Sorry for the lack of smut… if it’s any consolation I normally don’t write Shep outside of my usual (well closest I have to one) OTP/OT3ish thing…
Sheppard hated this feeling, empty, desperate, almost afraid. He despised how it rushed over him whenever one of his team, one of his friends, went missing or the worst was presumed. He hated the calm exterior he was forced to uphold. Every time was harder, worse, and another punch in the gut. But this, this was too much.
HE had been missing for three days. Sheppard wasn’t stupid. He knew if anyone could survive on that planet it was Ronon. But there were so many things stacked against him. There were so many things that could go wrong. He keeps a strong face, and when on the fourth day he stumbles back through the gate he almost doesn’t believe that it’s him.
He’s covered in fresh marks and bruises, some he’s sure will leave their mark. He’s immediately shuttled off to the infirmary, which is where the colonel stalks. He watches, and waits, and avoids all the questioning looks.
As soon as the runner’s released, to be sent to his own quarters, Sheppard stalks. He waits, and when he knows no person or patrol member is watching he comes up behind the warrior, grabs his arm, and pulls him into the nearest nook he can think of. Ronon doesn’t protest, having sensed him long before even Sheppard realized.
They collide, teeth and tongue and sweat. Their actions are rushed, simply seeking an establishment of reconnection. Sheppard needs to know he’s alive. He needs to inspect each new mark, to know them, and to make sure the warrior isn’t being to stubborn. But they must be brief; there is no time for what each other truly wants. Far too much is at stake should someone unexpected pop up.
Sheppard’s job for one. Anything they could have for another. And that is before dignity.
Body relaxed of some of its tension, with hands reluctant to leave, Sheppard slips back out of their place. He walks back the way he came. His uniform is straightened, his hair perpetually a mess is fine, and no sign of his distress can be detected in his face. He can’t resist licking his lips, which still faintly taste of the other, knowing that an in depth check will occur that evening in a certain abandoned room in the lower city.
Aw, don't apologize I love this! It's sexy but not too revealing. Love LOVE this pairing. I don't think it's written enough, so you definitely made my night!
Sheppard hated this feeling, empty, desperate, almost afraid. He despised how it rushed over him whenever one of his team, one of his friends, went missing or the worst was presumed. He hated the calm exterior he was forced to uphold. Every time was harder, worse, and another punch in the gut. But this, this was too much.
HE had been missing for three days. Sheppard wasn’t stupid. He knew if anyone could survive on that planet it was Ronon. But there were so many things stacked against him. There were so many things that could go wrong. He keeps a strong face, and when on the fourth day he stumbles back through the gate he almost doesn’t believe that it’s him.
He’s covered in fresh marks and bruises, some he’s sure will leave their mark. He’s immediately shuttled off to the infirmary, which is where the colonel stalks. He watches, and waits, and avoids all the questioning looks.
As soon as the runner’s released, to be sent to his own quarters, Sheppard stalks. He waits, and when he knows no person or patrol member is watching he comes up behind the warrior, grabs his arm, and pulls him into the nearest nook he can think of. Ronon doesn’t protest, having sensed him long before even Sheppard realized.
They collide, teeth and tongue and sweat. Their actions are rushed, simply seeking an establishment of reconnection. Sheppard needs to know he’s alive. He needs to inspect each new mark, to know them, and to make sure the warrior isn’t being to stubborn. But they must be brief; there is no time for what each other truly wants. Far too much is at stake should someone unexpected pop up.
Sheppard’s job for one. Anything they could have for another. And that is before dignity.
Body relaxed of some of its tension, with hands reluctant to leave, Sheppard slips back out of their place. He walks back the way he came. His uniform is straightened, his hair perpetually a mess is fine, and no sign of his distress can be detected in his face. He can’t resist licking his lips, which still faintly taste of the other, knowing that an in depth check will occur that evening in a certain abandoned room in the lower city.
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♥!
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