"Trust the Man" for the Ronon Ficathon, NC-17, Ronon/John
Title: Trust the Man
Author: Alizarin_NYC
Fandom: SGA
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Ronon/John
Written for: dessert_first in the rononficathon
Prompt: Ronon/John - Ronon teaches John something, smut or humor
SPOILERS: There are spoilers for the S3 ep, “Sunday.”
They were dragged down a series of labyrinthine corridors, cell after cell of prisoners, until John lost track of all the twists and turns. They were finally thrown into a small, dark cell with two waist-high benches. It was narrow and filthy.
"Rodney. Teyla," John panted. "Atlantis will send someone when we don’t check in." He seemed to be reassuring himself more than Ronon. Ronon was busy scratching something into the surface of the wall with one of his tiny knives.
When he finished, he turned to John. "Memorize this," he said, and pointed.
"What is it," John asked, before shaking his head as he realized it was the way they'd come; Ronon had managed to remember every turn, staircase, and possible exit. Ronon began to make "x's" where they'd seen stationed guards.
"Great. You outdo me at everything," John grumbled.
"You have a few things to learn, Sheppard," Ronon said, but he was looking over his shoulder at John playfully so how could John mind? Clearly, imminent death and unjust imprisonment didn't seem to faze him that much.
"Oh yeah, like one-legged sparring and suicide Wraith tag," John said. "Can't wait for those lessons."
Ronon looked at John appraisingly. "Too bad our day was interrupted. That Sunday we had... who knows when we'll get another; one that doesn't end in tragedy."
"Yeah," John said, dipping his head in the way he'd developed to both honor Carson's sacrifice and to hide his discomfort over how he felt about it.
"You were also going to show me football and bassetball and I was going to teach you Satedan frog dancing," Ronon said.
"It's basketball and there is no such thing as Satedan frog dancing."
"Maybe. Maybe not. Now you'll never know, and that's yet another tragedy."
"Yeah. Well, that was shaping up to be a great day. You know, before..."
"I have decided," Ronon frowned in concentration, "that there are two days in my memory. One day when bad things happened, and a separate day where I spent time with you."
"That's good," John replied. "Compartmentalizing is useful. I need to do it better, perhaps you can teach me."
"Great. One more thing I've got to teach you." Ronon feigned annoyance and John found it endearing. Ronon was a great guy, they had really connected that day before it all went to hell. It was a shame. John had almost begun to think of it as a date. He didn't want to start up any weirdness, though. He'd had enough weirdness first with Teyla and then with McKay, and he would have to be careful.
But John was always going to be weird about his team.
***
The circle of strange villagers had parted to let the team through to see what was going on. There were hundreds of people gathered in the square, surrounding a large cement circle where a tall man stood. He was shirtless, wearing a skirt made out of squares of metal, and black boots. He held a long black whip in his hand.
John rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. This did not look good. The cement circle was stained with blood and on a nearby riser sat several regally dressed individuals, clapping languidly. John thought of Rome, the Coliseum, and blood sport as entertainment. He hoped he was wrong.
"What is going on? Teyla asked, her voice already showing an edge of concern. Blood stained the dust around their feet, there was a fresh metallic smell in the air. The crowd was largely silent, anticipatory, and only soft sobbing could be heard from one side.
Teyla spoke again from John's elbow. "What is it?" she asked.
"It's a conquest circle," Ronon said. "It's to demonstrate power and influence. If this man remains unchallenged, he'll take food, slaves and possessions from these people."
"Sounds great," McKay said. "Can we shoot him and get the loot for ourselves?"
"Looks like someone beat us to it," John said. A young man was inching forward to the circle. He had an antiquated gun in his hand, like something he'd made himself. The second the man put his foot into the circle, the big, bare-chested man smiled. There was a crack in the air like electricity, as the razor-wire whip snapped toward the young man. His gun, and his hand, flew off in a perfect arc and landed at Ronon's feet.
***
"So what would have happened that day, had we not been interrupted?" John asked Ronon. He was seated on one of two wood benches in the tiny cell, swinging his feet back and forth and god, he was bored. They'd discussed the likelihood of escape, of torture, of being rescued... in essence, they'd covered all the bases. John was ready to get personal. He usually got stuck in a cell with McKay, and they did the dance of Prime Not Prime, bets on who was going to rescue them and how, and drinking games without beer. Eventually they'd start skirting around their personal lives and do a tiny bit of flirting and usually after that, they'd either be tortured or set free.
It was the same with Ronon, John thought. Just a little harmless, "hey we're stuck in a prison cell," flirting. As if they might do more, where no one would see them or know. Under duress of being held captive and all that. Harmless stuff, really. John wasn't worried.
"I would have kissed you," Ronon said, in answer to John's question. He'd given it maybe three seconds of thought.
John suddenly was worried.
"Oh."
"So it's a good thing maybe, that the day was cut short."
"Good thing," John repeated stupidly. Could it be possible that Ronon felt the same way John felt, but was brave enough to act on it? A rhetorical question because that was exactly what Ronon had just said. Sort of.
In fact, Ronon was apparently reading the uncertainty on John's face and was leaning in. His lips found John's before John could say anything - protest, or handwave the whole thing, or make a joke - and they were kissing. His beard was rough against John's chin but his lips were soft. John kissed him back, reaching up to catch the coarse tangle of dreads and reel Ronon in deeper.
***
Ronon looked in disbelief at his blood-spattered shoes and the still-twitching hand slowly dying like a wounded animal. Teyla looked away.
"Now that's just not..." John started, but stopped when he realized that all eyes were suddenly on them.
"That's just barbaric," McKay spluttered. "Can we offer this man some surgery off-world? That's just grotesque. Imagine losing your hand!"
"McKay," John warned. He was thinking it wasn't so good to draw attention to themselves right now. "Let's find out who's in charge and talk to them nicely."
"There's not going to be any nice," Ronon growled. He strode to the cement circle. "There's only going to be some major ass-kicking."
"He got that phrase from me," John said. "But hey, listen Ronon, let's not go off half-cocked here."
"Ronon, listen to John, this is unwise," Teyla said.
Too late, Ronon had set foot in the circle.
***
"You're hard," John breathed. He was beginning to care less and less about the dark cell around them, the rank smell, the possibility of spending the night on a hard bench. Which was really not his style, he was all about the mission. Totally.
"Glad you noticed," Ronon said. He let John rub him through his leather trousers while Ronon casually bent his knee and lifted one ankle behind him, reaching around to untie his boot. Fascinated with the feel of Ronon under his hand, John didn't notice what Ronon had done until he tossed a condom onto the bench. John stopped rubbing and stared down at it.
"You carry a condom in your sock?"
Ronon ducked his head. "Can't be too careful."
"Have you got a bottle of Jack Daniels and a bag of chips in there, too?"
"No," Ronon said as he skimmed off John's vest and t-shirt. "Just knives."
"Well, I obviously need to start stuffing C4 in my..." John gasped as Ronon reached down between his legs and unfastened his empty thigh holster with wandering fingers. "...Pants."
"That's what you Earthers call sexual innuendo," Ronon said, unzipping John's fly. "I like it; you've taught me one thing at least."
"Happy to oblige," John said. Ronon was better at this talking while undressing him thing. John needed to catch up. He pulled off his boots and began working on the laces of Ronon's tunic. They were silent for a few seconds as they tugged and removed various bits of their clothing -- and knives, on Ronon's part. John counted at least six.
"Uh, so with the condom, this means, um... all the way or what?" John asked.
"If we had all day," Ronon said, circling his arms around John's back and muttering low in his ear. "A Sunday, for example. I'd take it slow, suck you off, make you come for me, let you finger me... but we don't. So yeah. This time, I'm just going to fuck you; we'll do dinner and the tea ceremony later, if we make it out of here."
John's mouth was dry. The idea of sucking, of fucking, the words he was hearing from Ronon made him hard and his stomach clenched and his head swam. Jesus, it'd been way too long since he'd had sex. However...
"Tea ceremony?"
"Yeah. For new lovers. It's very hot, trust me."
And now that they were naked and pressed together in a prison cell on an alien world and Ronon had brought the condom and the knives, John really had no choice. He kissed Ronon hard, tonguing the inside of his mouth, and ground their erections together, feeling the heat and sweat.
"Trust me, Sheppard," Ronon said.
"Yes," John said. "Okay."
Ronon turned him around and he braced himself on the bench. He felt absolutely sane, not the least bit vulnerable or awkward. Ronon had his back, so to speak. And Ronon's thumbs were pressing on his back, rubbing against each vertebra in turn, working downward, and unwinding years of tension. Ronon's tongue found the sweet spot right on the back of John's neck and John shivered.
"Won't last long," he panted, already feeling the tingling in the base of his dick that signaled sensual sensory overload.
"I'll take care of that," Ronon said. His tongue and hands disappeared momentarily, then snaked around John's waist. He slid a boot string under John's balls and John jumped, startled, but then felt Ronon trussing him up gently, winding the string expertly over and around his balls and dick and tugging tightly before constructing a half-bow at the top. "You'll come when I release you and not before."
John, speechless, nodded.
"Lay flat and spread yourself for me," Ronon said.
John nodded again and said nothing. What was there to say? He wasn't about to say anything that might make Ronon stop.
With spit and not a little effort, Ronon worked his thumb inside John. John held himself open for it, struggling to relax. He laid his cheek against the wood of the bench and breathed out. Ronon was pulling him open, gently, working his thumb in and crooking it. Another finger rubbed behind John's balls. "I'm ready, I'm okay," John said, finally. Ronon suited up and John felt the slick slide of his cock at his entrance. Thank God for lubricated condoms. Thank God for Ronon's foresight. Ronon slid all the way in and let John adjust around him.
"Brace yourself," Ronon instructed, and John let go of his own ass and grabbed the edge of the bench. Ronon rocked against him solidly, using his knees instead of his hips so as not to be too rough on John. John had a brief vision of what it would be like with Ronon in a big bed, with plenty of lube, and hours of time.
"God," John choked out. He was moaning, a low sound, and he clamped his lips together to muffle it. He did not want cat-calls from nearby cells. Ronon was completely silent as he fucked, and John felt a spin of arousal at the thought that he was bent over, tied up and prevented from making any noise -- he'd never realized he had these kinds of kinks. Ronon was always teaching him something, it was true.
"Sheppard," Ronon's voice told him he was close and John nodded, gasping, yesyesyes. Ronon reached around, pulled the string free and began to stroke John in time with his increasingly hard thrusts. He clasped John tightly to him with his other hand as orgasms shuddered through them both.
John curled up on the opposite bench -- Ronon could have the proverbial wet-spot -- after he was dressed again. Ronon had his clothes back on in record time and rested a hand on John's shoulder when he'd settled. John really needed a nap.
"I am going to be so sore," John muttered. "You're taking first watch."
He could hear the sound of Ronon's smile.
***
"Newcomers are not allowed to enter a challenge in the circle," the man in red robes told them. "You have broken the law."
"Oh, so there are laws in this lawless town?" McKay asked.
"Rodney," John warned. But it didn't matter. The man droned on about laws and ways that had existed for thousands of years and that were immutable traditions, etc., etc. Bottom line: punishment. They were stripped of their weapons and marched to the underground complex that housed thousands of "lawbreakers."
"We've seen this before," Teyla said. "They imprison unjustly and provide humans as food for the Wraith. I can smell the stench of recent feeding."
John had no time to process this because he and Ronon were marched away from Rodney and Teyla with six guards surrounding them. Wraith snacks. Why was he always being put in a position to be fed on by the Wraith? It was so not fair.
***
John didn't have his watch, so when he rolled over, he asked Ronon how many hours he thought had passed.
"Six," Ronon answered without blinking. Well, the guy didn't have a Timex when he was a runner, did he?
Another hour or so passed, and then the sound of guards' boots echoed down the hall. They stopped in front of the cell, motioned for Ronon to back away, and unlocked the door.
"What's going on?"
"You've been summoned. Our Great Leader has considered that you will make interesting sport for visiting guests. You," he motioned to Ronon, "will fight as you intended to when you were arrested. If you win, you will earn your freedom and that of your friends. If you lose, you will be sold as slave labor if anyone wishes to purchase you before the next Offering."
"Done." Ronon had answered before John could leap up off the bench.
"Wait, wait! Ronon, think about this."
"Think about what, Sheppard? I can do this." His lips curled back in the snarl John was fairly familiar with.
"Well, our options are limited. I sincerely hope you're right."
"Trust me."
***
The air sang with the sound of the whip. The man in black and leather smiled. He was known as the Captain. John was reminded of a WWE fight as the town crier, or whatever, announced "the Captain versus the Runner!" and the crowd cheered insanely.
"This is completely out of control," John said.
"Colonel, are you injured?" Teyla asked when she saw John limping.
"No, no, I'm fine. Nothing to write home about."
"Why would I write..."
"Ronon has his knives, right?" McKay interrupted. "He can win this, right? I can't be slave labor, I'm not cut out for hard work. These people have no scientific advancement, they won't appreciate what I can do, in fact they won't even listen."
"Rodney, you are becoming hysterical. You should remain calm," Teyla spoke to him and placed her hand on his arm. Rodney looked at her and immediately softened. John thought maybe their time together in a cell had been productive as well.
Ronon circled the Captain, that look of utter ferocity on his face. John knew that with any luck, Ronon would get his chance and he was going to kill this man, and then probably try to kill a bunch of other people too. He was probably pissed at the idea that, to them, he was sport, Wraith food and manual labor. John didn't blame him, not at all, but with Ronon's history, he was bound to take it far more personally. He often didn't think about the things Ronon had been through in life. It wasn't productive to dwell on it, but if you really stopped to count up the cost of survival for Ronon... well. John couldn't begin to understand. Or he could begin, but he wouldn't finish.
The whip snapped in the air and Ronon, moving like lightning, evaded it and drew out the two small knives he’d been allowed. He grinned at the Captain. The crowd was in an uproar. They'd apparently never seen anyone dodge the Captain's whip.
Ronon ran at him, and the Captain drew back his hand and let the whip fly again. Ronon spun at the last minute, his arm pin-wheeling in the air and the whip sang and then split in half as Ronon sliced it apart. The severed half thrashed on the ground like a live thing, emitting electrical sparks, blue and white, then rolled over and hissed into the dust.
"Holy mother of..." McKay said.
The Captain drew his hand back again; he had plenty of whip length left and he arced it at Ronon's waist, intending to sever him in half. Ronon ducked low, and one of his dreadlocks flew off his head and over into the crowd. Ronon ran at him again, straight on, and the Captain drew back, but Ronon was there -- fast -- sinking a knife right into his bicep, then grabbing the whip in his hands and wrapping it around the Captain's neck.
John didn't bother to look away as Ronon jerked the whip and the Captain's head rolled off into the dirt.
***
"It was a thing of beauty," John told Elizabeth.
"It was barbaric. The whole thing was very 'Gladiator,'" Rodney said.
"It was necessary. Only a show of force in the circle would have been respected by these people enough so that they would let us go." Teyla looked serenely at Elizabeth, trying to dampen her horror at their report.
"I trust you," Elizabeth said. "And I'm glad I trusted you when you asked for Ronon to be a member of your team. You and he have been of incalculable value," she nodded at Teyla. "We are encountering things that we do not expect to see, being from one of the so-called civilized places on Earth. We've been lucky."
"It's true," Rodney said. "If Daniel Jackson were here, he would break it down into all of the historical mumbo jumbo and cultural blah-de-blah that likes so much, but I just feel like I want to send a bomb over the planet and drop it right in the middle of their fucking sacred conquest circle."
"Unfortunately that's not an option," Elizabeth said. "But we must monitor the activity there as they are clearly allied with the Wraith and probably have Wraith worshippers as well."
Teyla shuddered, and the meeting was pretty much over. John was as concerned as they were, but he was eager to visit Ronon in the infirmary to see how his hands were healing. He set off as soon as he got clear, and was rewarded with Ronon's gorgeous grin as he entered.
"Happy to see me, huh?"
"You have no idea, Sheppard. I'm bored out of my mind and this new doctor? Cold hands!"
"Any place you want me to warm up for you?" John flicked the privacy curtain closed, and kept his voice low, but he was determined to flirt his ass off. He hadn't forgotten the sex, even in the midst of post-mission chaos.
"I can't use my hands for at least a week," Ronon said, holding them up and showing off the bandages. "Nearly sliced clean through. Can you imagine not having fingers?"
"Um. No. I'm glad you're keeping your fingers. But while you're healing, I guess I'll have to do all the fingering. And I'll help you in other ways, too." John waggled his eyebrows in the silly way that people seemed to find annoying or endearing and Ronon rolled his eyes.
"I don't know," Ronon said. "I usually take care of myself pretty well, you know."
"Trust me," John said. "Just trust me."
.
Author: Alizarin_NYC
Fandom: SGA
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Ronon/John
Written for: dessert_first in the rononficathon
Prompt: Ronon/John - Ronon teaches John something, smut or humor
SPOILERS: There are spoilers for the S3 ep, “Sunday.”
They were dragged down a series of labyrinthine corridors, cell after cell of prisoners, until John lost track of all the twists and turns. They were finally thrown into a small, dark cell with two waist-high benches. It was narrow and filthy.
"Rodney. Teyla," John panted. "Atlantis will send someone when we don’t check in." He seemed to be reassuring himself more than Ronon. Ronon was busy scratching something into the surface of the wall with one of his tiny knives.
When he finished, he turned to John. "Memorize this," he said, and pointed.
"What is it," John asked, before shaking his head as he realized it was the way they'd come; Ronon had managed to remember every turn, staircase, and possible exit. Ronon began to make "x's" where they'd seen stationed guards.
"Great. You outdo me at everything," John grumbled.
"You have a few things to learn, Sheppard," Ronon said, but he was looking over his shoulder at John playfully so how could John mind? Clearly, imminent death and unjust imprisonment didn't seem to faze him that much.
"Oh yeah, like one-legged sparring and suicide Wraith tag," John said. "Can't wait for those lessons."
Ronon looked at John appraisingly. "Too bad our day was interrupted. That Sunday we had... who knows when we'll get another; one that doesn't end in tragedy."
"Yeah," John said, dipping his head in the way he'd developed to both honor Carson's sacrifice and to hide his discomfort over how he felt about it.
"You were also going to show me football and bassetball and I was going to teach you Satedan frog dancing," Ronon said.
"It's basketball and there is no such thing as Satedan frog dancing."
"Maybe. Maybe not. Now you'll never know, and that's yet another tragedy."
"Yeah. Well, that was shaping up to be a great day. You know, before..."
"I have decided," Ronon frowned in concentration, "that there are two days in my memory. One day when bad things happened, and a separate day where I spent time with you."
"That's good," John replied. "Compartmentalizing is useful. I need to do it better, perhaps you can teach me."
"Great. One more thing I've got to teach you." Ronon feigned annoyance and John found it endearing. Ronon was a great guy, they had really connected that day before it all went to hell. It was a shame. John had almost begun to think of it as a date. He didn't want to start up any weirdness, though. He'd had enough weirdness first with Teyla and then with McKay, and he would have to be careful.
But John was always going to be weird about his team.
***
The circle of strange villagers had parted to let the team through to see what was going on. There were hundreds of people gathered in the square, surrounding a large cement circle where a tall man stood. He was shirtless, wearing a skirt made out of squares of metal, and black boots. He held a long black whip in his hand.
John rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. This did not look good. The cement circle was stained with blood and on a nearby riser sat several regally dressed individuals, clapping languidly. John thought of Rome, the Coliseum, and blood sport as entertainment. He hoped he was wrong.
"What is going on? Teyla asked, her voice already showing an edge of concern. Blood stained the dust around their feet, there was a fresh metallic smell in the air. The crowd was largely silent, anticipatory, and only soft sobbing could be heard from one side.
Teyla spoke again from John's elbow. "What is it?" she asked.
"It's a conquest circle," Ronon said. "It's to demonstrate power and influence. If this man remains unchallenged, he'll take food, slaves and possessions from these people."
"Sounds great," McKay said. "Can we shoot him and get the loot for ourselves?"
"Looks like someone beat us to it," John said. A young man was inching forward to the circle. He had an antiquated gun in his hand, like something he'd made himself. The second the man put his foot into the circle, the big, bare-chested man smiled. There was a crack in the air like electricity, as the razor-wire whip snapped toward the young man. His gun, and his hand, flew off in a perfect arc and landed at Ronon's feet.
***
"So what would have happened that day, had we not been interrupted?" John asked Ronon. He was seated on one of two wood benches in the tiny cell, swinging his feet back and forth and god, he was bored. They'd discussed the likelihood of escape, of torture, of being rescued... in essence, they'd covered all the bases. John was ready to get personal. He usually got stuck in a cell with McKay, and they did the dance of Prime Not Prime, bets on who was going to rescue them and how, and drinking games without beer. Eventually they'd start skirting around their personal lives and do a tiny bit of flirting and usually after that, they'd either be tortured or set free.
It was the same with Ronon, John thought. Just a little harmless, "hey we're stuck in a prison cell," flirting. As if they might do more, where no one would see them or know. Under duress of being held captive and all that. Harmless stuff, really. John wasn't worried.
"I would have kissed you," Ronon said, in answer to John's question. He'd given it maybe three seconds of thought.
John suddenly was worried.
"Oh."
"So it's a good thing maybe, that the day was cut short."
"Good thing," John repeated stupidly. Could it be possible that Ronon felt the same way John felt, but was brave enough to act on it? A rhetorical question because that was exactly what Ronon had just said. Sort of.
In fact, Ronon was apparently reading the uncertainty on John's face and was leaning in. His lips found John's before John could say anything - protest, or handwave the whole thing, or make a joke - and they were kissing. His beard was rough against John's chin but his lips were soft. John kissed him back, reaching up to catch the coarse tangle of dreads and reel Ronon in deeper.
***
Ronon looked in disbelief at his blood-spattered shoes and the still-twitching hand slowly dying like a wounded animal. Teyla looked away.
"Now that's just not..." John started, but stopped when he realized that all eyes were suddenly on them.
"That's just barbaric," McKay spluttered. "Can we offer this man some surgery off-world? That's just grotesque. Imagine losing your hand!"
"McKay," John warned. He was thinking it wasn't so good to draw attention to themselves right now. "Let's find out who's in charge and talk to them nicely."
"There's not going to be any nice," Ronon growled. He strode to the cement circle. "There's only going to be some major ass-kicking."
"He got that phrase from me," John said. "But hey, listen Ronon, let's not go off half-cocked here."
"Ronon, listen to John, this is unwise," Teyla said.
Too late, Ronon had set foot in the circle.
***
"You're hard," John breathed. He was beginning to care less and less about the dark cell around them, the rank smell, the possibility of spending the night on a hard bench. Which was really not his style, he was all about the mission. Totally.
"Glad you noticed," Ronon said. He let John rub him through his leather trousers while Ronon casually bent his knee and lifted one ankle behind him, reaching around to untie his boot. Fascinated with the feel of Ronon under his hand, John didn't notice what Ronon had done until he tossed a condom onto the bench. John stopped rubbing and stared down at it.
"You carry a condom in your sock?"
Ronon ducked his head. "Can't be too careful."
"Have you got a bottle of Jack Daniels and a bag of chips in there, too?"
"No," Ronon said as he skimmed off John's vest and t-shirt. "Just knives."
"Well, I obviously need to start stuffing C4 in my..." John gasped as Ronon reached down between his legs and unfastened his empty thigh holster with wandering fingers. "...Pants."
"That's what you Earthers call sexual innuendo," Ronon said, unzipping John's fly. "I like it; you've taught me one thing at least."
"Happy to oblige," John said. Ronon was better at this talking while undressing him thing. John needed to catch up. He pulled off his boots and began working on the laces of Ronon's tunic. They were silent for a few seconds as they tugged and removed various bits of their clothing -- and knives, on Ronon's part. John counted at least six.
"Uh, so with the condom, this means, um... all the way or what?" John asked.
"If we had all day," Ronon said, circling his arms around John's back and muttering low in his ear. "A Sunday, for example. I'd take it slow, suck you off, make you come for me, let you finger me... but we don't. So yeah. This time, I'm just going to fuck you; we'll do dinner and the tea ceremony later, if we make it out of here."
John's mouth was dry. The idea of sucking, of fucking, the words he was hearing from Ronon made him hard and his stomach clenched and his head swam. Jesus, it'd been way too long since he'd had sex. However...
"Tea ceremony?"
"Yeah. For new lovers. It's very hot, trust me."
And now that they were naked and pressed together in a prison cell on an alien world and Ronon had brought the condom and the knives, John really had no choice. He kissed Ronon hard, tonguing the inside of his mouth, and ground their erections together, feeling the heat and sweat.
"Trust me, Sheppard," Ronon said.
"Yes," John said. "Okay."
Ronon turned him around and he braced himself on the bench. He felt absolutely sane, not the least bit vulnerable or awkward. Ronon had his back, so to speak. And Ronon's thumbs were pressing on his back, rubbing against each vertebra in turn, working downward, and unwinding years of tension. Ronon's tongue found the sweet spot right on the back of John's neck and John shivered.
"Won't last long," he panted, already feeling the tingling in the base of his dick that signaled sensual sensory overload.
"I'll take care of that," Ronon said. His tongue and hands disappeared momentarily, then snaked around John's waist. He slid a boot string under John's balls and John jumped, startled, but then felt Ronon trussing him up gently, winding the string expertly over and around his balls and dick and tugging tightly before constructing a half-bow at the top. "You'll come when I release you and not before."
John, speechless, nodded.
"Lay flat and spread yourself for me," Ronon said.
John nodded again and said nothing. What was there to say? He wasn't about to say anything that might make Ronon stop.
With spit and not a little effort, Ronon worked his thumb inside John. John held himself open for it, struggling to relax. He laid his cheek against the wood of the bench and breathed out. Ronon was pulling him open, gently, working his thumb in and crooking it. Another finger rubbed behind John's balls. "I'm ready, I'm okay," John said, finally. Ronon suited up and John felt the slick slide of his cock at his entrance. Thank God for lubricated condoms. Thank God for Ronon's foresight. Ronon slid all the way in and let John adjust around him.
"Brace yourself," Ronon instructed, and John let go of his own ass and grabbed the edge of the bench. Ronon rocked against him solidly, using his knees instead of his hips so as not to be too rough on John. John had a brief vision of what it would be like with Ronon in a big bed, with plenty of lube, and hours of time.
"God," John choked out. He was moaning, a low sound, and he clamped his lips together to muffle it. He did not want cat-calls from nearby cells. Ronon was completely silent as he fucked, and John felt a spin of arousal at the thought that he was bent over, tied up and prevented from making any noise -- he'd never realized he had these kinds of kinks. Ronon was always teaching him something, it was true.
"Sheppard," Ronon's voice told him he was close and John nodded, gasping, yesyesyes. Ronon reached around, pulled the string free and began to stroke John in time with his increasingly hard thrusts. He clasped John tightly to him with his other hand as orgasms shuddered through them both.
John curled up on the opposite bench -- Ronon could have the proverbial wet-spot -- after he was dressed again. Ronon had his clothes back on in record time and rested a hand on John's shoulder when he'd settled. John really needed a nap.
"I am going to be so sore," John muttered. "You're taking first watch."
He could hear the sound of Ronon's smile.
***
"Newcomers are not allowed to enter a challenge in the circle," the man in red robes told them. "You have broken the law."
"Oh, so there are laws in this lawless town?" McKay asked.
"Rodney," John warned. But it didn't matter. The man droned on about laws and ways that had existed for thousands of years and that were immutable traditions, etc., etc. Bottom line: punishment. They were stripped of their weapons and marched to the underground complex that housed thousands of "lawbreakers."
"We've seen this before," Teyla said. "They imprison unjustly and provide humans as food for the Wraith. I can smell the stench of recent feeding."
John had no time to process this because he and Ronon were marched away from Rodney and Teyla with six guards surrounding them. Wraith snacks. Why was he always being put in a position to be fed on by the Wraith? It was so not fair.
***
John didn't have his watch, so when he rolled over, he asked Ronon how many hours he thought had passed.
"Six," Ronon answered without blinking. Well, the guy didn't have a Timex when he was a runner, did he?
Another hour or so passed, and then the sound of guards' boots echoed down the hall. They stopped in front of the cell, motioned for Ronon to back away, and unlocked the door.
"What's going on?"
"You've been summoned. Our Great Leader has considered that you will make interesting sport for visiting guests. You," he motioned to Ronon, "will fight as you intended to when you were arrested. If you win, you will earn your freedom and that of your friends. If you lose, you will be sold as slave labor if anyone wishes to purchase you before the next Offering."
"Done." Ronon had answered before John could leap up off the bench.
"Wait, wait! Ronon, think about this."
"Think about what, Sheppard? I can do this." His lips curled back in the snarl John was fairly familiar with.
"Well, our options are limited. I sincerely hope you're right."
"Trust me."
***
The air sang with the sound of the whip. The man in black and leather smiled. He was known as the Captain. John was reminded of a WWE fight as the town crier, or whatever, announced "the Captain versus the Runner!" and the crowd cheered insanely.
"This is completely out of control," John said.
"Colonel, are you injured?" Teyla asked when she saw John limping.
"No, no, I'm fine. Nothing to write home about."
"Why would I write..."
"Ronon has his knives, right?" McKay interrupted. "He can win this, right? I can't be slave labor, I'm not cut out for hard work. These people have no scientific advancement, they won't appreciate what I can do, in fact they won't even listen."
"Rodney, you are becoming hysterical. You should remain calm," Teyla spoke to him and placed her hand on his arm. Rodney looked at her and immediately softened. John thought maybe their time together in a cell had been productive as well.
Ronon circled the Captain, that look of utter ferocity on his face. John knew that with any luck, Ronon would get his chance and he was going to kill this man, and then probably try to kill a bunch of other people too. He was probably pissed at the idea that, to them, he was sport, Wraith food and manual labor. John didn't blame him, not at all, but with Ronon's history, he was bound to take it far more personally. He often didn't think about the things Ronon had been through in life. It wasn't productive to dwell on it, but if you really stopped to count up the cost of survival for Ronon... well. John couldn't begin to understand. Or he could begin, but he wouldn't finish.
The whip snapped in the air and Ronon, moving like lightning, evaded it and drew out the two small knives he’d been allowed. He grinned at the Captain. The crowd was in an uproar. They'd apparently never seen anyone dodge the Captain's whip.
Ronon ran at him, and the Captain drew back his hand and let the whip fly again. Ronon spun at the last minute, his arm pin-wheeling in the air and the whip sang and then split in half as Ronon sliced it apart. The severed half thrashed on the ground like a live thing, emitting electrical sparks, blue and white, then rolled over and hissed into the dust.
"Holy mother of..." McKay said.
The Captain drew his hand back again; he had plenty of whip length left and he arced it at Ronon's waist, intending to sever him in half. Ronon ducked low, and one of his dreadlocks flew off his head and over into the crowd. Ronon ran at him again, straight on, and the Captain drew back, but Ronon was there -- fast -- sinking a knife right into his bicep, then grabbing the whip in his hands and wrapping it around the Captain's neck.
John didn't bother to look away as Ronon jerked the whip and the Captain's head rolled off into the dirt.
***
"It was a thing of beauty," John told Elizabeth.
"It was barbaric. The whole thing was very 'Gladiator,'" Rodney said.
"It was necessary. Only a show of force in the circle would have been respected by these people enough so that they would let us go." Teyla looked serenely at Elizabeth, trying to dampen her horror at their report.
"I trust you," Elizabeth said. "And I'm glad I trusted you when you asked for Ronon to be a member of your team. You and he have been of incalculable value," she nodded at Teyla. "We are encountering things that we do not expect to see, being from one of the so-called civilized places on Earth. We've been lucky."
"It's true," Rodney said. "If Daniel Jackson were here, he would break it down into all of the historical mumbo jumbo and cultural blah-de-blah that likes so much, but I just feel like I want to send a bomb over the planet and drop it right in the middle of their fucking sacred conquest circle."
"Unfortunately that's not an option," Elizabeth said. "But we must monitor the activity there as they are clearly allied with the Wraith and probably have Wraith worshippers as well."
Teyla shuddered, and the meeting was pretty much over. John was as concerned as they were, but he was eager to visit Ronon in the infirmary to see how his hands were healing. He set off as soon as he got clear, and was rewarded with Ronon's gorgeous grin as he entered.
"Happy to see me, huh?"
"You have no idea, Sheppard. I'm bored out of my mind and this new doctor? Cold hands!"
"Any place you want me to warm up for you?" John flicked the privacy curtain closed, and kept his voice low, but he was determined to flirt his ass off. He hadn't forgotten the sex, even in the midst of post-mission chaos.
"I can't use my hands for at least a week," Ronon said, holding them up and showing off the bandages. "Nearly sliced clean through. Can you imagine not having fingers?"
"Um. No. I'm glad you're keeping your fingers. But while you're healing, I guess I'll have to do all the fingering. And I'll help you in other ways, too." John waggled his eyebrows in the silly way that people seemed to find annoying or endearing and Ronon rolled his eyes.
"I don't know," Ronon said. "I usually take care of myself pretty well, you know."
"Trust me," John said. "Just trust me."
.