Title: Lost Among The Stars
Summary: When Major Evan Lorne is attacked on a mission off-world, a series of events is put into motion that reveals the very secret John Sheppard had worked so hard to keep hidden. Eventual Sheppard/Lorne. Spoilers for "Coup d'etat" and "Doppleganger".
A/N: Hello everyone! It's so good to be writing again. I started this project as a challenge to myself to write something that I have never attempted before - slash fiction. It is an interesting experiment for me. I decided that I needed a solid set of characters, but one's that are fluid enough, that I can use to establish a romance. As such, I choose two of my favorite characters from Stargate: Atlantis - Colonel John Sheppard and Major Evan Lorne.
Anyway… I really don't want to give away too much so I'm just going to let you all read it for yourselves. So please, enjoy!
[EDIT: this chapter was re-uploaded on 8/1/2018]
Characters: Evan Lorne, John Sheppard, Rodney McKay, Ronon, Teyla, Elizabeth Weir, Sam Carter, Radek Zelenka, Jennifer Keller, and other minor characters and OCs.
Disclaimer: all rights belong to MGM.
Warning: mentions of non-consensual rape.
~o~o~
Major Evan Lorne slowly took a sip of his native drink as his eyes skillfully surveilled the darkened banquet hall.
Across the room from his sentry position, there was a high wooden table that seated the nobility and the honored guests. Among those seated at the table were other senior members of the Atlantis Expedition, those he was supposed to be guarding.
But for the purpose of the trade negotiations, Lorne tried to make his reconnaissance as covert as possible. As such, he stayed as far away from the delegates as he could, purposely choosing to position himself by one of the hall's grand entrances.
The humans of PXK-233 were feudalistic. Their society relied on strict class divisions: Lords, Nobles, Protectors, Tradesmen, and Commoners. From what Lorne had learned during his first visit to the planet, there were five ruling Lords that shared a balance of power over the population. Each Lord had his own land, castle, and supplementary village.
The Nobles swore fidelity to the Lords, acting as advisors and scholars. And while most of the nobility had gained their position due to birthright, it was not uncommon for the Lord to elevate a Tradesmen, or even a Protector, to the status of Noble for excellent services rendered unto the Lord. The Protectors and Tradesmen were the equivalent to Earth's own knights and skilled workers, respectively. Each class had enough money and power to avoid manual labor and live a contented existence. But, during times of war, they were called upon to make weapons and defend the Lord's lands.
The Commoners were the biggest class. They worked the fields and supplied food for the upper classes who, in turn, provided protection against roaming bands of criminals, wild beasts, and the Wraith. They were clearly the poorest class, living on outskirts of the villages, furthest from the castle.
When Lorne's team had first visited PXK-233 they were met by a handful of Commoners that were tilling a nearby field. They were curious of the explorers that came through the Ancestral Ring and quickly came over the greet the party of foreigners. Meanwhile, the nearest Protector was summoned to introduced them to the local ruler, Lord Solove.
As per protocol, Lorne left one of his soldiers, Lieutenant Abrams, at the Stargate before continuing on with the rest of his team toward the castle.
Lord Solove greeted the travelers in his throne room. After a brief introduction and explanation for their travels, the Lord happily agreed to negotiate for trade.
"We do not have many traders that come through the Ring," he explained. "Our best ally, the Orogans, was greatly decimated during the last culling. They have, understandably, suspended all trade with us. As such, our medicine stores have become very low and I fear my people may fall to illness."
"I will gladly bring news of trade to our leader," Lorne diplomatically replied. "All negotiations will be done through her."
"Her?" Lord Solove questioned.
"Yes, Dr. Elizabeth Weir is the leader of our expedition. Is that a problem?" Lorne narrowed his eyes at the local ruler. It would not have been the first time that he met a patriarchal civilization that resisted female authority.
Lord Solove simply smiled and responded, "Not at all."
Lorne and his team planned to remain another two hours to tour the castle and surrounding lands before heading back to the Stargate for their scheduled check in with Atlantis. The castle itself was an impressive piece of architecture. It was massive and housed hundreds of large rooms and corridors that provided protection to Nobles and Commoners alike during Wraith attacks.
The entire castle was made of an indefinable dark, dense stone. It reminded Lorne of Naquadah, the mineral that the Ancients used to composed the Stargates.
"The stone disrupts life scans," their tour guide told them. "That way we are able to deceive the Wraith of our numbers. They think us to be a small population."
Curious, the Major asked, "What kind of stone is it?"
"It is called Disrutu. We harvest it in the hills."
Lorne nodded, tucking away the information for later.
The travelers were also shown the Protectors' training grounds. It was a wide courtyard lined with crude, wooden targets. On one side of the field several men silently watched a sparring instruction. They all wore similar grey uniforms and carried guns with long blades. The weapons seemed to most closely resemble a rifle and bayonet used in the late 1700s on Earth. One man barked instructions from the sideline while two Protectors continued to wrestle. The instructor wore a bright red shoulder patch on his uniform, indicating a high rank. The tour guide later introduced him as Baltier, the Head Protector.
Baltier easily smiled at the visitors and greeted them warmly. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Major."
"Likewise," he drawled. When Lorne shook his hand, he was impressed by the man's strength. Baltier was a large man, almost a head taller than Lorne. His sandy colored hair was sheared close to his skull and he was cleanly shaven. He had broad shoulders and hard muscles. The Major mused that if he didn't know any better he would have guessed the Head Protector to be from Sateda.
"I am intrigued by your weapons," Baliter commented, pointing to the P-90 strapped to the front of Lorne's TAC vest. "Would such a firearm be available during trade negotiations?"
"I'm afraid not," Lorne responded evenly. "On principle, we do not trade weapons with any of our allies. We do, however, offer military training."
The Head Protector grinned. "Personal training is always welcome."
Shortly after, much to Baltier's disappointment, Lorne and his team left to go see the archives and records. Located in the basement, the library was fiercely protected from foreign attack and natural disaster. Lorne was impressed by the expanse of the planet's knowledge and history.
Later, upon returning to Atlantis, Elizabeth was eager to learn of a new potential trading partner. Lorne recounted what he had witnessed of the society and its population. When asked, the Major conceded that it would be best to offer medicine and possibly military training during negotiations. In return, he told her of the castle's unique stone. While food and textiles were always needed on Atlantis, Lorne explained that if the Disrutu mineral was as good as it sounded it would greatly aid them in the war against the Wraith.
"Agreed," Elizabeth said. "When you return to confirm negotiations, I'll send Dr. McKay with you to test the stone. While we might have little need for it here on Atlantis, it could be very helpful at our Alpha sites."
The next day Lorne's team returned to PXK-233 with Rodney McKay. Luckily, Lord Solove allowed Rodney to run some preliminary tests on the castle walls while he talked to Lorne about negotiations. The Lord settled on a period of three days were he, and two more local rulers, could meet with Elizabeth. With the promise of peaceful negotiations, and Rodney's report that the Disrutu stone did indeed block out life sign detection, Lorne returned to Atlantis with good news.
Several days later Elizabeth accompanied Lorne's team through the Stargate to begin negotiations. Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard's team also came along for added protection. The group was given quarters and food before the first meetings began. Elizabeth and Teyla Emmagen were given a large, ornate bedroom near the throne room while the men were housed on the other side the castle in less hospitable quarters. Originally John was displeased with the placement, fearful for Elizabeth's safety. But Ronon Dex quickly calmed him down, stating that Teyla was a formidable opponent to any possible assassin.
The following day Elizabeth led the negotiations. Teyla, John, and Rodney stayed with her, acting as advisors. Meanwhile, Lorne and Ronon spent most of their time with the Protectors. Ronon gladly gave fighting demonstrations while Lorne aided others to fix their shooting style. The Head Protector seemed particularly interested in the Major's skill; Baltier often complemented Lorne on his style and requested for private lessons after meal times. Lorne agreed, for the sake of the negotiations.
The meetings were slow but successful.
The local Lords' desperation for medicine overpowered their reluctance to trade the amount Disrutu stone that Rodney requested. In the end, it was Baltier who convinced Lord Solove and the others that the military training alone would be a great asset to their people.
And so, on the third and final night of negotiations, Lord Solove prepared a feast to solidify the formation of their newest alliance.
The Lords had requested that no weapons be allowed in the great banquet hall. As a demonstration of trust between their two peoples, Elizabeth complied. As such, for safety's sake, Lorne was placed on sentry duty for the festivities while the others took their seats at the high table as guests of honor.
Now, the third hour into the feast, Lorne was growing restless. Nothing was happening, not that anyone expected something to happen. Everyone was too preoccupied with the food and drink to really start any trouble.
Taking another sip of his drink, the Major lazily scanned the crowded room. He saw Lieutenant Abrams stationed at the other main entrance at the far end of the hall. He didn't see Ronon, but he assumed the Satedan was doing another walk through of the castle's hallways. When he'd finished his scan of the room, Lorne's eyes automatically sought out his commanding officer.
"How's everything?" asked John over the headset Lorne wore. The question was hardly audible over the music.
The sound of drums echoed throughout the hall. The beat pounded hard and fast, encouraging the native performers to dance to and fro in a tortuous manner, endlessly twirling around and around. Their traditional clothing reflected the candlelight, creating a nauseating swirl of colors and movement.
"All's quiet," Lorne reported. He winced as the music changed tempo again. "Well, as quiet as it can be."
"Headache, Major?"
"Nothing I can't handle, sir," he drawled in reply.
Lorne took another sip of his drink. The native beverage was a deep red and tasted of cherries. It was the only non-alcoholic drink offered at the feast, and since Lorne was technically on duty he could not partake in the wine.
"Major, are you enjoying the festivities?"
Lorne turned to the left and found Baltier casually leaning against a nearby table ladened with fresh fruit.
"Of course," the Major replied, hiding a grimace as the music swelled again. "How are you, Baltier?" he asked, giving the Head Protector one of his very best smiles. The two soldiers had become fairly friendly over the past three days.
"Very well, thank you," the Head Protector responded, returning his own grin. "Did you enjoy your Luptis?" the man asked, gesturing to the empty cup in Lorne's hand.
The Major guessed that Luptis was the name of the native drink. "Yes," Lorne confessed, "it was very good."
"Allow me to refill your glass."
Nodding, Lorne passed Baltier the empty cup before making another sweep of the banquet hall. After a minute, he was greeted with a freshly filled glass. Baltier beamed as Lorne immediately took a sip of Luptis before changing their conversation from pleasantries to defensive strategies against the Wraith.
As the music beat on, the Major began to find it strangely difficult to focus on Baltier, the dancers, and guests all at once.
"All positions, check in," John ordered via the earpiece several minutes later.
As to not appear rude to his friend, Lorne nodded distractedly at Baltier while attempting to listen to all the different responses from the team. Finding it wholly unsuccessful, Lorne opted to ignore his commanding officer and keep his diminishing focus on Baltier.
"Lorne, you there?" John inquired over the headset. When the Major didn't immediately respond, he ordered, "Anyone got eyes on him?"
"Yes, he is fine," Teyla announced. "He is busy talking to the Head Protector."
"Who?" Rodney's voice entered the conversation.
John's voice came through the earpiece again. "You know, the guy that couldn't stop singing praises about Lorne's military training."
"You sure he wasn't talking about Ronon?" came the scientist's nasally response.
"McKay, you do know that Ronon isn't the only trained officer on this mission, right?"
"Whatever."
Taking another sip of his drink, Lorne blinked slowly as he attempted to follow the banter between scientist and soldier. A quick glance towards the dancers caused a small burst of panic to swell his chest when he didn't immediately spot Lieutenant Abrams across the room. Shifting his gaze toward the high table, Lorne finally spotted Abrams standing next to Elizabeth and the others. A wave of relief flooded Lorne's body, but it was short-lived when Baltier roughly tapped his shoulder.
"Did you hear anything I just said?" the Head Protector inquired gruffly, his bulging arms crossed over his chest.
"Huh? Sure, of course I am."
"So what do you think?"
"About what?" Lorne asked dumbly, his attention on the larger man waning. Finding it exceedingly difficult to focus, the Major shook his head in an attempt to correct his suddenly swimming vision.
In an effort to compose himself, Lorne gulped down the rest of his drink and stepped away from Baltier with the intention of doing a quick circuit of the dance floor before checking in with John. Instead, he staggered backwards into Baltier thick frame.
He suddenly felt very lethargic.
Cold hands grabbed Lorne's shoulders to steady him. "Major, are you okay?"
"S'rry," Lorne replied, eyes widening in shock at hearing the slur in his own voice.
He attempted to push away from Baltier but once again his vision spiraled. His mind seemed sluggish and lazy.
"Major?"
After a beat of silence Lorne realized the question was directed at him. And, when he turned to look at the blond male, he staggered sideways drunkenly. Lorne furrowed his brow in confusion, he knew he hadn't had anything but Luptis to drink so why did he feel like he had one too many glasses of wine?
"Whoa! Careful," Baltier exclaimed as he reached out and slipped his arms around Lorne's waist to steady him. "I think you've had a bit too much to drink."
"Dn't ha w-wine," Lorne indignantly slurred. He placed both his hands on Baltier's chest in an effort to remove himself from the tall soldier's crushing grip.
Now there was fear blossoming in Lorne's chest, but it seemed strangely dull and removed, as if it belonged to someone else.
"Leggo," he muttered, clenched his hands into fists. Using all his strength he weakly tried push the sandy-haired man off him. But Baltier wouldn't budge.
Lorne dumbly stared at his hands balled in the other soldier's shirt. Something was wrong. He needed to get to his radio. He had to talk to John.
But a gravelly voice quickly stole back his diminished and divided attention. "What was that? Are you saying you don't like me anymore? You seemed interested enough earlier."
And, as one of Baltier's hands left his waist and caressed the side of his face, Lorne realized he had greatly misjudged the man's friendliness. And his intentions.
"How about we go somewhere quiet, huh?" the man grinned. He let go of the Major's face and grabbed his right wrist. "I know just the place." And, keeping the other arm firmly clasped around his waist, Baltier forced the smaller man to his side while flinging Lorne's captive arm over his broad shoulders.
Everything was starting to look hazy and unreal. But one thing broke through the fog of Lorne's mind: this man he considered a friend was forcing him to leave the banquet hallagainst his will.
Baliter was not just some gentile soldier, the Major realized. He had drugged Lorne and was taking him who-knows where to do who-knows what. Despite this realization, Lorne still couldn't find the power to struggle against the Head Protector. He simply staggered alongside him toward a side exit.
At such a close proximity Lorne immediately noticed that Baltier smelled a little like John. Like coffee and peppermint, that's what it was; his commanding officer always had a hint of peppermint about him. It was silly really, but Lorne always liked the way John smelled. Pathetically, it was one of the many reasons he had a crush on the Colonel. Yes, he would admit that John Sheppard was incredibly good looking but that was just the surface. Few people were able to see the Colonel's humor and his intelligence. John always played into people's expectations, allowing them to underestimate him before once again saving the day. The Colonel had earned Lorne's fierce loyalty. That and his love, though he would never admit it out loud.
Stumbling over his own feet, the implications of his current situation finally penetrated through the fog that clouded his mind.
Lorne's mind slowly drifted away from peaceful thoughts of his commanding officer and fear jolted his very being and ran down his spine. As his eyes listlessly tried to focus on his surroundings, Lorne realized that Baltier was still leading him to toward one of the hall's many side entrances.
The Major made a weak attempt to pull away from his kidnapper, but Baltier easily repelled his pathetic movements.
Cold hands tightened their hold on Lorne's right wrist, effectively cutting him off to all access to his headset, the only thing that could alert the team to his dire dilemma.
"Let me go," Lorne ordered, but it came out as an unintelligible growl.
"Come on, Major, are you really saying you don't want this? Want me?" Baltier chuckled. "I'll make it worth your while, I promise."
As a sudden blast of cold air swept over him, it became horrifyingly apparent to Lorne that he had somehow missed the fact that they had already left the hot and crowded banquet hall.
Slightly reinvigorated by the fresh air, the Major mustered all his strength and pushed away from his kidnapper. Lorne thought that if he could get free of Baltier's iron grip and alerted someone to his plight then the sandy-haired man would cut his losses and he wouldn't try anything.
Unfortunately, it turned out the drugs were just too strong and he was just too weak. The best he could do was cause the pair of them to stumble sideways.
Their clumsy skuffle caught the eye of the native guard stationed outside the exit.
With another burst of adrenaline, Lorne tried to frantically ask the guard for help, but it came out as a feeble slur.
The Head Protector gripped him tighter, shifting more of Lorne's weight onto his shoulders. "Sorry," Baltier smiled apologetically toward the guard, "it seems these traders just can't hold their wine."
The guard gave his superior a sympathetic look before frowning and sending a disgusted sneer at Lorne. "Of course, sir."
Lorne gave one more desperate look over his shoulder in the direction of the banquet hall. He could see his team through the open door. They were laughing and joyfully drinking with their hosts. Panic and fear coiled in Lorne's gut when no one came to his aid, or even looked in his general direction, before the door fully slammed behind them.
Baltier easily stepped around the guard before dragging Lorne further down the empty hallway.
"How's the party?" Ronon's voice suddenly sounded.
Startled by the voice, the Major remembered the headset that was still in his ear. Regrettably, he was still trapped by the Head Protector's bulking form.
The sandy-haired man would have to release him sooner or later, Lorne reasoned; then he would be able to call for help. That is if John didn't realize he hadn't checked in for a while.
"It's exhausting," Rodney complained. "They tried to serve me some sort of lemon pie. I mean, are they trying to kill me?! You know I am seriously allergic to citrus. And it's so hot in here! I'm practically melting. Do you think we can leave soon? All this dancing and loud music is giving me a migraine. I'm tired, that lumpy bed they gave me hurts my back. I haven't slept in days! And when I don't sleep I get-"
"Rodney, please leave this channel open for serious concerns," John drawled.
The drugged Major was starting to feel even weaker and his coordination was rapidly deteriorating. As he stumbled down the hallway Lorne realized that if they didn't reach their destination soon his kidnapper would have to drag him to it.
"Where," he slowly enunciated, trying to pronounce each sound in an intelligible manner, "going?"
The Head Protector replied with a sickly sweet smile. "You're different from the others."
Lorne hissed as Baltier's bruising grip tightened around his wrist as they stumbled around the corner of the corridor.
"Careful," Baltier cautioned.
All the winding hallways were making Lorne nauseous. Gulping back stomach acid and Luptis, Lorne didn't attempt to talk again.
After turning another corner, Lorne lost his balance, almost completely face-planting on the cold, stone floor. Baltier shifted his grip to grab hold of a belt loop near the Major's buckle to steady him.
The suddenly intimate position of the man's hand sent another fission of fear down Lorne's spine. His mind was still fuzzy and the knowledge of what would transpire if he didn't get away seemed to be inconceivable.
By now Lorne's headset was silent again.
The Major knew the next check-in would not be for at least another fifteen minutes. In the meantime, even if Abrams or Ronon were to notice he had abandoned his post, they would merely assume he was making another sweep of the room.
As they reached a locked door Baltier gently eased Lorne back into the dark stone wall. Once satisfied that Lorne could now support himself, the Head Protector released his hold on the soldier and began to fish around in his pockets for a set of keys.
Lorne's vision faded in and out as he took a deep, shuddering breath. Devising a new strategy, he focused what little strength he had left on raising his now free hands in order to access to his headset in his ear.
But, before he could try anything, the wooden door unlocked with a click.
Expecting for Baltier to try to maneuver him into the darkened doorway, Lorne pushed away from the wall in a last ditch effort to do something, anything to get away from the man who drugged him and dragged him away.
Instead, his kidnapper stepped in front of Lorne, allowing for the momentum of his push to carry Lorne directly into Baltier's chest. For a brief moment their bodies met, curves matching curves, flushed together in the terrible semblance of intimacy before Lorne bounced back against the stone behind him.
Surge of dread rushed through the Major before settling like a rock in his stomach. But the dread quickly morphed into nauseous disgust as Baltier stepped even closer, trapping him against the wall. And for the second time that night, cupped the side of Lorne's face with his cold hands.
The Head Protector's eyes lustfully searched the face before him. "You really are different." The blond man leaned in even closer and affectionately patted Lorne's cheek. "So pretty."
Too weak to turn away, Lorne closed his eyes and tried to ignore the passionate kiss that followed. Baltier's rough lips muffled any slurred protests that Lorne could make.
Suddenly Lorne's knees buckled, his legs giving out from underneath him. His kidnapper quickly pulled back from their kiss in order to catch the incapacitated soldier before he completely collapsed to the floor.
"Oops, careful," Baltier soothed. "We should probably wait until we're alone, huh?"
Two arms slipped under Lorne's shoulders and hoisted him up before awkwardly dumping him inside the newly opened corridor.
As Baltier's form dipped over his captive's crumpled limbs, Lorne caught another whiff of the larger man's scent.
Coffee and peppermint.
The familiarity of the smell sent Lorne reeling. A sudden clash of images and emotions crashed over him – love, fear, joy, horror, friendship, violation, John, Baltier...
Coffee and peppermint.
Lorne's head spun dizzyingly as he clamored frantically, and in vain, away from the musky smell. He gagged.
With the threat of being sick to his stomach, one thought finally managed to break through the drugged fogginess of Lorne's mind: escape. He had to get out, now. Before... before it happened.
Lorne shuddered involuntarily at the notion.
There was no way he would be able to run away in his incapacitated state. Just the mere idea of physical activity made Lorne queasy. He would have to rely on the team to rescue him. But first he had to alert them.
Breathing heavily through his mouth, Lorne slowly lift his head and squinted through the black spots in his vision to see that Baltier had temporarily vanished. Knowing he wouldn't get another chance to call for help without his kidnapper noticing, Lorne put all of his strength into moving his right arm.
But turning on the earpiece was easier said than done, apparently. After several tries Lorne's arm finally responded to his frantic attempts to move it. It flopped uncontrollably towards his face before slamming painfully against the stone wall. The pain helped, clearing the haze a little. Lorne tilted his head towards his fingers and clicked the earpiece on.
"H-h 'elp," the Major slurred.
"What was that?" John's voice commanded over the headset. "Who spoke?"
Gritting his teeth in determination, Lorne swallowed slowly around his dry tongue and tried to speak in a more understandable manner. "H- help," he weakly called again.
"Lorne? Is that you?" Teyla questioned, confusion lacing her voice.
The Major only grunted in reply.
"Lorne, what's wrong?" Elizabeth inquired.
Closing his eyes in relief, Lorne continued to concentrate on enunciating slowly. "Drug- 'd."
"Drugs? Where?" Rodney butted in.
"Shit, no! That's not what he means," John exclaimed, joining the barrage of voices. "Lorne, are you alright? Does anyone have eyes on him?"
A cacophony of replies quickly filled Lorne's ear. Elizabeth's voice rose above the clamour, frantically trying to reach him. "Lorne, have you been drugged?" she asked.
"Y- yeah." Lorne quickly licked his chapped lips. "Hall," he continued just as the sound of footsteps approached him.
"What? What was that last one?" Rodney pressed.
"Fuck!" the Colonel loudly swore. "He's not at the banquet anymore. I'm not detecting any music from his microphone."
Then, suddenly, his would-be rapist was back, kneeling down next to him. And before Lorne could even react, he was hoisted up and dragged deeper into the dark corridor.
"Let's get out of here, Major," Baltier murmured. "I found the perfect place for us to get more acquainted."
"H- hall," Lorne managed again, the last syllable getting partially stuck in his dry throat.
"Did you just say 'hall'?" Ronon demanded sharply. "Where?"
"Don't worry, it's not much further. We'll be there soon." Baltier reached over and briefly squeezed Lorne's ass before continuing down the dark corridor.
"Sheppard? What's the situation?" Elizabeth ordered.
"Rodney has enhanced Lorne's mic sensitivity and we're definitely picking up a second male voice," John succinctly replied.
Consolation temporarily overpowered the revulsion of Baltier's touch. His team was now aware of his situation. But his relief was short lived when Lorne realized his teammates had only just started searching for him. Who knew how far from the banquet hall he was and, according to Baltier, their destination wasn't very far.
Teyla's voice crackled over his earpiece. "Major, are you still there?"
Lorne's head haphazardly rolled from side to side with each step.
"His headset is still open," Rodney replied after a moment of silence.
Lorne coughed. His tongue felt thick and heavy, like a dried up lump of flesh.
"Okay, Lorne, if you can hear me, we're coming. You hear?" John calmly promised, his voice adopting the commanding tone that the Major easily recognized. "Just hold on!"
Lorne felt ill as the vertigo began to kick in again. As they took another turn Lorne's vision greyed out.
He tried to moisten his lips but his body was no longer responding to his brain.
In a way, it reminded him of the time he was kidnapped by the Genii. Drugged and brought before their leader, Cowen, the Genii had ordered him to use his ATA gene to work their stolen Ancient technology. The Genii scientists had not been kind when he refused, electing to deny him and his fellow captives food and water. Without his cooperation the scientists went on to stick him full of needles in an attempt to create their own gene therapy with his blood. Back then, when he was weak from the drugs and dehydration, his head spun and throbbed like it was going to be split in two.
Dry heaving, Lorne gasped for air. The dark edges of his vision where closing in, threatening to sweep him under. Focus, he needed to focus. He had to; he had to make sure that his men were okay, that Cowen hadn't hurt them, the was John? Atlantis thought he was dead. But they were wrong. Genii had taken his gun. His uniform. His dog tags. They had stunned him. No, they had stunned him and then taken his gun, uniform, and dog tags. Or was it the other way around? He wasn't quite sure anymore.
Lorne felt a frisson of fear at the thought. What was happening? Was he being taken? But he had escaped the Genii. He seemed to remember that, but now he wasn't so sure… Then where was John? Had Cowen killed him? He was so confused. And afraid. What was Cowen going to do? Kill him. Rape him. Something clicked in his brain - that sounded familiar. Cowen had hurt others. Was he going to hurt to him too? No, he didn't want that.
Lorne stumbled and fell, his knees painfully hitting the floor. Hands grabbed at his uniform. Touching him, squeezing him. It was wrong. All wrong.
"Cowen-nnnn?" Lorne slurred, drugs muddling his mind.
"Huh? What was that, Major?"
That wasn't Cowen.
"N- not Cowen?" he babbled, more confused than ever.
"What's a cowen?"
The voice was closer now; warm breath tickled his ear. His empty ear. Lorne felt a frisson of fear at the thought. Where was his earpiece? Had it fallen out? Did the Genii take his radio too?
Two powerful arms encircled his chest and slipped under his armpits. Lifted from his slumped position, Lorne continued to stumble forwards under the assistance of his captor. That was funny; he didn't remember falling. Cold hands grabbed his frame and dragged him further into the darkness. His body was giving up. He collapsed again. Huffing, he tried to collect his legs underneath him. He barely managed it just before he felt himself being abruptly pushed against a wall. A wall was good. He could lean on a wall. A wall was sturdy. Sturdy like Atlantis. Atlantis and John.
Coffee and Peppermint.
"John?" Kevin asked, hopefully.
"If you want, Major."
Lorne tried to peer through the haze but all he saw was a blurry outline of man.
The outline didn't look like John - he was too big, too rough. But he smelled like John. Lorne wasn't sure. Maybe it was John and he was wrong. After all, everything else was wrong: sight and sound and smell. He felt strange. Not right. He was woozy. His vision swam. His stomach hurt. Everything was not right, not at all. So he was probably wrong and the man was John. John must be right and he didn't want to hurt John's feelings by saying he wasn't right…
…but he smelled right. Like coffee and peppermint.
Suddenly there were lips kissing him. And hands touching him. Lorne allowed it even though he didn't feel well. Maybe John would make him feel better. John always made him feel better.
He blinked slowly. He should probably kiss back. But he felt sick. He didn't want John to get sick too. Frowning into another kiss, he tried to pull away.
"No, John," Lorne pleaded, trying not to focus on the rough lips and wandering hands.
"Sure, I'm John," a very non-John-like voice replied. "Here, let me show you, Major."
"S- stop!"
He tried to push them away but found he couldn't. He couldn't lift his arms. He couldn't turn his head away. "No," Lorne objected again. John wouldn't be doing this. John was straight. John like women. Something felt wrong. "No!"
"Okay," the voice said, hushing his protests. Cold hands removed their vice-like hold and moved to touch his face. "We can do something else. You'll enjoy it. I promise, Major."
He frowned. That wasn't his name.
"Evan."
The hands temporarily stopped moving. "What?"
"Evan."
"Evan? Is that your name?"
A weak nod. He wanted to say more but speaking was tiring and hard. He didn't want to talk anymore. He just wanted to sleep.
"Okay, then, Evan. I promise, you'll enjoy this next part."
Lips clashed against each other as a heavy body grinded into Lorne, sandwiching him against the stone wall. Lorne felt as though he was drowning, unable to surface for air. The man moaned in pleasure, his throat vibrating against Lorne's jaw line.
After several long, breathless seconds, the lips and the solid frame lazily drew away. Lorne's eyes widen slightly as he began to slide down the wall. But before hit the floor, two large hands fisted the front of his uniform, pulled him away from the wall, and pushed him backward onto an elevated bed.
Lorne collapsed, boneless. Now completely prone on the soft, flat surface, Lorne closed his eyes, happy to be left alone. Maybe now he could sleep. But before he had the chance, a husky grunt sounded above him as a heavy weight descended onto his body and straddled his waist, thrusting downwards. Accompanying the sudden pressure applied on his hips, a pair of teeth nipped his neck, biting him. Cold hands edged down to his waistline, working at his belt buckle, unclasping it.
Lorne made a small noise in protest, unable to find his voice.
The large hands moved up to his face, gently cupping his chin. "Let's get you out of these clothes."
His TAC vest was roughly stripped from his upper body.
"H- hey," Lorne objected feebly, taken aback by the man's forcefulness.
The cold hands untucked his t-shirt before sliding underneath. "Shhh, Evan."
The lips were back. Crushing him, suffocating him. A tongue worked its way past his teeth. Lorne gagged. Wrong. All wrong.
In an attempt to get the heavy figure off him, Lorne bit down on the tongue - hard enough to draw blood.
A strangled scream echoed throughout the room. The soft, calm speech from before abruptly transformed into a harsh, steely voice.
"Bitch!"
The flash of movement brought Lorne's attention back to the hulking body straddling his waist. Blood dripped from the man's lips, splashing onto the drugged soldier's cheek. Warm blood. Cold hands. Then, before Lorne could react, the man roughly grabbed his t-shirt and ripped it open.
"You shouldn't have done that!"
Lorne trembled as the angry words washed over him. It was too much to handle at once. Lorne really wanted to be left alone. He felt sick. He didn't like this man. Where did John go? Had he abandoned him? He just wanted to get away.
Whack!
Lorne's head snapped to the right. A horrible stinging sensation radiated off the left side of his face. Lorne groaned in pain. His chest heaved with each breath.
A cold hand grabbed his throat, pushing Lorne's head back into the bed, effectively cutting off all protests. Fingers lazily trailed down his exposed chest. Lorne shivered. But he wasn't sure if it was from the touch or from the cold.
Lorne wheezed. He wanted to ask the man to leave him alone. But speaking was hard and he was tired. So tired. His head was ringing. Pounding. He just wanted it all to stop. He wanted to sleep. Sleep for a very long time.
The hand around his throat tightened.
Lorne gagged, trying to catch a breath. A weak moan escaped his lips before a second hand grabbed his groin through the thin material of his pants. It stayed there a while, stroking, creating unwanted friction. When the hand finally drew away it moved to tug at Lorne's waistband and belt.
The choking hold on his throat loosened slightly. Lorne gasped for air. And, in his effort to gain precious oxygen, he almost missed the sound of a zipper. Heaving harshly he felt something hard and warm and wet pushed up against his belly button.
But before he could regain his senses the deafening crack of splintering wood echoed somewhere above him. Loud voices followed, shouting at the surprised man above Lorne. Letting go of his throat, the man turned to face the source of the interruption. The man's frustrated, startled growl added to the discord that had suddenly filled the room. Lorne felt his presence being yanked off his body.
The man twisted and turned, trying to escape the clamoring chaos. One of his flailing feet painfully met the side of Lorne's face and, for the second time in a few short minutes, his head snapped to the right. Stars exploded among the black spots in front of his eyes. The nausea was overpowering. His stomach rebelled. He rolled and vomited over the side of the bed. The shouting and yelling grew louder and blended into an atrocious roar. Lorne's head throbbed. He moaned.
A deep voice rose above the cacophony. "Lorne? LORNE!" The voice sounded strangely familiar but he didn't bother answering it. He just wanted to sleep.
Then there were hands on him again, rolling him onto his back. Warm hands.
"Major Lorne, are you okay?" the deep voice demanded.
He made a faint noise in protest.
"What did he do to you?"
Reluctantly, Lorne's eyes fluttered open. That was funny; he didn't remember closing them. He squinted at the stranger now above him. It was a giant of a man with a mass of dreadlocks on his head. He looked vaguely familiar. Lorne couldn't remember him just now. He didn't care either. But it was someone who made him feel safe. He closed his eyes again. He just wanted to sleep.
The man anxiously touched him. Chest, arms, face. The man above him fiercely swore before gently touching his disturbed belt buckle. The warm hands, slightly more frantic than before, briefly grappled with the top of his pants.
"Thank the Ancestors," the man sighed.
"Ronon? Is he alright?" another new voice inquired.
The new voice was accompanied by a familiar scent. Coffee and peppermint. Lorne's eyes snapped back open and he tensed. He desperately tried to find the source of the new voice. His eyes rested upon a black-haired man. Smaller, skinner. He was different. But safe.
"Yeah, he's fine. We got here in time. He got his shirt off but that seems to be all."
Lorne let his eyes slip shut. He was safe. He just wanted to sleep.
Warm hands, not cold, gently tapped his cheek. "Major? Lorne, are you still with us?"
Lorne frowned slightly in annoyance. It was too much. He couldn't handle it anymore. His head was pounding. His body hurt. His limbs refused to cooperate. He couldn't think straight. He felt sick. He just wanted to sleep.
Finally, Lorne got his wish; he slowly sighed and surrendered himself to the encroaching nothingness from which he wasn't sure he would ever surface.
~o~o~
A/N: Whelp, there it is. Chapter one complete. I hope you all enjoyed it. I'm so glad I finally posted this, I've been meaning to do it for a while now but life kept getting in the way.
I hope you guys didn't get too confused near the end. I tried to recreate the confusion and dread that Lorne was experiencing under the influence of the drug. I tried to keep it as clear and concise as I possibly could. I've never tired to write like that so it was a nice challenge.
Some of you may be wondering why I used Lorne's last name while all the other characters are referred to by their first names (i.e. John and Rodney). Well, I did this because Major Evan Lorne is only ever referred to as 'Lorne' during the Stargate: Atlantis series. As such, I decided that I would only refer to the Major by his last name or rank in the narrative. However, several characters will refer to him as 'Evan' or other nicknames in certain dialogue.
Until next time! Please review!
[EDIT: Some material in the first two chapters are adopted from "Everything Sparkles" by Valerie Vancollie. With permission from the author, I have put this disclaimer and utilized the basic plot of the one-shot as exposition for this current story. Obviously, past the very beginning the two stories differ greatly.
Inspiration was also drawn from "Precarious" by MildyInsane.]