The Trouble with Thor

BY: Delilah



CATEGORY: Slash, Established Relationship.


You’re pretty sure in his thirty-plus-languages, Danny has a word that describes the way you feel when you are unceremoniously beam-me-up-Scotty’d by a little gray guy just at the point you were going to take a final downward thrust and send your favorite archaeologist into sated, boneless collapse.

All you say though is a quiet "erp" which pretty much means "Hi Thor, I love landing face-down on a cold, hard floor and after my skin stops doing that tingly thing the beam always causes, I’ll try to lever myself up. And, by the way, could you get me a towel or something?"


"Well, *that* was embarrassing."

"Never mind unfulfilling," adds Daniel, pouting into his mug of coffee as he stumbles back into the bedroom to find you rematerialized and draped in some shimmery bedspread-thing that Thor had lying around. "Problems?" he asks when the pure goodness that-is-Danny gets the better of him.

"Nah. Something about finding something that slows down the replicators."

He raises an eyebrow at you and sips thoughtfully.




"Thor." Damn, even your tongue is tingly. You let your forehead thunk against familiar alien linoleum, joining other more sensitive unclothed parts of your body. "We have got to work on your timing."


"He thinks they found something that sterilizes the replicators."

Danny is sitting crosslegged on the bed eating chocolate. He shrugs at your attire of two alien chair cushions positioned strategically and waves the remains of the Seventh Avenue bar, mumbling through a mouthful. "Sam says phenylethylamine is a chemical substitute for sex."




Air whooshes out of your lungs as other things … deflate. You stare cross-eyed at the alien pattern in the cold decking.

"Thor, I’ve got one word for you – Congoleum."


"He says there’s some kind of alien bacteria that eats the replicators."

"Jaaaccck." Daniel’s looking at you with that intellectually superior look which means you just failed to understand the whole point of something everyone else got in second grade – like fractions or that i-before-e thing. "He named a whole friggin’ ship after you."

"So?" It wasn’t like he and Carter didn’t blow it up, like, five minutes later.




If you don’t move, for say, five or ten minutes maybe the little gray guy will just beam you back down to your warm linguist-cum-archaeologist who’s pretty pissed that he hasn’t gotten to, well … cum … in days.


Well, that’s another weird-ass thing to add to your book. When you’re face-down on the little guy’s floor he sounds oddly like … Danny. If Danny called you "O’Neill" which will probably be tomorrow if Thor doesn’t get this transporting thing out of his system.


"The replicators are now eating the alien bacteria."

You watch Danny stuff an entire Milky Way in his mouth and then raise that damn eyebrow again.

"He’s got …" your hands gesture toward your nether regions that are currently a bit chilly in the see-thru curtain you hauled down from Thor’s viewing screen. "Well, I mean he’s *not* got … so he’s *not* … got it?




"Uh, Thor." You push yourself up off the warm body you grabbed and held on tightly to the minute the tingly stuff started. "Danny wants a word with you."

The little gray guy tilts his head quizzically.

Danny pushes his glasses back up to the bridge of his nose and you’re just a bit jealous that he’s wearing *something*.

"In private."


"The Asgard are going to fend for themselves for a while."

You hold out your offering of peace – a jumbo jar of dark chocolate body paint and a wide Siberian-Squirrel-bristle brush.

"Really?" Danny runs an appreciative finger over the varnished handle. "Hope it wasn’t something I said."