Get your clothes off. I'll be right back." He walks towards the bathroom, shedding his shirt – filthy – and his pants – appallingly disgusting – on the way. Behind him, he can hear a gun being set down on the table. Lorne better take off his boots, too. * When he gets out of the shower – god, it had been perfect – he wraps a towel around his waist, even though it's pointless to pretend to some modesty at this point. Lorne is standing in the middle of the bedroom, a confused look on his face, and his shirt off. Well, at least it's something, and Lorne was certainly made for walking around shirtless. "Are we going to do this? Because you're pretty hot, and I really am starving, and once we're done, I think the least you could do would be to go and get me some food. It's not like I can go out there myself, what with all of you just throwing yourselves at me." Lorne's frown deepens. "What am I doing here?" Oh, wonderful. At least the others had known what they wanted. Now David's going to have to work for it, and that's just – Well, actually, it's rather nice. "What do you want to do? It's not like we're in an alcove, so if you really want to go to town, we might as well." He doesn't add, "And make up your mind quickly, because I'm starving." It just seems ungracious to mention food again. "Is there something wrong with you?" He tells himself that his laughter isn't slightly hysterical. And when Lorne moves closer, David just leans forward, kissing him, laughing against his mouth. Lorne starts slightly, but his hands settle tentatively on David's hips, and god, his skin is warm and perfect, and David wants more. He lets his towel fall to the ground, and walks backwards to the bed. * Hours later – clean again, and no longer hungry, thanks to Lorne's foray into the mess hall – he sneaks back to the lab, and finds the fine layer of pollen on his work surface. The plant is sitting innocently, all blossoms closed. It isn't hard to put things together, and it's a relief to have an explanation. He dons a hazmat suit and cleans the area carefully. Then he notifies Dr. Weir that there were some previously unanticipated effects of the species. "Is it a security threat?" she asks, over the radio. Security threat isn't exactly how he'd put it, but he does recommend placing the plant in isolation. And that ends his day as David Parrish, bewildered sex object of Atlantis. The next day, it's a relief when Teyla's eyes pass right over him in the mess hall, and when Ronon walks by without even seeing him. McKay scowls at him, but that's not unusual, and Beckett just smiles absently at him when he catches David hovering around the medical labs. "Are you ill?" he asks, and David smiles back, shaking his head. One left, he thinks, and considers tracking Lorne down, and seeing how he reacts, because he's most nervous about Lorne. He'd showered before Lorne, the pollen washing away. But when he asks, he's told that Lorne is out on a mission. Still, even without seeing Lorne, by the evening David has convinced himself that none of them remember what happened. No one mentions it, and if they do remember, he's certainly not going to be the one to bring it up. And if they truly don't remember – well, it's interesting, and the pollen might have some interesting applications if they could isolate the particular memory-suppressing aspect. Three days later, Lorne's team returns to Atlantis. They're two days late. David happens to be in the infirmary when the team arrives. He's discussing preliminary results from the pollen analysis with Dr. Biro, including that the flower didn't release pollen, it releases spores. But when he sees Lorne, all thoughts of spores and memory loss are pushed aside. "Hey, Parrish," Lorne says, as he walks by. He's limping slightly. "Major," David replies, his mouth suddenly dry. For a few brief moments, he thinks that's it, that Lorne has conveniently forgotten too. But that would be too much to ask for. It is the Stargate program, after all. "Know what?" Lorne stops, turning around. He looks exhausted, and he's filthy. "What?" "I'm really hungry. It's been a busy few days." Oh, shit. "Hungry?" "Yeah. You know what that's like, don't you? Being really, really tired and hungry?" David can feel the flush spreading across his face. After a moment, he manages to ask, "Should I. Um. Do you want me to get some food for you?" Lorne just looks at him, half-smiling. David adds hastily, "And for the rest of your team?" "Nah. We can hold out. Dealt with worse." He steps closer, lowering his voice. "Maybe I'll see you later, though?" "Well, I'm heading back to the botany lab, so probably not, unless your team found something that we need to – " he starts, before he gets it, before he understands the slightly uncertain look on Lorne's face. Oh. "Oh," he says, because he's not sure what else to say. "Hey, don't worry about it, doc." Lorne's expression is suddenly terribly neutral. Damn. "Er. No. I think that would be very good. Thank you, Major. I look forward to hearing about your, ah, mission." And maybe – "I have a story to tell you too." Lorne winks, slow and careful. "Looking forward to it." He's not the only one. End.