Coming Home (1/1)
Title: Coming Home
Author: somehowunbroken
Fandom: SGA
Characters: Evan/David
Word Count: 1,433
Rating: NC-17/porn and angst.
Five weeks.
Five weeks, two days. Over a month. Thirty-seven days since Evan has been in Atlantis, since he’s been home, since he’s seen David, and as soon as he beams down he’s itching with the need to track his partner down. He and David aren’t anything to each other, not officially, can’t be, so it’s not like they could have exchanged emails back and forth while he was at the SGC. And it’s not like he was supposed to be gone for so long, anyway; it had just been a routine check-in, a six-month review of the goings-on in Atlantis, two weeks in the SGC. They can handle two weeks apart, even if they’d prefer not to.
But then Harriman had dialed out, hit that eighth chevron, and - nothing. There had been that stunned half-second of silence before Harriman tried again, but the Gate hadn’t locked, the wormhole hadn’t been established, and Harriman’s hand had paused over the DHD, glancing from Landry’s worried-but-stoic face to Evan’s panicked one David home Wraith Atlantis David before he’d asked, “Sirs?”
The Gate room had exploded into a frenzy of activity, scientific and military, and Evan had walked through every worst-case scenario his brain could dredge up for two long days until the Daedalus could be outfitted with whatever she might need for a recon trip to the Pegasus Galaxy, and then Evan found himself staring at the walls of a gray bunk, hurtling through hyperspace towards what he could only pray was still his everything.
And then the communication had come through, just as they were about to jump from one galaxy to the next - Atlantis is fine, minor Gate malfunction, breathe - and Evan almost collapsed on the bridge in relief when the radio crackled to life the next day and Sheppard’s voice came through, clear and easy.
“Sorry about that,” he’d said, actually sounding a little remorseful. “McKay had this Gate diagnostic running. He swore on a stack of Bibles it was only gonna take three hours, tops, but the Gate was offline for six days.” McKay’s babbling is out-of-focus in the background, but it doesn’t matter what he’s saying because Atlantis is whole and safe and sound and David is fine, he’s okay, and Evan feels like he can inhale all the way again.
They’re still a week out, though; by the time the SGC had gotten word, the Daedalus was already halfway to Atlantis, and Caldwell had decided to press on. Six of one, half a dozen of the other, and Evan had been glad for it, because turning around wouldn’t get him hone any faster or slower but it would feel wrong to not keep moving towards David.
He’d managed to get himself in the first group to be beamed down. It wasn’t difficult, not really; he and Lindsey Novak go back, sort of, and when he mentions that he’d like to set foot in his City again, offhandedly, she smiles and nods and doesn’t say anything, but his name is one of the first to be called. He sends her a smile just before the silver light flashes, and she gives a tiny nod as everything fades.
And there’s a debrief to be had, Sheppard wanting to know from Evan what he already knows from the SGC’s dial-in, and Evan lines the details up for inspection as succinctly as he can because he’s almost thrumming with the need to see David, to hold him, to reassure that tiny part of him that’s still panicking. Sheppard might not know what it is, but he can tell something’s off, because half an hour into what will probably be four or five straight he cocks his head to the side, says “Take the day, Lorne,” and leaves the briefing room.
Evan is out of his seat before he can think because it’s been thirty-seven days and he thought David was dead, and his hands are definitely not trembling as he taps on the transporter’s map, and he’s absolutely not shaking with it when he waves his door open, except for how they are, he is.
And he doesn’t have to say anything, doesn’t need to call because David’s already in his quarters, long arms wrapped entirely around his frame, and Evan’s clutching at him so hard that he’s surprised his fingers haven’t clawed their way through David’s jacket. It’s not a bad idea, he half-thinks, and his hands are dipping down, pulling David's shirt from where it’s tucked into his pants, sliding his palms against warm skin, and David sucks in a breath before leaning in and kissing Evan with an almost-desperate feel.
Evan opens his mouth as soon as their lips meet; he needs to push his tongue into David’s mouth, needs to touch and taste and feel him everywhere but it’s not enough, not enough. He needs David in and out and around, everywhere always, like he’s never needed before. When David pulls away and sinks to his knees Evan follows because that’s good, it’s great, but it’s not what he needs. David just pulls him close and leans back, settling them into the floor, and one of his arms reaches under the bed while Evan pulls at shirts and belts and shoes until fabric tears and there’s skin, so much skin on skin, and Evan rolls to his side and presses as much of their bodies together as he can.
David’s hands run up and down his back, tracing the sharp relief of muscle and bone, the line of the scar that crosses his spine, the indentation in his left hip. Evan’s hands are busy remembering the marks on David’s arms, the way his shoulders broaden, and he doesn’t even notice he’s got his eyes tightly closed until David cups his face with one hand and they snap open.
David kisses him with desire that tastes like burning and it’s all Evan can do to let go and remember to breathe because he wants, he wants. David knows when it’s too much, can read the lines in Evan’s face and he’s got the tube opened and he’s slicking Evan’s fingers right when Evan’s about to beg him to, and Evan only just remembers to go slowly, because it’s been more than a little while. He revels in it, though, committing to memory again the way David’s eyes flick open and shut, the soft gasps he makes, the way he moves and breathes and grabs Evan’s free hand while Evan continues to open him, slowly enough to be thorough but still quickly because he has to, has to surround himself with David and be home.
David pulls their linked hands to his mouth and kisses the back of Evan’s hand, meeting his eyes with emotion, and Evan pulls his fingers back and rolls on top of David and slides forward.
It’s both less and more intense than it has been to this point, settling inside David, because the knot in his stomach eases at the familiarity, the sense of home, but it’s quickly replaced by the need to move, to feel more and more, so Evan pulls out and slips back in, over and over and over. David has his legs wrapped around Evan’s body, and his hands are gripped on Evan’s forearms, which are braced on the floor as he moves. They’re both close far more quickly than they usually are, but neither man cares. David turns his head and presses a kiss to the inside of Evan’s wrist and Evan shudders into his release; Evan wraps a hand around David and pumps half a dozen times before David finds his own.
They’re sweaty and sticky and on the floor, and it’s not comfortable and it’s probably going to hurt if they stay here but it doesn’t matter. Evan curls into David and David wraps his arms around him, pulling him close, and Evan tucks his head into David’s shoulder and lets out a breath.
“I thought you were dead,” Evan says.
“I know,” David murmurs into his hair. “I’m sorry.”
“I couldn’t breathe,” Evan admits. “When I thought - and the only thing I could think about was getting here, because what if-”
David kisses his temple. “It’s okay,” he says. “You’re here. I’m here. We’re fine.”
“We’re fine,” Evan repeats. “I missed you.”
David grins. “I noticed.”
They lapse into silence, still wrapped around each other. And they’ll have to get up soon, shower and change and probably eat something before bed, but for now it’s enough to lie beside each other and soak up the presence of them.
Author: somehowunbroken
Fandom: SGA
Characters: Evan/David
Word Count: 1,433
Rating: NC-17/porn and angst.
Five weeks.
Five weeks, two days. Over a month. Thirty-seven days since Evan has been in Atlantis, since he’s been home, since he’s seen David, and as soon as he beams down he’s itching with the need to track his partner down. He and David aren’t anything to each other, not officially, can’t be, so it’s not like they could have exchanged emails back and forth while he was at the SGC. And it’s not like he was supposed to be gone for so long, anyway; it had just been a routine check-in, a six-month review of the goings-on in Atlantis, two weeks in the SGC. They can handle two weeks apart, even if they’d prefer not to.
But then Harriman had dialed out, hit that eighth chevron, and - nothing. There had been that stunned half-second of silence before Harriman tried again, but the Gate hadn’t locked, the wormhole hadn’t been established, and Harriman’s hand had paused over the DHD, glancing from Landry’s worried-but-stoic face to Evan’s panicked one David home Wraith Atlantis David before he’d asked, “Sirs?”
The Gate room had exploded into a frenzy of activity, scientific and military, and Evan had walked through every worst-case scenario his brain could dredge up for two long days until the Daedalus could be outfitted with whatever she might need for a recon trip to the Pegasus Galaxy, and then Evan found himself staring at the walls of a gray bunk, hurtling through hyperspace towards what he could only pray was still his everything.
And then the communication had come through, just as they were about to jump from one galaxy to the next - Atlantis is fine, minor Gate malfunction, breathe - and Evan almost collapsed on the bridge in relief when the radio crackled to life the next day and Sheppard’s voice came through, clear and easy.
“Sorry about that,” he’d said, actually sounding a little remorseful. “McKay had this Gate diagnostic running. He swore on a stack of Bibles it was only gonna take three hours, tops, but the Gate was offline for six days.” McKay’s babbling is out-of-focus in the background, but it doesn’t matter what he’s saying because Atlantis is whole and safe and sound and David is fine, he’s okay, and Evan feels like he can inhale all the way again.
They’re still a week out, though; by the time the SGC had gotten word, the Daedalus was already halfway to Atlantis, and Caldwell had decided to press on. Six of one, half a dozen of the other, and Evan had been glad for it, because turning around wouldn’t get him hone any faster or slower but it would feel wrong to not keep moving towards David.
He’d managed to get himself in the first group to be beamed down. It wasn’t difficult, not really; he and Lindsey Novak go back, sort of, and when he mentions that he’d like to set foot in his City again, offhandedly, she smiles and nods and doesn’t say anything, but his name is one of the first to be called. He sends her a smile just before the silver light flashes, and she gives a tiny nod as everything fades.
And there’s a debrief to be had, Sheppard wanting to know from Evan what he already knows from the SGC’s dial-in, and Evan lines the details up for inspection as succinctly as he can because he’s almost thrumming with the need to see David, to hold him, to reassure that tiny part of him that’s still panicking. Sheppard might not know what it is, but he can tell something’s off, because half an hour into what will probably be four or five straight he cocks his head to the side, says “Take the day, Lorne,” and leaves the briefing room.
Evan is out of his seat before he can think because it’s been thirty-seven days and he thought David was dead, and his hands are definitely not trembling as he taps on the transporter’s map, and he’s absolutely not shaking with it when he waves his door open, except for how they are, he is.
And he doesn’t have to say anything, doesn’t need to call because David’s already in his quarters, long arms wrapped entirely around his frame, and Evan’s clutching at him so hard that he’s surprised his fingers haven’t clawed their way through David’s jacket. It’s not a bad idea, he half-thinks, and his hands are dipping down, pulling David's shirt from where it’s tucked into his pants, sliding his palms against warm skin, and David sucks in a breath before leaning in and kissing Evan with an almost-desperate feel.
Evan opens his mouth as soon as their lips meet; he needs to push his tongue into David’s mouth, needs to touch and taste and feel him everywhere but it’s not enough, not enough. He needs David in and out and around, everywhere always, like he’s never needed before. When David pulls away and sinks to his knees Evan follows because that’s good, it’s great, but it’s not what he needs. David just pulls him close and leans back, settling them into the floor, and one of his arms reaches under the bed while Evan pulls at shirts and belts and shoes until fabric tears and there’s skin, so much skin on skin, and Evan rolls to his side and presses as much of their bodies together as he can.
David’s hands run up and down his back, tracing the sharp relief of muscle and bone, the line of the scar that crosses his spine, the indentation in his left hip. Evan’s hands are busy remembering the marks on David’s arms, the way his shoulders broaden, and he doesn’t even notice he’s got his eyes tightly closed until David cups his face with one hand and they snap open.
David kisses him with desire that tastes like burning and it’s all Evan can do to let go and remember to breathe because he wants, he wants. David knows when it’s too much, can read the lines in Evan’s face and he’s got the tube opened and he’s slicking Evan’s fingers right when Evan’s about to beg him to, and Evan only just remembers to go slowly, because it’s been more than a little while. He revels in it, though, committing to memory again the way David’s eyes flick open and shut, the soft gasps he makes, the way he moves and breathes and grabs Evan’s free hand while Evan continues to open him, slowly enough to be thorough but still quickly because he has to, has to surround himself with David and be home.
David pulls their linked hands to his mouth and kisses the back of Evan’s hand, meeting his eyes with emotion, and Evan pulls his fingers back and rolls on top of David and slides forward.
It’s both less and more intense than it has been to this point, settling inside David, because the knot in his stomach eases at the familiarity, the sense of home, but it’s quickly replaced by the need to move, to feel more and more, so Evan pulls out and slips back in, over and over and over. David has his legs wrapped around Evan’s body, and his hands are gripped on Evan’s forearms, which are braced on the floor as he moves. They’re both close far more quickly than they usually are, but neither man cares. David turns his head and presses a kiss to the inside of Evan’s wrist and Evan shudders into his release; Evan wraps a hand around David and pumps half a dozen times before David finds his own.
They’re sweaty and sticky and on the floor, and it’s not comfortable and it’s probably going to hurt if they stay here but it doesn’t matter. Evan curls into David and David wraps his arms around him, pulling him close, and Evan tucks his head into David’s shoulder and lets out a breath.
“I thought you were dead,” Evan says.
“I know,” David murmurs into his hair. “I’m sorry.”
“I couldn’t breathe,” Evan admits. “When I thought - and the only thing I could think about was getting here, because what if-”
David kisses his temple. “It’s okay,” he says. “You’re here. I’m here. We’re fine.”
“We’re fine,” Evan repeats. “I missed you.”
David grins. “I noticed.”
They lapse into silence, still wrapped around each other. And they’ll have to get up soon, shower and change and probably eat something before bed, but for now it’s enough to lie beside each other and soak up the presence of them.