Sunday's Child
Title: Sunday's Child
Author: ankhmutes
Written for: Sierra (Ronon Ficathon)
Prompt: 1. Ronon/McKay 2. Chocolate 3. Fishing
Characters/Pairing: Ronon/Rodney
Rating: R
Summary: Coming from McKay, the silence was frightening and when it broke, Ronon was willing to bet the explosion would be spectacular.
Author's Notes: SPOILER ALERT This fic contains spoilers for Season Three episodes -- Sunday in a major way and Tao of Rodney in a minor way. You have been warned.
Because I hold the 'more is better' approach when it comes to betas, thanks go to Kerensa and Belladonna for their help on early drafts; to Taylor Dancinghands for catching a malfunctioning plot device and suggesting the fix; and to Amararti for helping me make Rodney more... Rodneyish. And for her suggestion of the title. I continued to fiddle with it after their input, so any mistakes and oddities are mine, all mine.
I was a little confounded at first, since I was given one prompt with three components... fishing could only bring to mind that ep and I slipped the chocolate in there, although it isn't a huge part of the story.
Sierra, I hope you enjoy my offering to you.
Sunday's Child
by ankhmutes
Ronon breathed a sigh of relief as they stepped through the Stargate, glad to be back in Atlantis. The visit to Earth had been uncomfortable on many levels and he was glad to be back in a place he could understand, with people he knew.
Sateda had been a rich society, by Pegasus standards, with a large population and advanced technology. The capital city, his home, had seemed crowded and sophisticated -- but compared to Earth? He began to see where the Terrans got some of their ideas about the planets and societies they came in contact with and why they were so desperate to keep the Wraith away.
He had not seen much of the planet and had not been allowed to go anywhere in public without an escort. What he had seen -- the seething press of people in the huge city of Colorado Springs, the casual use and acceptance of gadgets and technology for sale and those used by the SGC -- had given him much to think about.
He nodded to Dr. Weir as she came up to greet them. She gave them a sad smile as she said, "Welcome home everyone. I'd like to hear how things went, but it can wait until you've settled back in." Weary nods acknowledged her and Ronon's eyes drifted to McKay, who had been uncharacteristically quiet for the entire trip.
Ronon took his bags to his room, the plain one he had taken with him now accompanied by two packs made of a very durable material guaranteed to resist water and tearing for two years. They were stuffed with things that were in short supply here, but amazingly common on Earth. As he unpacked, sorting the contents into piles, he thought about the past week.
All of them had taken the loss of Dr. Beckett hard but Sheppard and the others seemed too wrapped up in their own grief to see how hard it had hit McKay.
Ronon himself had respected the man from the moment they met and now his debt from having a tracker removed from his back, not once but twice, would never be repaid. Beckett had given him his life back and his freedom. But Ronon had lost many people over the years. He could accept Beckett's sacrifice, honor his courage, and move on, letting the pain of yet another lost friend wash through him and away.
The short discussion before they left for Earth was the only time McKay talked about it. Every attempt to speak to him about it afterward had been fruitless. He had either acted as if the other person weren't speaking or left the room. Coming from McKay, the silence was frightening and when it broke, Ronon was willing to bet the explosion would be spectacular.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Ronon's balsta was one of a kind. There were no similar weapons on Atlantis, and with the loss of Sateda, likely few left anywhere. Zelenka had asked him once if they could examine it, perhaps try to reverse-engineer it with an eye toward making more. It wasn't an idea he was comfortable with. Zelenka was smart, but he didn't want to take the chance that the balsta would be damaged in some way. Or that one of the scientists would get hurt by it, messing with something they didn't really understand.
It would give him a good reason to be in the science lab, though, since he had made it clear that any work on it would be done while he was there to supervise. Zelenka wouldn’t be doing the work himself but had assured him that Tam Cooper had the most experience in this kind of work.
From his stool in the corner of the lab, next to Cooper's workbench, while he watched the man attempt to diagram the weapon, he could turn most of his attention to McKay.
And if Ronon had been worried before, he was more so now. Rodney had returned to work without making so much as a ripple in the pond that was his lab.
There were no tirades or rants over sloppily done work, no exclamations over stupidity, not even a growl when someone failed to move out of his way. It was unnatural. The other scientists began casting frowns in his direction, little glances full of worry and concern that McKay didn't even seem to notice.
The whole morning passed that way. McKay remained bent over the device on his bench, trying to find a way to power it with a small generator. Zelenka had tried to help him for a few moments but he had been steadfastly ignored until he had thrown his hands up in frustration and walked away, muttering something in his mother tongue.
Ronon shifted position, uneasy as Cooper started to strip the balsta. The zap of an electrical discharge brought him to his feet and the shouts of the scientists in the lab moved him quickly toward the noise. The device McKay had been working on was showering sparks and the scientist was slumped on the floor, leaning against a workbench and clutching his right hand to his chest.
"Get back! Someone turn off that generator!" Zelenka's voice lifted over the babble of the scientists crowding around their injured boss and Ronon began pulling them bodily out of his way to get to him.
Rodney was muttering under his breath and hissed when Ronon carefully grasped his wrist to inspect the burned hand. The skin had already started to blister in places and it had to be extremely painful. His eyes were wide and his pale face showed stunning, what these people called shock, already setting in.
"C'mon," He wrapped an arm around McKay's shoulders and lifted him to his feet. A general glare around him made the spectators give way as the two moved toward the door. "Let's get you to the infirmary." McKay stopped still, refusing to move, and a tremble passed through his body.
"No." The word was firm and quiet.
"What?"
"Not the infirmary." McKay jerked himself from Ronon's grip and strode from the room. The man could move more quickly than most would suspect and as Ronon followed him into the corridor he shot a quelling look at the others in the room. No one else followed.
He caught up with him after turning the corner of the corridor, right next to the transporter doors, and snagged the shoulder of his jacket to halt him.
McKay attempted to shrug off the hand and shouted "Dammit, I'm not going! You can't jus--"
"Okay." His agreement stopped the man mid-word. "Let's go. I can take care of that." The limited medic training he had been given as a recruit would be better than no treatment at all and he had no doubt that McKay would hole up somewhere if he were left on his own.
Moments later, they were in Ronon's quarters. He pushed the injured man toward his bed, where he sat perched uncomfortably on the edge, cradling his injured hand. Ronon grabbed his first aid kit from his pack and settled on the floor between McKay's legs. Their positions put the burned hand right in front of his face and it was easy to work on. A sheen of ointment, anti-something that would prevent the wound from going bad, and a loose wrap of the clean bandages were all that were needed. Looking up into McKay's dazed eyes, he was more worried about the man's mental state than his hand. He hadn't complained once.
"Done." The blue eyes blinked, brought back to the here and now by his voice and Ronon shook his head. "McKay…"
"I just can't… walk in there. He's not there, you know? He's not there, and there's this big… Carson-shaped hole where he should be, and… if I had just gone… "
Ronon had to dodge a swinging hand as Rodney gestured widely in his distress. McKay’s words tumbled over each other and his breathing was shallow and shuddery in between them.
"McKay." He caught the uninjured hand in one of his and tugged at it to get Rodney to focus on him. "It wasn't your fault."
"Of course it was!" The scientist surged up from the bed so quickly that Ronon almost found himself knocked back, managing to twist to one side fast enough to avoid it and rolling to his feet. He ignored the medical supplies now scattered on the floor as he moved toward the frantically pacing man. "I should have just gone fishing with him! I didn't want to because I knew I'd be bored but if I were any kind of friend, I'd have gone! What kind of friend does that make me? Huh? And I've been trying, I really have, I thought I was getting better at this whole…" He waved his arms around in frustration, struggling for the words. "…friendship thing!"
"I never thought you were bad at it." He hoped to stop the flow of anger the man had toward himself.
The look he got in return was worth it. "Are you kidding?" The tone of voice was scathing. "I suck at this! Petty, arrogant, bad with people…” each fault was ticked off on an upraised finger. “…that's me. I used to take some sort of pride in that, because it was easier, and then that… that… thing happened and…" Ronon knew he was referring to his attempt to Ascend.
"And what? Why change?"
"You can't tell me you like me like that! Nobody does. I saw it very clearly, thank you, when everyone was shouting their thoughts at me."
"You didn't hear mine." He kept his voice calm.
"How… how do you know? I could have." The chin lifted in defiance and the usual McKay shone through for a moment, arrogant and sure.
"Because you'd have seen."
"Can you possibly speak in full sentences for a few moments? Seen what? My god, you are -- " He began building toward another rant, so Ronon cut him off.
"You'd have seen that it doesn't bother me. You say what you mean, I respect that." McKay only looked confused, so Ronon went on. "Sometimes your people say things they don't mean because they're expected to. Or because they are afraid of my reaction. You respect me enough to say what you actually feel to me. I don't always like it, but you don't lie."
"But… I'm rude and, and abrasive…"
"You're honest. And I'm strong enough to handle your opinion of me." Ronon let his head tilt to one side and raised an eyebrow. "It's a compliment, McKay."
"A… compliment?" The expression on his face was confused and little awed. Ronon allowed himself a little smile of amusement.
"A compliment. Only the weak fear the truth." As they spoke, Ronon had been moving closer to the other man. He didn't want to crowd him, with his emotions so out of control, but he needed to be closer. McKay wasn't through 'freaking out' yet and he needed to get the rest out. He got close enough to grasp the man's shoulders, bracing them both for the next step. "What if you had left with Beckett?"
"What?" The change in topic seemed to confuse McKay for a moment. Then the eyes widened again and his face began to crumple.
"Focus." Ronon shook the shoulders gently. "Answer the question. If you and Beckett had gone to fish, the explosion would still have happened in the tower. Zelenka would have gone to check it out. What then?"
"They would have radioed us. We'd have come back."
"And how long would it have taken?"
"An hour or so, by puddlejumper." McKay was getting impatient with the questions.
"So you would have gotten here an hour after the first explosion, at least. What then?"
Rodney lapsed into thought, his gaze on Ronon's chest but his eyes flicked back and forth as he turned the scenario over in his head. "Oh God!" He raised his eyes to meet Ronon's, his expression filled with horror. "Oh God, it would have been worse! We wouldn't have figured out about the tumors, at least not before the second explosion. It would have taken out the whole surgical suite, the staff, the patients… Carson still would have died!" The anguish in his voice made something twist in Ronon's gut. "He still would have died! How can that be possible? Carson was a doctor, he wasn't supposed to die!" The last words were half-sob, half-shout.
"No. But he did. It was his choice to accept the danger. He sent everyone out, he locked up the area. He could have chosen to save himself and let his patient die."
"No. Not Carson. He would never have left a patient." All the tension left McKay's body and his shoulders trembled under Ronon's hands. Exhaustion, physical and emotional, showed on the pale face and it was easy to maneuver him toward the bed again.
The scientist sat numbly, staring at a spot on the floor with his eyes unfocused and Ronon knelt between his legs again, returning to the positions they had held before. He could see the strain on his face, knew the other was trying to restrain his grief.
"McKay." He waited until the blue eyes focused on him to continue. "Tears honor the dead and heal the living." Moisture filled his own eyes and he murmured, "Mourn with me." One hand behind the other's neck to pull him in and their heads rested on each other's shoulders.
His arms had been around McKay before, brief awkward hugs, but when he put his arms around him now it felt right. The soft hair brushed his cheek and warm breath fanned on his neck. Rodney was a little tense at first, breath hitching as he accepted the embrace but he was still struggling not to cry. Ronon tightened his arms a little, pulling him closer, and felt the sobs break free.
Time passed and Ronon's knees began to ache but he held on to his friend until the breathing evened out and McKay sat back. He looked embarrassed, his eyes red, nose leaking, and Ronon could see the person he would be without the biting humor and defensive remarks he used to keep people distant.
There was no conscious decision, no forethought to what he did next. One moment he was looking into watery blue eyes and the next he was pressing his lips against McKay's. A moment's hesitation and the pressure was returned.
The kiss was salty and sweet, brief, powerful. He raised his head a bit, brushed his lips back and forth, barely touching the crooked mouth under them, then moved to capture the lower lip between his before raising his head.
McKay looked dazed, barely able to stay upright and Ronon felt a rush of protectiveness wash over him. It was easy to tip him back, lift his feet up onto the bed and cover him with a blanket.
"Sleep." He patted the man's face twice before sliding his hand up and carding his fingers through the soft hair and cupping his head for a moment. Exhaustion won over, and McKay was sound asleep a few heartbeats later. He didn't even stir as Ronon removed his radio and boots.
Moving quietly, he tried to sort out these new feelings he had. Protecting Rodney from physical harm was part of his duty here, familiar. This desire to protect the man from the pain of his heart was not. There was something incredibly vulnerable about McKay, something normally hidden behind the verbal attacks, and he had this urge to lie down with him and hold him while he slept. He hadn't felt that since he lost Melena and had not thought to feel it again.
Bemused, he was picking up the supplies that had scattered across the floor when his earpiece beeped at him.
"Ronon, do you know where Rodney is? Zelenka said he left the lab with you." Sheppard's slow voice seemed loud in the quiet room.
"He's with me, my quarters."
"From what I heard, I'm amazed he's not in the infirmary. Is he okay?"
"He's sleeping right now. His hand is fine, a little burned." Ronon tried not to feel insulted. If the injury had been serious, he'd have forced the scientist to seek a doctor.
A knock sounded at his door and he was unsurprised to find Sheppard slouching on the other side. The soldier peered around the door at the blanket-covered lump on the bed and Ronon moved aside to let him in.
The need to see for himself that Rodney was fine was etched on Sheppard's face and Ronon allowed himself a smile. The two were not brothers but only by accident of birth. It was clear that what pained one, pained the other and they were notoriously protective of each other. Ronon was beginning to appreciate that, though the way he was feeling didn't seem brotherly at all.
Sheppard reached out and twitched the blanket higher and his fingers brushed the bandage covering the injured hand before he headed to the door where Ronon waited.
"What happened?" The quiet words were low enough not to wake McKay. "Why didn't you take him to get checked out?"
Ronon shrugged his shoulders back a little. "He didn't want to go."
Sheppard's lips thinned and his eyebrows furrowed in frustration. He opened his mouth to argue but Ronon cut him off.
"Carson isn't there."
Grief showed briefly in the soldier's eyes before being shuttered away. "I know that. Still…"
"He didn't want the new one. It's been hard for him."
"It's been hard for us all!" Sheppard's voice rose a little and Ronon raised an eyebrow at him, tilting his head toward the sleeper, a warning to be quieter.
"You've grieved. He hadn't. Blamed himself."
"That's just…" Sheppard released a heavy breath and ran a hand through his hair before continuing, "Okay, that's McKay for you." He looked over his shoulder at the bed again.
"Go. He can stay till he wakes. I'll watch over him."
Sheppard nodded, patted his shoulder and left.
Ronon did resistance exercises on his floor, pitting one group of muscles against another to strengthen them, as he had done while Running. He finished that and washed, then settled on the floor, back braced against the bed. He used a small knife to carve a block of wood, roughing out the shape he wanted for now. A pile of wood shavings grew between his feet and the whole time, his thoughts circled around Rodney.
There had been other hugs. McKay -- Rodney -- had wrapped his arms around him to heal his scars. He hadn't thanked him for that, he'd been too surprised by it, but the removal of the physical scars had moved him deeply. Some of the damage he'd done trying to remove the tracker had healed improperly. The scars restricted some movement and were mildly painful at times. That gesture, the healing, was uncharacteristically thoughtful and deeply meaningful.
He'd tried to express his gratitude after Rodney's recovery, when he'd grabbed the man in a fierce hug. There were too many others around for him to say more than he had, to really express what he felt, and it would have been awkward anyway, so he had tried to express it in that short, tight embrace.
Since coming here, he had been needed. It was one reason he stayed. But it was his abilities that were needed, or his experience, or his strength. This was the first time he was needed for himself, as a person, the first time since Melena that someone needed him to care. He contemplated the thought as the block of wood started to resemble a fish and time passed.
One of his purchases on Earth had been a timekeeper, worn on the wrist, that marked time by that planet's rotation. It seemed laughable that they continued to use the system here, and their system made no sense even after Zelenka had explained it to him, but it was useful for keeping track of time's passing. The large indicator had moved in a full circle twice and started a third before McKay stirred.
McKay was not one to wake alert and aware, but then he had never had to learn it. The bleary expression on his face was almost endearing, though, as he ground the heel of his left hand into his eye before sweeping the hand back over his head.
Ronon didn't shift around. He kept his back firmly against the bed and watched out of the corner of his eye. With his touchy sense of dignity, McKay would likely be embarrassed about his earlier show of grief. "Sleep well?"
"Umm. Yeah, I uh…" McKay dropped his feet over the side of the bed and rested his elbows on his knees. His expression was wary, and it pained Ronon to be watched like a dangerous animal about to attack.
It brought to mind other times that McKay had shied away from him, when he had towered over the scientist and succeeded in intimidating him with the suggestion of violence. He felt a little ill at the thought now, ashamed.
Ronon stood and retrieved a bottle of water and a small box. He returned to the bed and settled again on the floor next to McKay's feet. He liked sitting here, like this. With the difference in their heights, this put them on nearly the same level, their faces even. Also, there was the hope that it would put the other man more at ease.
He offered McKay the water. As he took it and twisted off the top and drank, McKay's eyes flicked to Ronon's face and away, nervous. The Terran still looked pale, with dark pouches under his eyes that spoke of a week with little rest and great strain, reminders of the grief and self-recrimination he carried.
"Here." The word startled Rodney into looking straight into his eyes before they went to the box Ronon offered him.
"What's this?"
"It's for you. I bought it." It had been decided, when he arrived on Earth, that Ronon would not be allowed to accompany the others to Beckett's homeland for the burial rites. There were forms involved in travel from one area of their planet to another and it would take too long to procure those forms. Sheppard had also explained that they would be required to travel completely unarmed, which Ronon was not sure he would have been able to accept.
He had been offered, by a short man with glasses, a plastic rectangle that he could use to buy things. It was easier than the barter that most simple worlds used, but the implication that he'd needed to have the concept of money explained to him was insulting. The little card was easier to carry than the large coins used on Sateda had been though. It didn't jingle when he moved, either.
He had spent part of the time visiting the enclosed market, tens of little shops in one building called the Citadel. It was almost fun, looking for things he could get for the people who had given him a place and a way to stop Running.
In one little shop, he had found this and thought of McKay. They had made the chocolates while he watched, filled with nuts and crèmes that had no citrus.
"It's for you."
"Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory?" One corner of Rodney's mouth slowly curled up as his eyes widened. "You got… why?"
The look of unguarded pleasure and happiness tempted Ronon. Instead of answering, he leaned in and brushed his lips across the wide smile. McKay made a small noise and pulled back.
"Wh…" While it was amusing to see the man at a complete loss for words, the expression wasn't what Ronon had been hoping for. He shifted, kneeling with his feet tucked under his ass, and leaned back. He wanted to touch Rodney's cheek and raised his hand to do so, but the other man flinched before his fingers could meet the skin.
He dropped his hands in his lap. "Don't." The words were a bare whisper.
"Don't, uh, what? You're the one doing all the… doing. I'm, I'm, I guess I'm just… really confused, here." The usual sarcasm and bite was missing.
"Why do you do that? You act like I'm going to hurt you." Ronon looked intently at McKay, willing him to see what he was trying to say. "I wouldn't. I won’t hurt you, Rodney."
Rodney looked down at the box in his hands, his knuckles white with tension. He lifted it up a little, gesturing with it. "I… thank you." Ronon put a hand over the unbandaged one holding the box, stroked the back of it lightly with his fingertips. He was pleased when Rodney turned the hand over, offering it hesitantly. Their fingers curled together and this time, when Ronon leaned over to kiss him, Rodney met him halfway.
The warmth of the lips seemed to spread to his chest and when they opened to his, allowing his tongue to slip inside, his whole body felt it. And while his desire began to rage, he kept it in check, sliding a hand to the side of McKay's face to cup it, caressing the strong jaw line with his fingertips.
The gentle kiss continued. It was nice, but Rodney's passive reaction was disappointing. The last thing he wanted was to scare him off and he knew it wouldn’t take much. It sparked an urge to protect the man, but it still felt like what he was protecting him from, in part, was himself. They pulled back for breath and stared into each other's eyes.
Rodney was thinking -- he was always thinking -- and Ronon waited to see the result, trying to let everything he was feeling show in his eyes. And maybe he succeeded because McKay grinned suddenly, an expression full of delight and surprise, like he'd been gifted with something he hadn't even known he wanted.
Then his mouth was covered again and this kiss was everything the last hadn't been. McKay was forceful, holding onto his shoulders in a bid for control, pulling Ronon toward him. There was unexpected strength in those arms and Ronon chose not to fight against them, leaning forward into the space between Rodney's legs. He braced his hands on the solid thighs that bracketed him and put his tongue into the kiss.
By shifting his weight to his knees and leaning forward, he was able to move his body up against Rodney's. Chest to chest, groin to groin, hardness to hardness, the contact sent shivers racing through his frame. So long, it had been so long since he had felt this! Rodney's hands moved over his shoulders and down his arms, fingertips trailing fire in their path.
Ronon kept his hands on Rodney's thighs, though he slid them down from the top to the sides, cupping them and stroking gently. He was afraid to let go of them, certain his control would slip if he allowed himself to touch Rodney's body.
He had held himself so tightly, since the fall of Sateda and the loss of Melena. Through his years on the Run, he had denied himself this sort of release, as if even touching himself in pleasure was a betrayal of their memory. How could he allow himself pleasure when everyone and everything he had cared about was dead, gone, destroyed completely? Pursuit by the Wraith did not leave a man with the luxury of time or energy for thoughts of sex, or anything but kill or be killed, survival at the most basic level.
The feel of Rodney moaning under his mouth, the scent of their desire in the back of his throat, and Ronon moaned under the surge of long-suppressed desire. He could do this, he could have this again, could afford to care again. And he did.
Pulled and held on top of Rodney, whose leg wrapped around his, their hard lengths pressed together, it felt so overwhelming that he had to stop for breath.
“What?” Rodney’s eyes were wide with desire, the pupils huge. His expression showed confusion and uncertainty, mixed with longing and lust.
For an answer he kissed first the corner of the slanted mouth, then Rodney’s forehead. He was breathing heavily as he rested his head against the other’s. His fingers flexed and he didn’t want to bruise him, so he patted Rodney’s thighs and shifted his weight. It felt good and right to take the man into his arms, to wrap a hand around the back of his head and kiss him again, slowly and searchingly.
This wasn’t about lust, about releasing several years of tension. It was about healing, for both of them. It was about letting another get close, trusting that person in a way neither had done for a very long time. It was about being vulnerable for a change. For both of them.
So when Rodney pushed him back, without breaking the kiss, he went, pulling the other up with him. Undressing was slow, each bit of exposed skin caressed and cherished. They stood, at one point, so they could remove their trousers.
Ronon had to remove his boots as well, so Rodney stood nude in front of him while he stepped out of the leather pants. He was aware of the other man’s gaze as it traveled down his body, stopping at his erection. When he stood straight again, Rodney looked him in the face.
Ronon took the opportunity to observe his new lover’s body as well. Rodney seemed to avoid showing it at all, often taking ridiculous measures to keep covered. He would never have hard muscular curves, but he was solid, with little fat covering his form. The loss of his clothing made him seem leaner and less clumsy.
There was a little hair on his chest, a sparse line leading down his belly to his sex, which was beginning to soften under Ronon’s intent stare.
He moved close enough to feel Rodney’s breath as it moved up his chest to his neck and face. He dipped his head and traced his lover’s lower lip with his tongue. Rodney sucked in a noisy breath and opened his mouth slightly, straining up for more.
Ronon felt the broad hands grab the sides of his head and allowed his own to settle on Rodney’s wide shoulders, the fingers flexing against the pale skin there.
Their teeth clicked together. Their noses bumped. The strain of leaning over like this sent a twinge down Ronon’s neck. And it was perfect.
They moved together toward the bed. Side by side, legs tangled together, their erections met and slid against each other while they touched and caressed. Ronon hissed in contentment as Rodney’s curious hand traced up his chest, paused for a moment at the rank mark inked on his throat, then grasped a dangling dreadlock and rubbed it between his fingers, exploring its texture and feel.
“Always wanted to do that,” he murmured, making Ronon chuckle softly against the shoulder he was nipping. Rodney replied by lacing his fingers into the locks and using them to pull Ronon’s mouth back to his.
His mouth open to his lover’s passion, Ronon brushed the back of his fingers down the curve of his arm, his chest, between their bodies to take hold of them both. Lazy, firm strokes sent heat curling through his body and Rodney hummed in appreciation.
Their hips moved together, thrusting into his fist. The movement became faster and Rodney’s fingers dug into his shoulder as the thrusts became more frantic.
Ronon couldn’t see Rodney’s expression when he climaxed because their mouths didn’t part. He kept his eyes closed, and breathed in the sharp smell of semen and the musky smell of their sweat. These things pushed him closer, but it was the idea that he could have this again if he wished, the hope that Rodney might want it too, that brought on his own orgasm.
A corner of bedcloth worked to wipe away the mess, as Rodney relaxed against him and shivered slightly. When Ronon pulled up the covering that had been used earlier and tucked it around them, he got a sleepy sigh of thanks.
They’d sleep, he thought, both of them. And maybe when they woke, they could try that again. Even if they didn’t, Ronon now had someone to care for again.
*~*~*~*~*~*~
Sheppard glared at Rodney. “Just fix it! I don’t care how, just fix the damned thing so we can get home!”
“Look, I’m trying, alright? But it may not be possible to fix it, that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. I need tools I don’t have and spare parts that, oh, yeah! I don’t have either!” Rodney flared back, continuing to make adjustments on the datapad. His righteous indignation didn’t slow his hands at all.
Sheppard opened his mouth to make sure Rodney really understood the seriousness of their situation. Their position was exposed, there was no cover to speak of anywhere around. If the Genii, nevermind the Wraith -hell if a group of determined cavemen - decided to attack, they were screwed. And not in a good way. Before he could get the words out of his mouth a heavy hand descended on his shoulder and squeezed. Painfully.
“He’s working on it.” Ronon’s low voice growled in his ear. “Don’t bother him. It’ll go faster.”
Sheppard frowned, looked over his shoulder at the Satedan, then back at Rodney in time to catch an odd smile aimed, not at him but at Ronon. Huh.
He put the incident to the back of his mind and tried to focus on the scrubland surrounding them, watching for any sign of attack.
In the back of his mind, Sheppard was still puzzling over that smile. He was still trying to figure it out when the Gate opened behind him and they stepped through to return home.
*end*
Author: ankhmutes
Written for: Sierra (Ronon Ficathon)
Prompt: 1. Ronon/McKay 2. Chocolate 3. Fishing
Characters/Pairing: Ronon/Rodney
Rating: R
Summary: Coming from McKay, the silence was frightening and when it broke, Ronon was willing to bet the explosion would be spectacular.
Author's Notes: SPOILER ALERT This fic contains spoilers for Season Three episodes -- Sunday in a major way and Tao of Rodney in a minor way. You have been warned.
Because I hold the 'more is better' approach when it comes to betas, thanks go to Kerensa and Belladonna for their help on early drafts; to Taylor Dancinghands for catching a malfunctioning plot device and suggesting the fix; and to Amararti for helping me make Rodney more... Rodneyish. And for her suggestion of the title. I continued to fiddle with it after their input, so any mistakes and oddities are mine, all mine.
I was a little confounded at first, since I was given one prompt with three components... fishing could only bring to mind that ep and I slipped the chocolate in there, although it isn't a huge part of the story.
Sierra, I hope you enjoy my offering to you.
Sunday's Child
by ankhmutes
Ronon breathed a sigh of relief as they stepped through the Stargate, glad to be back in Atlantis. The visit to Earth had been uncomfortable on many levels and he was glad to be back in a place he could understand, with people he knew.
Sateda had been a rich society, by Pegasus standards, with a large population and advanced technology. The capital city, his home, had seemed crowded and sophisticated -- but compared to Earth? He began to see where the Terrans got some of their ideas about the planets and societies they came in contact with and why they were so desperate to keep the Wraith away.
He had not seen much of the planet and had not been allowed to go anywhere in public without an escort. What he had seen -- the seething press of people in the huge city of Colorado Springs, the casual use and acceptance of gadgets and technology for sale and those used by the SGC -- had given him much to think about.
He nodded to Dr. Weir as she came up to greet them. She gave them a sad smile as she said, "Welcome home everyone. I'd like to hear how things went, but it can wait until you've settled back in." Weary nods acknowledged her and Ronon's eyes drifted to McKay, who had been uncharacteristically quiet for the entire trip.
Ronon took his bags to his room, the plain one he had taken with him now accompanied by two packs made of a very durable material guaranteed to resist water and tearing for two years. They were stuffed with things that were in short supply here, but amazingly common on Earth. As he unpacked, sorting the contents into piles, he thought about the past week.
All of them had taken the loss of Dr. Beckett hard but Sheppard and the others seemed too wrapped up in their own grief to see how hard it had hit McKay.
Ronon himself had respected the man from the moment they met and now his debt from having a tracker removed from his back, not once but twice, would never be repaid. Beckett had given him his life back and his freedom. But Ronon had lost many people over the years. He could accept Beckett's sacrifice, honor his courage, and move on, letting the pain of yet another lost friend wash through him and away.
The short discussion before they left for Earth was the only time McKay talked about it. Every attempt to speak to him about it afterward had been fruitless. He had either acted as if the other person weren't speaking or left the room. Coming from McKay, the silence was frightening and when it broke, Ronon was willing to bet the explosion would be spectacular.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Ronon's balsta was one of a kind. There were no similar weapons on Atlantis, and with the loss of Sateda, likely few left anywhere. Zelenka had asked him once if they could examine it, perhaps try to reverse-engineer it with an eye toward making more. It wasn't an idea he was comfortable with. Zelenka was smart, but he didn't want to take the chance that the balsta would be damaged in some way. Or that one of the scientists would get hurt by it, messing with something they didn't really understand.
It would give him a good reason to be in the science lab, though, since he had made it clear that any work on it would be done while he was there to supervise. Zelenka wouldn’t be doing the work himself but had assured him that Tam Cooper had the most experience in this kind of work.
From his stool in the corner of the lab, next to Cooper's workbench, while he watched the man attempt to diagram the weapon, he could turn most of his attention to McKay.
And if Ronon had been worried before, he was more so now. Rodney had returned to work without making so much as a ripple in the pond that was his lab.
There were no tirades or rants over sloppily done work, no exclamations over stupidity, not even a growl when someone failed to move out of his way. It was unnatural. The other scientists began casting frowns in his direction, little glances full of worry and concern that McKay didn't even seem to notice.
The whole morning passed that way. McKay remained bent over the device on his bench, trying to find a way to power it with a small generator. Zelenka had tried to help him for a few moments but he had been steadfastly ignored until he had thrown his hands up in frustration and walked away, muttering something in his mother tongue.
Ronon shifted position, uneasy as Cooper started to strip the balsta. The zap of an electrical discharge brought him to his feet and the shouts of the scientists in the lab moved him quickly toward the noise. The device McKay had been working on was showering sparks and the scientist was slumped on the floor, leaning against a workbench and clutching his right hand to his chest.
"Get back! Someone turn off that generator!" Zelenka's voice lifted over the babble of the scientists crowding around their injured boss and Ronon began pulling them bodily out of his way to get to him.
Rodney was muttering under his breath and hissed when Ronon carefully grasped his wrist to inspect the burned hand. The skin had already started to blister in places and it had to be extremely painful. His eyes were wide and his pale face showed stunning, what these people called shock, already setting in.
"C'mon," He wrapped an arm around McKay's shoulders and lifted him to his feet. A general glare around him made the spectators give way as the two moved toward the door. "Let's get you to the infirmary." McKay stopped still, refusing to move, and a tremble passed through his body.
"No." The word was firm and quiet.
"What?"
"Not the infirmary." McKay jerked himself from Ronon's grip and strode from the room. The man could move more quickly than most would suspect and as Ronon followed him into the corridor he shot a quelling look at the others in the room. No one else followed.
He caught up with him after turning the corner of the corridor, right next to the transporter doors, and snagged the shoulder of his jacket to halt him.
McKay attempted to shrug off the hand and shouted "Dammit, I'm not going! You can't jus--"
"Okay." His agreement stopped the man mid-word. "Let's go. I can take care of that." The limited medic training he had been given as a recruit would be better than no treatment at all and he had no doubt that McKay would hole up somewhere if he were left on his own.
Moments later, they were in Ronon's quarters. He pushed the injured man toward his bed, where he sat perched uncomfortably on the edge, cradling his injured hand. Ronon grabbed his first aid kit from his pack and settled on the floor between McKay's legs. Their positions put the burned hand right in front of his face and it was easy to work on. A sheen of ointment, anti-something that would prevent the wound from going bad, and a loose wrap of the clean bandages were all that were needed. Looking up into McKay's dazed eyes, he was more worried about the man's mental state than his hand. He hadn't complained once.
"Done." The blue eyes blinked, brought back to the here and now by his voice and Ronon shook his head. "McKay…"
"I just can't… walk in there. He's not there, you know? He's not there, and there's this big… Carson-shaped hole where he should be, and… if I had just gone… "
Ronon had to dodge a swinging hand as Rodney gestured widely in his distress. McKay’s words tumbled over each other and his breathing was shallow and shuddery in between them.
"McKay." He caught the uninjured hand in one of his and tugged at it to get Rodney to focus on him. "It wasn't your fault."
"Of course it was!" The scientist surged up from the bed so quickly that Ronon almost found himself knocked back, managing to twist to one side fast enough to avoid it and rolling to his feet. He ignored the medical supplies now scattered on the floor as he moved toward the frantically pacing man. "I should have just gone fishing with him! I didn't want to because I knew I'd be bored but if I were any kind of friend, I'd have gone! What kind of friend does that make me? Huh? And I've been trying, I really have, I thought I was getting better at this whole…" He waved his arms around in frustration, struggling for the words. "…friendship thing!"
"I never thought you were bad at it." He hoped to stop the flow of anger the man had toward himself.
The look he got in return was worth it. "Are you kidding?" The tone of voice was scathing. "I suck at this! Petty, arrogant, bad with people…” each fault was ticked off on an upraised finger. “…that's me. I used to take some sort of pride in that, because it was easier, and then that… that… thing happened and…" Ronon knew he was referring to his attempt to Ascend.
"And what? Why change?"
"You can't tell me you like me like that! Nobody does. I saw it very clearly, thank you, when everyone was shouting their thoughts at me."
"You didn't hear mine." He kept his voice calm.
"How… how do you know? I could have." The chin lifted in defiance and the usual McKay shone through for a moment, arrogant and sure.
"Because you'd have seen."
"Can you possibly speak in full sentences for a few moments? Seen what? My god, you are -- " He began building toward another rant, so Ronon cut him off.
"You'd have seen that it doesn't bother me. You say what you mean, I respect that." McKay only looked confused, so Ronon went on. "Sometimes your people say things they don't mean because they're expected to. Or because they are afraid of my reaction. You respect me enough to say what you actually feel to me. I don't always like it, but you don't lie."
"But… I'm rude and, and abrasive…"
"You're honest. And I'm strong enough to handle your opinion of me." Ronon let his head tilt to one side and raised an eyebrow. "It's a compliment, McKay."
"A… compliment?" The expression on his face was confused and little awed. Ronon allowed himself a little smile of amusement.
"A compliment. Only the weak fear the truth." As they spoke, Ronon had been moving closer to the other man. He didn't want to crowd him, with his emotions so out of control, but he needed to be closer. McKay wasn't through 'freaking out' yet and he needed to get the rest out. He got close enough to grasp the man's shoulders, bracing them both for the next step. "What if you had left with Beckett?"
"What?" The change in topic seemed to confuse McKay for a moment. Then the eyes widened again and his face began to crumple.
"Focus." Ronon shook the shoulders gently. "Answer the question. If you and Beckett had gone to fish, the explosion would still have happened in the tower. Zelenka would have gone to check it out. What then?"
"They would have radioed us. We'd have come back."
"And how long would it have taken?"
"An hour or so, by puddlejumper." McKay was getting impatient with the questions.
"So you would have gotten here an hour after the first explosion, at least. What then?"
Rodney lapsed into thought, his gaze on Ronon's chest but his eyes flicked back and forth as he turned the scenario over in his head. "Oh God!" He raised his eyes to meet Ronon's, his expression filled with horror. "Oh God, it would have been worse! We wouldn't have figured out about the tumors, at least not before the second explosion. It would have taken out the whole surgical suite, the staff, the patients… Carson still would have died!" The anguish in his voice made something twist in Ronon's gut. "He still would have died! How can that be possible? Carson was a doctor, he wasn't supposed to die!" The last words were half-sob, half-shout.
"No. But he did. It was his choice to accept the danger. He sent everyone out, he locked up the area. He could have chosen to save himself and let his patient die."
"No. Not Carson. He would never have left a patient." All the tension left McKay's body and his shoulders trembled under Ronon's hands. Exhaustion, physical and emotional, showed on the pale face and it was easy to maneuver him toward the bed again.
The scientist sat numbly, staring at a spot on the floor with his eyes unfocused and Ronon knelt between his legs again, returning to the positions they had held before. He could see the strain on his face, knew the other was trying to restrain his grief.
"McKay." He waited until the blue eyes focused on him to continue. "Tears honor the dead and heal the living." Moisture filled his own eyes and he murmured, "Mourn with me." One hand behind the other's neck to pull him in and their heads rested on each other's shoulders.
His arms had been around McKay before, brief awkward hugs, but when he put his arms around him now it felt right. The soft hair brushed his cheek and warm breath fanned on his neck. Rodney was a little tense at first, breath hitching as he accepted the embrace but he was still struggling not to cry. Ronon tightened his arms a little, pulling him closer, and felt the sobs break free.
Time passed and Ronon's knees began to ache but he held on to his friend until the breathing evened out and McKay sat back. He looked embarrassed, his eyes red, nose leaking, and Ronon could see the person he would be without the biting humor and defensive remarks he used to keep people distant.
There was no conscious decision, no forethought to what he did next. One moment he was looking into watery blue eyes and the next he was pressing his lips against McKay's. A moment's hesitation and the pressure was returned.
The kiss was salty and sweet, brief, powerful. He raised his head a bit, brushed his lips back and forth, barely touching the crooked mouth under them, then moved to capture the lower lip between his before raising his head.
McKay looked dazed, barely able to stay upright and Ronon felt a rush of protectiveness wash over him. It was easy to tip him back, lift his feet up onto the bed and cover him with a blanket.
"Sleep." He patted the man's face twice before sliding his hand up and carding his fingers through the soft hair and cupping his head for a moment. Exhaustion won over, and McKay was sound asleep a few heartbeats later. He didn't even stir as Ronon removed his radio and boots.
Moving quietly, he tried to sort out these new feelings he had. Protecting Rodney from physical harm was part of his duty here, familiar. This desire to protect the man from the pain of his heart was not. There was something incredibly vulnerable about McKay, something normally hidden behind the verbal attacks, and he had this urge to lie down with him and hold him while he slept. He hadn't felt that since he lost Melena and had not thought to feel it again.
Bemused, he was picking up the supplies that had scattered across the floor when his earpiece beeped at him.
"Ronon, do you know where Rodney is? Zelenka said he left the lab with you." Sheppard's slow voice seemed loud in the quiet room.
"He's with me, my quarters."
"From what I heard, I'm amazed he's not in the infirmary. Is he okay?"
"He's sleeping right now. His hand is fine, a little burned." Ronon tried not to feel insulted. If the injury had been serious, he'd have forced the scientist to seek a doctor.
A knock sounded at his door and he was unsurprised to find Sheppard slouching on the other side. The soldier peered around the door at the blanket-covered lump on the bed and Ronon moved aside to let him in.
The need to see for himself that Rodney was fine was etched on Sheppard's face and Ronon allowed himself a smile. The two were not brothers but only by accident of birth. It was clear that what pained one, pained the other and they were notoriously protective of each other. Ronon was beginning to appreciate that, though the way he was feeling didn't seem brotherly at all.
Sheppard reached out and twitched the blanket higher and his fingers brushed the bandage covering the injured hand before he headed to the door where Ronon waited.
"What happened?" The quiet words were low enough not to wake McKay. "Why didn't you take him to get checked out?"
Ronon shrugged his shoulders back a little. "He didn't want to go."
Sheppard's lips thinned and his eyebrows furrowed in frustration. He opened his mouth to argue but Ronon cut him off.
"Carson isn't there."
Grief showed briefly in the soldier's eyes before being shuttered away. "I know that. Still…"
"He didn't want the new one. It's been hard for him."
"It's been hard for us all!" Sheppard's voice rose a little and Ronon raised an eyebrow at him, tilting his head toward the sleeper, a warning to be quieter.
"You've grieved. He hadn't. Blamed himself."
"That's just…" Sheppard released a heavy breath and ran a hand through his hair before continuing, "Okay, that's McKay for you." He looked over his shoulder at the bed again.
"Go. He can stay till he wakes. I'll watch over him."
Sheppard nodded, patted his shoulder and left.
Ronon did resistance exercises on his floor, pitting one group of muscles against another to strengthen them, as he had done while Running. He finished that and washed, then settled on the floor, back braced against the bed. He used a small knife to carve a block of wood, roughing out the shape he wanted for now. A pile of wood shavings grew between his feet and the whole time, his thoughts circled around Rodney.
There had been other hugs. McKay -- Rodney -- had wrapped his arms around him to heal his scars. He hadn't thanked him for that, he'd been too surprised by it, but the removal of the physical scars had moved him deeply. Some of the damage he'd done trying to remove the tracker had healed improperly. The scars restricted some movement and were mildly painful at times. That gesture, the healing, was uncharacteristically thoughtful and deeply meaningful.
He'd tried to express his gratitude after Rodney's recovery, when he'd grabbed the man in a fierce hug. There were too many others around for him to say more than he had, to really express what he felt, and it would have been awkward anyway, so he had tried to express it in that short, tight embrace.
Since coming here, he had been needed. It was one reason he stayed. But it was his abilities that were needed, or his experience, or his strength. This was the first time he was needed for himself, as a person, the first time since Melena that someone needed him to care. He contemplated the thought as the block of wood started to resemble a fish and time passed.
One of his purchases on Earth had been a timekeeper, worn on the wrist, that marked time by that planet's rotation. It seemed laughable that they continued to use the system here, and their system made no sense even after Zelenka had explained it to him, but it was useful for keeping track of time's passing. The large indicator had moved in a full circle twice and started a third before McKay stirred.
McKay was not one to wake alert and aware, but then he had never had to learn it. The bleary expression on his face was almost endearing, though, as he ground the heel of his left hand into his eye before sweeping the hand back over his head.
Ronon didn't shift around. He kept his back firmly against the bed and watched out of the corner of his eye. With his touchy sense of dignity, McKay would likely be embarrassed about his earlier show of grief. "Sleep well?"
"Umm. Yeah, I uh…" McKay dropped his feet over the side of the bed and rested his elbows on his knees. His expression was wary, and it pained Ronon to be watched like a dangerous animal about to attack.
It brought to mind other times that McKay had shied away from him, when he had towered over the scientist and succeeded in intimidating him with the suggestion of violence. He felt a little ill at the thought now, ashamed.
Ronon stood and retrieved a bottle of water and a small box. He returned to the bed and settled again on the floor next to McKay's feet. He liked sitting here, like this. With the difference in their heights, this put them on nearly the same level, their faces even. Also, there was the hope that it would put the other man more at ease.
He offered McKay the water. As he took it and twisted off the top and drank, McKay's eyes flicked to Ronon's face and away, nervous. The Terran still looked pale, with dark pouches under his eyes that spoke of a week with little rest and great strain, reminders of the grief and self-recrimination he carried.
"Here." The word startled Rodney into looking straight into his eyes before they went to the box Ronon offered him.
"What's this?"
"It's for you. I bought it." It had been decided, when he arrived on Earth, that Ronon would not be allowed to accompany the others to Beckett's homeland for the burial rites. There were forms involved in travel from one area of their planet to another and it would take too long to procure those forms. Sheppard had also explained that they would be required to travel completely unarmed, which Ronon was not sure he would have been able to accept.
He had been offered, by a short man with glasses, a plastic rectangle that he could use to buy things. It was easier than the barter that most simple worlds used, but the implication that he'd needed to have the concept of money explained to him was insulting. The little card was easier to carry than the large coins used on Sateda had been though. It didn't jingle when he moved, either.
He had spent part of the time visiting the enclosed market, tens of little shops in one building called the Citadel. It was almost fun, looking for things he could get for the people who had given him a place and a way to stop Running.
In one little shop, he had found this and thought of McKay. They had made the chocolates while he watched, filled with nuts and crèmes that had no citrus.
"It's for you."
"Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory?" One corner of Rodney's mouth slowly curled up as his eyes widened. "You got… why?"
The look of unguarded pleasure and happiness tempted Ronon. Instead of answering, he leaned in and brushed his lips across the wide smile. McKay made a small noise and pulled back.
"Wh…" While it was amusing to see the man at a complete loss for words, the expression wasn't what Ronon had been hoping for. He shifted, kneeling with his feet tucked under his ass, and leaned back. He wanted to touch Rodney's cheek and raised his hand to do so, but the other man flinched before his fingers could meet the skin.
He dropped his hands in his lap. "Don't." The words were a bare whisper.
"Don't, uh, what? You're the one doing all the… doing. I'm, I'm, I guess I'm just… really confused, here." The usual sarcasm and bite was missing.
"Why do you do that? You act like I'm going to hurt you." Ronon looked intently at McKay, willing him to see what he was trying to say. "I wouldn't. I won’t hurt you, Rodney."
Rodney looked down at the box in his hands, his knuckles white with tension. He lifted it up a little, gesturing with it. "I… thank you." Ronon put a hand over the unbandaged one holding the box, stroked the back of it lightly with his fingertips. He was pleased when Rodney turned the hand over, offering it hesitantly. Their fingers curled together and this time, when Ronon leaned over to kiss him, Rodney met him halfway.
The warmth of the lips seemed to spread to his chest and when they opened to his, allowing his tongue to slip inside, his whole body felt it. And while his desire began to rage, he kept it in check, sliding a hand to the side of McKay's face to cup it, caressing the strong jaw line with his fingertips.
The gentle kiss continued. It was nice, but Rodney's passive reaction was disappointing. The last thing he wanted was to scare him off and he knew it wouldn’t take much. It sparked an urge to protect the man, but it still felt like what he was protecting him from, in part, was himself. They pulled back for breath and stared into each other's eyes.
Rodney was thinking -- he was always thinking -- and Ronon waited to see the result, trying to let everything he was feeling show in his eyes. And maybe he succeeded because McKay grinned suddenly, an expression full of delight and surprise, like he'd been gifted with something he hadn't even known he wanted.
Then his mouth was covered again and this kiss was everything the last hadn't been. McKay was forceful, holding onto his shoulders in a bid for control, pulling Ronon toward him. There was unexpected strength in those arms and Ronon chose not to fight against them, leaning forward into the space between Rodney's legs. He braced his hands on the solid thighs that bracketed him and put his tongue into the kiss.
By shifting his weight to his knees and leaning forward, he was able to move his body up against Rodney's. Chest to chest, groin to groin, hardness to hardness, the contact sent shivers racing through his frame. So long, it had been so long since he had felt this! Rodney's hands moved over his shoulders and down his arms, fingertips trailing fire in their path.
Ronon kept his hands on Rodney's thighs, though he slid them down from the top to the sides, cupping them and stroking gently. He was afraid to let go of them, certain his control would slip if he allowed himself to touch Rodney's body.
He had held himself so tightly, since the fall of Sateda and the loss of Melena. Through his years on the Run, he had denied himself this sort of release, as if even touching himself in pleasure was a betrayal of their memory. How could he allow himself pleasure when everyone and everything he had cared about was dead, gone, destroyed completely? Pursuit by the Wraith did not leave a man with the luxury of time or energy for thoughts of sex, or anything but kill or be killed, survival at the most basic level.
The feel of Rodney moaning under his mouth, the scent of their desire in the back of his throat, and Ronon moaned under the surge of long-suppressed desire. He could do this, he could have this again, could afford to care again. And he did.
Pulled and held on top of Rodney, whose leg wrapped around his, their hard lengths pressed together, it felt so overwhelming that he had to stop for breath.
“What?” Rodney’s eyes were wide with desire, the pupils huge. His expression showed confusion and uncertainty, mixed with longing and lust.
For an answer he kissed first the corner of the slanted mouth, then Rodney’s forehead. He was breathing heavily as he rested his head against the other’s. His fingers flexed and he didn’t want to bruise him, so he patted Rodney’s thighs and shifted his weight. It felt good and right to take the man into his arms, to wrap a hand around the back of his head and kiss him again, slowly and searchingly.
This wasn’t about lust, about releasing several years of tension. It was about healing, for both of them. It was about letting another get close, trusting that person in a way neither had done for a very long time. It was about being vulnerable for a change. For both of them.
So when Rodney pushed him back, without breaking the kiss, he went, pulling the other up with him. Undressing was slow, each bit of exposed skin caressed and cherished. They stood, at one point, so they could remove their trousers.
Ronon had to remove his boots as well, so Rodney stood nude in front of him while he stepped out of the leather pants. He was aware of the other man’s gaze as it traveled down his body, stopping at his erection. When he stood straight again, Rodney looked him in the face.
Ronon took the opportunity to observe his new lover’s body as well. Rodney seemed to avoid showing it at all, often taking ridiculous measures to keep covered. He would never have hard muscular curves, but he was solid, with little fat covering his form. The loss of his clothing made him seem leaner and less clumsy.
There was a little hair on his chest, a sparse line leading down his belly to his sex, which was beginning to soften under Ronon’s intent stare.
He moved close enough to feel Rodney’s breath as it moved up his chest to his neck and face. He dipped his head and traced his lover’s lower lip with his tongue. Rodney sucked in a noisy breath and opened his mouth slightly, straining up for more.
Ronon felt the broad hands grab the sides of his head and allowed his own to settle on Rodney’s wide shoulders, the fingers flexing against the pale skin there.
Their teeth clicked together. Their noses bumped. The strain of leaning over like this sent a twinge down Ronon’s neck. And it was perfect.
They moved together toward the bed. Side by side, legs tangled together, their erections met and slid against each other while they touched and caressed. Ronon hissed in contentment as Rodney’s curious hand traced up his chest, paused for a moment at the rank mark inked on his throat, then grasped a dangling dreadlock and rubbed it between his fingers, exploring its texture and feel.
“Always wanted to do that,” he murmured, making Ronon chuckle softly against the shoulder he was nipping. Rodney replied by lacing his fingers into the locks and using them to pull Ronon’s mouth back to his.
His mouth open to his lover’s passion, Ronon brushed the back of his fingers down the curve of his arm, his chest, between their bodies to take hold of them both. Lazy, firm strokes sent heat curling through his body and Rodney hummed in appreciation.
Their hips moved together, thrusting into his fist. The movement became faster and Rodney’s fingers dug into his shoulder as the thrusts became more frantic.
Ronon couldn’t see Rodney’s expression when he climaxed because their mouths didn’t part. He kept his eyes closed, and breathed in the sharp smell of semen and the musky smell of their sweat. These things pushed him closer, but it was the idea that he could have this again if he wished, the hope that Rodney might want it too, that brought on his own orgasm.
A corner of bedcloth worked to wipe away the mess, as Rodney relaxed against him and shivered slightly. When Ronon pulled up the covering that had been used earlier and tucked it around them, he got a sleepy sigh of thanks.
They’d sleep, he thought, both of them. And maybe when they woke, they could try that again. Even if they didn’t, Ronon now had someone to care for again.
*~*~*~*~*~*~
Sheppard glared at Rodney. “Just fix it! I don’t care how, just fix the damned thing so we can get home!”
“Look, I’m trying, alright? But it may not be possible to fix it, that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. I need tools I don’t have and spare parts that, oh, yeah! I don’t have either!” Rodney flared back, continuing to make adjustments on the datapad. His righteous indignation didn’t slow his hands at all.
Sheppard opened his mouth to make sure Rodney really understood the seriousness of their situation. Their position was exposed, there was no cover to speak of anywhere around. If the Genii, nevermind the Wraith -hell if a group of determined cavemen - decided to attack, they were screwed. And not in a good way. Before he could get the words out of his mouth a heavy hand descended on his shoulder and squeezed. Painfully.
“He’s working on it.” Ronon’s low voice growled in his ear. “Don’t bother him. It’ll go faster.”
Sheppard frowned, looked over his shoulder at the Satedan, then back at Rodney in time to catch an odd smile aimed, not at him but at Ronon. Huh.
He put the incident to the back of his mind and tried to focus on the scrubland surrounding them, watching for any sign of attack.
In the back of his mind, Sheppard was still puzzling over that smile. He was still trying to figure it out when the Gate opened behind him and they stepped through to return home.
*end*